Archive of Our Own

So-yi liked to say she noticed everything.

Not in a creepy way. Just... details. Little ones. The kind people dismissed.

She noticed the way her gugeo teacher always wrote in bright yellow chalk as if she were trying to fill the room with even more sunshine. She noticed the way her best friend Seul-won always tucked her left leg under her seat and bit her pen cap when she was stressed. She noticed when the kind lunch lady wore colorful handmade earrings, even if nobody else did.

And then there was him.

Cho Sang-woo.

Quiet, yet remarkably brilliant. Barely spoken unless called on, with a smooth, presentable voice. He sat two rows ahead of her, by the window, like he belonged in a cheesy drama—lost in thought, eyes distant. Aloof. Mysterious. Beautiful.

He was so captivating, with his neatly trimmed, shiny black hair that shone like the night sky, and his glasses. The cutest boys always had glasses. And through the window, the afternoon sun poured through the room, landing atop his desk. She could tell how frustrated he got by the blinding sun. Was it cocky to admit she would have traded seats with him immediately? Just to help?

Ah, how nice it would be for him to even look at her, just once. She thought about that all through class (who needed limits and derivatives, anyway?), and through lunch, until a certain interruption dragged her back to Earth.

"So-yi-unnie! Are you even listening?"

Immediately, So-yi snaps back to reality. Oops. Seul-won was trying to talk to her, eyebrows raised in that come on, unnie way that meant she’d already repeated herself at least once. Could Seul-won blame her, though? She knew So-yi’s galaxy-brain spirals better than anyone. They knew each other’s silences like second languages.

"Sorry," So-yi mumbles, stuffing more gimbap into her mouth. "Uh— what were we talking about?"

Seul-won sighs, but she smiles a crinkly smile, adjusting her half-rims. "I was just saying you need to watch The Blue in You . It’s really good. Are you alright, unnie? You’re never this quiet."

So-yi gives her a thumbs up. "I’m fine, I’m fine! I’m just, y’know, tired."

Seul-won cocks an eyebrow, examining her closer. "You’re never tired. You’re So-yi. I’ve seen you power through tests without a wink of sleep."

"Aish! Can’t a girl be tired?"

The talk died down for a moment.

Until—

"You’re doing that face again, unnie" Seul-won points out, nudging her arm. "The one where you’re analyzing something."

"Wh— no! I am not!"

"You are," she muses. "What is it this time?"

So-yi loved Seul-won dearly. But she didn’t love how Seul-won could read her like an open book. Close friendships be damned. She didn’t remember submitting to this vulnerability.

"It’s nothing," she groans, stuffing her face with even more gimbap. Maybe if she kept shoving her face with food, Seul-won would leave her alone.

"Is it a boy?"

So-yi coughs. Fuck.

"Oh my god," she breathes, face lighting up, "it is a boy! Who?!"

"It’s nobody!"

"You liar. It’s someone. Is it Min-kyu? You’ve always had a thing for—"

"It’s not Min-kyu," she snaps, cheeks rosy and filled with seaweed.

Seul-won blinks. "Then who? Unnie, please?"

She hesitates. Seul-won was her best friend; So-yi knew she could confide in her. They’d been tight-knit for years now.

So-yi looks back at her friend. "Don’t laugh."

Still— she couldn’t help but think that maybe she was going to regret this.

"Oh, I’m definitely gonna laugh," Seul-won snorts.

"…Cho Sang-woo."

Seul-won chokes on her rice, to which So-yi scoffs. He was not that bad.

"Cho Sang-woo? That Cho Sang-woo? The one in our hist—"

"Yes, that Cho Sang-woo! And don’t be so loud!"

"Sorry." (Seul-won’s flabbergasted face didn’t look sorry.) Was her taste in men that bad? "Just… why? You don’t even talk to him."

She groans. "He’s just… I don’t know."

"You know, come to think of it," Seul-won continues, "I haven’t seen him talk to anyone . Except Ha-na on occasion."

So-yi shrugs, trying to cover up the flutter of hope in her chest. She knew better. But despite knowing better, those damn feelings wouldn’t dissipate. She was stuck, doomed to be a shadow hiding behind the classroom—he didn’t even know her name! It was best to just let the ordeal die down.

