Minho

Life changed when Jisung moved into Lee's apartment in the heart of Seoul six months ago. The city was relentless, neon-lit and loud, its rhythm unfamiliar and its streets a chaotic maze. Adjusting had been difficult – a new university, new routines, and the quiet loneliness of not quite belonging. But Lee, ever steady and patient, had smoothed the sharp edges of that transition without any fanfare.

At first, it was just practical: a roof, a shared fridge, and the unspoken rules of coexisting. But then came the quiet evenings. Lee would slide a warm mug of tea across the counter without asking how Jisung took it, because he already knew. Jisung's laundry somehow always ended up neatly folded on his bed, even when he swore he'd left it tangled in the dryer. They were small, seamless things, as if Lee had always been there to catch the pieces Jisung didn't even realize were slipping.

The apartment was small, clothes piled on the back of the couch, elbows frequently brushing in the kitchen, and the shower steam seeping under the bathroom door when one of them lingered too long. Yet, it was in those close quarters that something shifted. Lee's gaze would catch, just for a heartbeat, when Jisung stretched in the morning and the hem of his shirt rode up. Or when he laughed too hard and tipped into Lee's side, only to find a hand already bracing his waist, warm and firm.

Once, during a late-night study session, Lee had reached over and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Jisung's ear. His fingers lingered, his thumb grazing the curve of his cheekbone, and Jisung had frozen – not from discomfort, but from the sudden, dizzying realization that he desperately wanted it to mean something.

— You're staring, Lee's voice was low.

— Am I? Jisung's reply came out breathless.

Lee hadn't answered. He just smiled, slow and knowing, before turning back to his book.