That’s what she tells herself, anyway. The feelings would go away with time.

And they did. Sort of.

So-yi’s crush on Sang-woo was her and Seul-won’s little secret, tucked away neatly in the backs of their brains. That was until the rumor started like a spark in the forest, a sliver of a flame, almost accidental. Those words twisted, grew hotter and hotter, quickly gaining steam—until they roared like a full-on wildfire.

It begins one afternoon after class, when Mu-yeol, one of the boys in her science form, makes a joke in the cafeteria, loud enough for those around them to hear.

"Hey, So-yi-ssi! Don’t you think Sang-woo-ssi is cute? Like, what if you two were dating or something?" He chuckles, nudging the two girls at his table, who laugh along.

So-yi glares at Mu-yeol, who grins as if he’d just dropped a nuclear bomb. Some kids were utterly ridiculous; she knew that quite well. She does her best to ignore the fool, focusing on finishing her guksu, but his words swirl in her head. Dating? With him? Impossible. Utterly impossible. She couldn’t even comprehend that scenario.

Yet, somehow, her mind would find a way to fill in the gaps of imagination. Sang-woo giving her flowers. Sang-woo kissing her on the cheek, the forehead, the lips , even. Sang-woo telling her he loved her.

The thought was enough to make her chuckle, cheeks flushing pink. The thoughts remained perfect —but only when she was the one in control of them.

But like a fire claiming brush as its own, the joke weaves its way through the grapevine. By the next day, So-yi hears it across the hall from a group of kids in her class, whispering: "Did you hear? Sang-woo and So-yi are, like, totally dating now."

Each time, she’d roll her eyes, steering clear from their words. Teenagers would say anything if it meant they got the attention they sought. The rumors would die out by tomorrow. They always did. People would find something else to yak about.

Right?

But when they only grew stronger, morphing into a plant of perdurable newsmonger, So-yi knew things weren’t looking up for her. She was trapped in this forest, continuously baked by the flames, her very own feelings being the catalyst.

Soon, So-yi couldn’t go anywhere without someone, something bugging her about what began as a harmless crush, making jokes about things she wasn’t ready to handle. It got to a point where she couldn’t even think about Sang-woo without being reminded of that god-awful rumor that haunted her at every classroom window.

Ssibal.

It didn’t happen all at once. There was no cheesy, dramatic confession, no forced hand-holding, no sharing umbrellas in the rain.

It got to the point where people started treating them like they were together, forcing them to conjoin like puzzle pieces. And even though their edges mismatched just enough to where they wouldn’t quite connect—their jigsaw bits just barely missing perfect completion—it was easier to pretend they were the right fits than to restart all over again.

So-yi goes with it: why shouldn’t she? Was this not what she wanted— a chance with the mysterious boy who sat by the window? Wasn’t this every girl’s dream?

And Sang-woo—he never said anything. Never corrected anyone, never pulled away. He merely kept existing, travailing hard on his worksheets, ignoring the rumors.

So things kept spiraling. One afternoon at lunch, Seul-won looks at her across the table and says, "You know everyone thinks you’re dating now, right?"

So-yi swallows hard. "I know."

"Are you okay with that?"

She doesn’t know.

But she smiles anyway.

"Sure."

And that was it. They were a couple. Not because either of them wanted to be; but because everyone else had already decided they were.

And who was she to complain?

The days that followed were like walking on balance beams with shut eyes. Whispered jokes in the hallways and glances that lasted too long. So-yi couldn’t recall when things stopped feeling like a rumor and started to feel like reality. But Sang-woo said nothing—didn’t push back, didn’t pull away. So-yi didn’t try to confront him. It was easier that way for both of them.

One night, pacing the floor of her bedroom, So-yi’s thoughts tangle, blurring the lines between fear and hope. Sang-woo was rather intimidating—with his blank gaze hidden behind glass and quiet demeanor—but she had faith that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as cold as he seemed. Perhaps, if she tries a little harder, and says the right things, she could make this whole couple thing less like a joke and more like something real.

All she had to do was be consummate.

What did couples do?

In all the movies she’d watched, couples were very affectionate. They’d hug, kiss, and melt into one another. But she’d barely even looked at Sang-woo, much less touched him. He didn’t seem like much of a kisser, anyway, not with his stiff shoulders and seemingly eternal frowny eyes.

Still, couples didn’t always have to kiss. Sometimes, it was smaller things. They’d share drinks from the same straws. They’d drive or walk home together, reminiscing over the day’s memories. They asked how the other was feeling, even if the answer was just "fine." They’d hold each other tight.

Couples would also go on dates. Cafés, carnivals… Anywhere they could pretend the outside world didn’t exist.

It dawns on her.

A date.

She and Sang-woo needed to go on a date.

Something soft, with low stakes, that wouldn’t entail a poor first impression. Something light , without overstepping boundaries early on. Something that felt a little like her, but not too much to where he’d think she was weird.

Something celestial.

Stargazing.

So-yi adores stargazing—she considered it her specialty. When the nights got cold and it was time for scarlet hoodies and striped bobble hats, So-yi would spend hours laying out in the chilled grass, tracking the constellations above. There was something so peaceful, so cathartic about the sky; its grandness gave her a sense of peace she couldn’t discover elsewhere. She could name the constellations on a whim; not because she needed to compete, but rather because they brought her sheer, unmatched joy.

It would always be her and the stars.

Maybe soon, it could be her, Sang-woo, and the stars.

The thought alone makes her stomach flutter.

So, she did what any reasonable teenage girl would do—planned.

So-yi picked the spot—down by the Han River, where the lights of the city blurred just enough to make the stars peek through, and pollution was a minimal concern. She packed a blanket, snacks (surely he liked mandu, right?), and a thermos of camellia tea. She even checked the weather four times, just to make sure there would be absolutely nothing in their way.

The trickiest part, however, was asking him. She’d practiced the question hundreds of times in her bathroom mirror, each with different inflections. Yet, when it came to asking, the demand hit her like a sandstorm, and her mouth went dry.

So-yi desires to blank that bit out. Erase it from her memory.

"Hey, um. I was wondering—do you like stars?"

Sang-woo blinks, turning to face So-yi with the most unreadable expression known to mankind. "Stars?"

She winces. "Uh, yeah! You know, the big… burning gas balls. In the sky. Not in movies. Real ones. Or not real, I mean—they’re real, but really far—"

"Yes," he interrupts (saving her from further self-destruction), "they’re fine."

So-yi nearly trips over her smile. "Cool. So… maybe we could go see them sometime? Together?"

A beat—long enough for her heart to hammer in her throat.

"…Okay."

And that was all it took.

Saturday night. A night she never thought would truly arrive. It didn’t feel real.

So-yi arrived fifteen minutes early—just to scope things out; and make sure everything was right.

The riverbank was quiet, gently lapping in the weaving distance, and the air was chilly, just chilly enough to bite. The sky, a little cloudier than expected, faded into a dim periwinkle, which she knew would later deepen from plum to indigo. Carefully, So-yi spreads the blanket onto the grass, patting it down just enough so it doesn't ruffle.

A car approached the curb a few minutes later, rolling to a slow stop. It wasn’t one she recognized.

And when the doors open, she freezes. Out steps a boy she’d never seen before. He wasn’t Cho Sang-woo.

He looks slightly older—taller, with a lean, loping figure that bled of tired charm, yet a bit of mischief. Quite handsome-looking. He had an easy face, one that crinkled with a smile at the edges, and fluffy, curtain-cut hair. He smelled faintly of motor oil and roasted vegetables as if he’d just been out at a market.

Without delay, he ran toward her, a smile wobbling at the edges of his mouth.

"Are you So-yi?"

She nods, cautious. This boy was far from scary, but he was still a stranger, and So-yi wasn’t quite sure what he was doing there.

The older boy clasps his hands and wiggles his fingers in a little wave. "Ah! The infamous So-yi. I’m Seong Gi-hun of Ssangmun-dong!" He leans in with a sly grin. "Longtime friend of Cho Sang-woo. Occasional bad influence, or something like that." He smirks wider. "I drive him everywhere he needs to go. When the genius gets into Yonsei or SNU, he’s gonna have no choice but to thank me."

So-yi winces. That wasn’t nerve-wracking whatsoever. Definitely not the kind of intro to make her question every life decision that had led her here. Nope. Totally fine. Her maybe-boyfriend was a future SNU student. Wonderful. Maybe this would be more difficult than originally thought. Why did she always have to get into messes like these?

"Yeah, we go wayyyy back," Gi-hun adds, stepping aside and gesturing grandly toward the idling car. "Ask him who first saw him cry during finals week. Spoiler: it wasn’t his mom."

Oh," So-yi says, unsure how to respond. "That’s... nice?"

"Careful with him, yeah? Hurt him, and I swear I’ll kill you. Not joking."

So-yi blinks, stuck somewhere between amusement and mild panic. "Uh… wow. Okay, noted. I’ll be super careful." She forced a smile, though her heart was doing a curious little flip. Was this all because of her? Was she the reason Gi-hun felt the need to sound like a mob boss?

The car door clicks open again. This time, Sang-woo steps out.

He looks the same as usual—except now, he wore a loose-fabriced polo and a jacket thinly layered over. His glasses remained the same, and truthfully he didn’t look all that different from when he did in his uniform. He was always eternally put together.

Gi-hun sticks a hand to Sang-woo’s shoulder before he can take more than two steps.

"Yah, don’t look so miserable. She’s not gonna bite." He glances back at So-yi with a wink. "Unless that’s, like, your thing."

Sang-woo frowns, brushing Gi-hun’s hand off with a sigh. "You’re not funny."

Gi-hun grins like he absolutely was. "Tell that to your mom. She loves me."

So-yi stands there awkwardly, her fingers fidgeting in her sleeves. She wasn’t sure what was going on. Was this awkward? There was a closeness, yes, but it felt weirdly intimate, like they were talking around something instead of through it. She had the fleeting thought that maybe, just maybe, she was intruding, like she’d walked into the middle of something private.

No, no. That was silly. This wasn’t about her.

But then why did Sang-woo still not say anything?

"Alright," Gi-hun says, waving his arms in a half-assed salute, "I’m off, then." He jogged backward toward the car with a crooked grin, calling out, "Try not to act like you’ve never touched a girl before!"

"Hyung," Sang-woo mutters, cheeks flushing.

Gi-hun only laughs louder before vanishing into the driver's seat. The car hums to life and pulls off into the night, leaving So-yi and Sang-woo alone in the soft quiet of the street.

She glances at him.

He glances back, dark eyes unreadable.

"So," she murmurs, her smile filled to the brim with hope, "ready to go?"

"Yeah," he replies, almost too quickly. "Let’s go."

The air seals itself with silence as they walk down the hill, sitting themselves down on the blankets she’d laid out. So-yi stretches her neck, before cracking open the thermos of tea.

"Would you like some?"

Sang-woo shakes his head. He hadn’t looked at her much since Gi-hun had left.

Ssibal.

Wait. No. That was fine. Everything was okay. He didn’t need to like tea. That wasn’t a deciding factor. So-yi capped the thermos and looked up instead, searching for familiar constellations.

The stars were out.

And Cho Sang-woo was here with her.

The sky had faded to a deep blue, freckled with dapples of constellation configurations—ones she’d studied for years and years on end. So-yi leans back with a sigh, trying not to feel the space between them.

"It’s so pretty out tonight. Y’know, usually, when Appa and I come out here, there’s so much light pollution." She turned to him, a faint smile on her face. "We sure picked a good night, didn’t we?"

Sang-woo nods, so faintly that she almost didn’t notice it.

She tries not to read into it. Maybe he was tired. Maybe he was nervous—she knew she was. Maybe this kind of thing just didn’t come easily to him.

Still. It’s as if he isn’t even there. And no offense—but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was talking to a brick wall.

But that was dramatic. She was being silly—her nerves were getting the best of her. Tricking her into thinking that things weren’t going fine.

So-yi smooths the ruffles of her sleeves, gently flattening the wool. "You, um… do this kind of thing a lot?"

Sang-woo doesn’t answer right away. For a second, she wonders if he hadn’t heard her. But then he says, "No."

Just that. One word. No lift in his voice, no smile, nothing teasing or playful.
So-yi laughs anyway, soft and short. "Yeah, me neither."

She looks up again, pretending the stars were giving her something to do. Pretending she wasn’t thinking about how small his voice had sounded. Or how his face looked kind of… sad. Not bored. Not even awkward. Just—heavy. Distant. Faded.

"Your friend’s funny," she tries again, half laughing. "Gi-hun, right?"

Sang-woo doesn’t respond immediately.

"He kind of reminds me of my cousin," So-yi continues, trying to fill the quiet. "Loud. But sweet. I think he embarrassed you on purpose, though."

A flicker of something indistinguishable passes through Sang-woo’s face. Not a smile. Not a glare, either.

"He does that," he mutters.

So-yi tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I didn’t mean anything by that, I just—sorry. You don’t have to answer or anything."

Sang-woo doesn’t say anything. Again.

Maybe she was being too much. Maybe she’d been too eager, or too chatty, or too So-yi.

She bites the inside of her cheek. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought him up. Maybe it was weird to talk about someone else while they were supposed to be spending time together. She pulls her coat tighter, her voice shrinking with her. "You don’t have to stay long if you’re busy. Or tired. I just thought—well, I thought it might be nice. You, uh, you know?"

Maybe she should’ve worn something different. Maybe the tea was a bad idea. Or maybe she shouldn’t have talked so much. Maybe he didn’t like girls who talked so much. Or maybe—

She shakes her head, trying to bat the thoughts away. This wasn’t about being perfect. He’d agreed to come. That meant something, didn’t it?

"I’m sorry," she says, without really meaning to. "If this is weird. Or if I’m weird. I just—I wanted to try. With you."

Sang-woo blinks. That startled him a little. His mouth opened like he was going to say something, but nothing came out.

She laughs nervously and pulls her coat tighter again. "I sound ridiculous. You probably think I’m just a dumb kid."

"No," he says, quickly. It came out too fast, too forceful. Then, quieter, "I don’t."

"Oh," she whispers. Her heart gives a little flutter. A pathetic, hopeful thing. "Okay."

They sit in silence for a while after that. The stars above kept doing what stars always did—gleaming indifferently, unimaginably far away.

Directly above them stood Orion, firm and tall, with the triplet stars. So-yi had heard the legend thousands of times—the three sisters who stood guard against a black dragon in the sky who had swallowed the sun. She admired them with great enthusiasm, wishing to one day fly high with them.

But right now, she feels powerless. Nothing like those brave warriors above.

She lets the silence sit there a little longer. Doesn’t try to fill it this time. Just watches Orion, tall and quiet and ancient above her. The three sisters stare back like they know everything and nothing at once.

"I used to think," she grumbles finally, "that if you looked at the stars long enough, they’d talk back to you. Like, a friend."

Sang-woo doesn’t reply, but he turns slightly toward her, barely. Just enough that she notices.

Hours passed. Nothing changed. They lay there together for a while, backs against the blanket, So-yi quietly mouthing the names of constellations. She wasn’t sure if he was listening, and she doesn’t bother to check.

When it’s time to say goodbye, So-yi feels nothing, apart from the metallic pang of shame. That date had gone nothing like planned. One could even call it a disaster.

Don’t spiral, So-yi, she wills herself, it’s the first date. Aren’t I his first girlfriend, too?

But this wasn’t what she assumed romance would be like. Romance was meant to be lighter. Butterfly inducing. Right?

The later dates didn’t get much better, either.

They went on a second one a week later, with cold noodles and quiet. They sat across from each other at a small metal table, the clatter of others in the diner filling the silence between them. The restaurant was noisy, but So-yi didn’t mind.

She asked him questions. What kind of music do you like? Do you listen to Deulgukhwa? Have you ever been to Busan? He answered politely, briefly, as if she was interviewing him for a job.

Date number three, was just a few weekends after, at a local cafe and bookstore. So-yi had picked it out: maybe he preferred somewhere secluded and silent. Maybe he liked books. All that studying had to inspire an interest, right?

So-yi got them warm drinks—hers a sweet dalgona latte, his a plain Americano. He didn’t finish it. They browsed quietly. She pointed out a few poetry collections she liked. He nodded. They sat near the window for a while, watching the wind pick up outside.

She went home that night hugging a bag of lemon scones she bought on a whim. She wasn’t sure if the ache in her chest meant disappointment or utter guilt. Maybe both?

By then, hope was fleeting. There was no point in this. But she just didn’t get it: how could a boy who made her heart jump like a colony of frogs in a pond, be so unreachable?

So-yi had tried everything. Gift giving? Check. Conversation starters, albeit a little awkward? Check. Pure, utter silence? Check.

Out of everything, the silence seemed to work best. She could scream his name into the sky, and he wouldn’t care. That was what hurt most.

It had to be her. She had to be the problem.

There was no other possible explanation. Why else would he be so disinterested, grimacing and nodding politely, as if he had no other option? Maybe she was boring. Maybe she wasn’t pretty enough. Maybe she talked too much, or not enough, or just always said the wrong damn things. Was it the stars? The tea on the first date? Or was she just too much for him in general?

She’d gone over every date like a detective with a magnifying glass, retracing every moment: the way she’d laughed too loud at dinner, the time she’d spilled tea on her sleeve. All of it echoing like evidence.

She didn’t want to give up on him. He was beautiful, with his dark hair and shiny glasses, and she was… Well, she was none other than Park So-yi.

Just So-yi.

She was nobody special, not to someone like Sang-woo. She was just a girl who loved the stars—and apparently, couldn’t be romantic to save her damn life.

The tears stung at the corners of her eyes like wasps, even as she tried to fight them back. Her throat burned with a rawness she hadn’t encountered before. How stupid was that? She was crying over a boy she’d known for weeks, and yet somehow, in the moment, he felt like everything to her.

Something had to be wrong with her.

And when the fourth date rolled around—an arcade trip, planned on the whim after class—So-yi was less than ecstatic. What was the point of any of this, if her hopes were to be crushed?

She had expected awkward silences, half-hearted laughter, another hour of pretending everything was fine.

Not Gi-hun. She hadn’t expected Gi-hun. He wasn’t supposed to come.

That’s what made it all the more surprising when he pulled up a chair at dinner, grinning, talking like they’d all been doing this forever. His mom was working late at the vegetable shop again, and Sang-woo didn’t even blink before saying, "Just eat with us."

She smiles, trying to hide the way her stomach felt like it was sinking into the ground. Ignored that part of her that still screamed. This was meant to be their night.

But it wasn’t. What had she ever done to deserve that? They barely acted like friends, much less boyfriend and girlfriend.

She tries to follow Gi-hun’s many stories. About his mother’s shop, about Sang-woo, and about a stray cat he’d fed on the streets of Ssangmun-dong. And with the way Gi-hun spoke of Ssangmun-dong, his beloved neighborhood, one could have assumed it was heaven. It almost made So-yi wish she lived there, instead of in her small Ui-dong home.

"Oh, man," he gushes, squeezing the cuff of Sang-woo’s shoulder, "So-yi-ssi, you ever try doing math with this guy? I swear he starts glowing when he solves stuff."

She had not.

Sang-woo didn’t even look embarrassed. Just gave a soft, exasperated scoff and took a sip of water. Gi-hun laughs like he’d won something.

"You’re exaggerating," Sang-woo mumbles.

"I’m not! You go all stiff and intense like you're unlocking the secrets of the universe or something. It’s beautiful—terrifying, but beautiful."

Beautiful?

She nearly chokes on her water. That was odd. She’d never heard someone call Sang-woo beautiful before—not even herself.

It was hidden and hard to see, but it was very there. The faintest of smiles. Not the polite kind he gave to teachers or the stiff, rehearsed one she’d seen on their last three dates. This one curled at the corners, subtle and real. A private thing, like he’d forgotten they weren’t alone.

She stares at her bowl, slowly stirring her noodles around. Once again, that feeling had struck her—the feeling that she was intruding on something intimate. Like awkwardly walking in on a couple making love.

Gi-hun kept going, animated and easy, arms waving in the air as he teased Sang-woo about the time he’d bleached Sang-woo’s hair. 

You should’ve seen it," he laughs, turning to her. "I, heh, missed a few spots. But it wasn’t that bad. Kind of like a cow!"

"Hyung," Sang-woo mutters, ears tinged pink. But he wasn’t annoyed, not really. There was something so fond in the way he looked at Gi-hun, even if it were faint. Familiar. Comfortable. Something like the way she acted with Seul-won, but much more subtly intimate.

So-yi stirs the last of her naengmyeon. The chopsticks clink against the edge of the bowl. Gi-hun had so much to say; it was as if he could talk and talk for hours on end and never run out of words. Stories spilled out of him like soda shook loose: about Daehan Technical, their neighborhood, his mother, Sang-woo’s habits. There was so much life in his voice, bright and buzzing, and Sang-woo just let him talk, listening with the kind of patience So-yi hadn’t known he had.

He’d never looked at her like this.

And when he did speak, only in short replies or small corrections, it was different. His voice was warmer. Like the words were easier around Gi-hun. Lighter. She hadn’t known Sang-woo could be light.

It was jarring. Unfamiliar, like seeing a classmate outside of school, and realizing they had a whole life you knew nothing about. He looked different like this.

And damn, was it a good look on him.

He looked so free. Not necessarily happy— she’d never seen him truly happy— but definitely the most liberated he’d ever looked. And he didn’t even realize just how good he looked, she could tell. It was so telling.

Gi-hun nudges Sang-woo’s arm again, saying something about getting more noodles. Though her mind was racing with thoughts, she could make out him saying something about Gi-hun always having an appetite.

Buzzing like bees, her thoughts raced.

So-yi noticed everything, especially the things others couldn’t catch. And while she didn’t know everything, she did know one thing.

One thing she’d noticed then and there. Sang-woo didn’t have eyes for her.

Plain as day. Even if he hadn’t realized it yet, he had eyes for Gi-hun—his proclaimed best friend.

And the strangest part?

Instead of the sting of heartbreak from earlier, all she felt was a quiet, growing thrill. Like a secret she’d just been let in on, hiding in plain sight from the rest of the public. A puzzle piece snapping into place.

It was nearly laughable how obvious it was. Here with Gi-hun, Sang-woo was a completely different person. Here with Gi-hun, Sang-woo smiled.

So-yi sets down her chopsticks, her mind buzzing with this new understanding. The hurt from earlier—while not completely gone—dissipated, making room for something sharper. More focused. Curiosity.

She glances between them—Gi-hun still animated, gesturing with his hands with life as he finished his janchi-guksu, still telling a tale of grand liveliness and excitement. So-yi was sure the story wasn’t that cool, but with the way Sang-woo listened, it might as well have been. He listened with a soft attention he’d never shown her.

The pieces were all there, scattered like stars across a clear sky, and now she could finally see the constellation they formed.

But she needed to be sure.

"You know," she says with a smile, "you should come with us tonight. We should all go. After dinner, I mean." So-yi looks directly at Sang-woo. "Wouldn’t that be more fun? All three of us?"

She says it lightly, casually—but she watches him carefully, like a hawk stalking prey.

Sang-woo hesitates. As he did.

But an hour later, they’re there—surrounded by neon lights and the mechanical chorus of beeping machines and thumping bass.

Gi-hun practically bounces as he takes it all in. "Man, I haven’t been to one of these in years. Look at that one!" he exclaimed, pointing to a racing game with lit-up steering wheels.

So-yi smiles. "You should play it."

He looks at her, surprised. "Me? Why? I thought this was your guys’ date."

Sang-woo opens his mouth like he wanted to say something—maybe to confirm, maybe to deny—but he keeps quiet. His gaze flickers toward So-yi, then back to the machines.

"No, really," So-yi insists, voice sweet. "You should both play! I’ll watch, I don’t mind."

Sang-woo hesitates, but finally nods, as Gi-hun drags him toward the game. So-yi steps back, hands tucked into her sleeves, eyes scanning every flicker of their expressions.

The game lit up with retro techno beats. Sang-woo’s hands were stiff on the wheel, knuckles nearly white, but he laughed quietly when Gi-hun teased him after a near-crash.

"So bad," Gi-hun grins. "You sure you’ve played this before?"

Sang-woo smirks, just a little. "I have better things to do than play games all day."

"Ouch. But fair. I guess it has been a while." Gi-hun bumps Sang-woo’s shoulder, and Sang-woo leans into it. He laughs, a real laugh that wasn’t for her, but for Gi-hun. The way Sang-woo looked at him made So-yi’s breath catch.

Sweet Jesus.

It was so obvious, at least, to anyone who had eyes. The ways they looked at each other, and bantered back and forth, practically yearning for one another the entire time, had her head spinning on its axis. How had no one except her noticed?

She knew she noticed the little things. But this didn’t seem like such a little thing at all.

By the time they’d made their way through the entire arcade, So-yi had already formulated a plan. A plan on how to get these two boys together. A real, ridiculous, borderline reckless plan.

It wasn’t failproof. Many things could have gone wrong. And it was very risky. But she wanted— needed to do this. She wasn’t going to choose to wallow in despair.

The walk back from the arcade was significantly quieter. The neon buzz still lingered in So-yi’s chest, a low current beneath her skin. Gi-hun walked a few steps ahead, still chatting about some high score he almost beat, but So-yi wasn’t listening. She watched Sang-woo instead, with his slight smile, and his hands—still tucked into his jacket like he didn’t know what to do with them.

She let the silence stretch a moment longer before speaking.

"Hey," she says softly. "Can I spend the night?"

Sang-woo blinks, startled. She wasn’t surprised. "What?"

"Just for tonight." So-yi shrugs, playing it casual. "I’ll sleep on the floor. Or steal your bed and make you suffer. Either way."

"No," he says immediately. "Eomma wouldn’t—she doesn’t—no."

Aish. "Didn’t you say your mom works at a market?" So-yi tilts her head. "I’ll be gone by morning. She won’t even know."

Before Sang-woo can respond, Gi-hun turns around with a lopsided grin. "Aw, come on. Let your girlfriend stay the night."

So-yi notices how Sang-woo winces. Yikes. Not the kind of reaction you want to see when someone calls you their girlfriend.

She kept her expression even, light. "Relax," she says, nudging his arm with hers. "He’s just teasing. But Sang-woo-ssi, seriously. I’ll be out early. I won’t be in the way. I promise."

…

"Fine," he grunts finally, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just— don’t make a mess."

Gi-hun gives a dramatic gasp at that. "That’s it? That’s all it took? Should I start crashing at your place too?"

Sang-woo rolls his eyes. "You already do. Every other night."

So-yi just laughs. How could she not? This was far too exciting now. Victory. Everything was going according to plan.

Now, phase one of her plan was complete.

And phase two?

Well, that was going to be a little bolder. Risky, even. She didn’t know exactly how tonight would end, but she knew if she had even the smallest chance to push things in the right direction, she would have to take it.

Not to mention, it served as a wonderful story to tell Seul-won.

They part ways with Gi-hun, heading back to Sang-woo’s residence—small, with narrow walls and the faint smell of dried anchovies lingering in the air from the market his mother presumably worked at. Sang-woo slips off his shoes by the door with practiced quiet, and So-yi follows suit, setting hers neatly beside his.

"Should we go to your room?" she asks, and he nods.

They file in one by one, like some awkward little procession, and Sang-woo leads them to his room—a small, square space with pale walls, a thin mattress pushed against the far wall, a miniature bookshelf, and a desk stacked with study guides and loose paper. The room was rather cramped, and So-yi wondered how he managed to sleep in such a small area.

"Okay. I'm going to brush my teeth," Sang-woo mumbles, grabbing a toothbrush from his desk drawer. "Don't... touch anything."

So-yi nods innocently, watching him disappear down the narrow hallway. The moment she heard the bathroom door click shut, she sprang into action.

She darts out of the bedroom, double-checking that Sang-woo had fully closed the bathroom door. Then, she was off, into the main room. The house was small and packed, but it wasn’t too difficult to navigate. The smell of raw fish still clung to the aprons hanging in the kitchen foyer, raised above the floor on a row of hooks like limp, ghostly flags.

Almost instantly, So-yi spots the old rotary phone sitting on the kitchen counter, a small notebook beside it filled with his mother's neat handwriting—supplier numbers, customer orders, and mixed in between, a few personal contacts.

Perfect. She creeps out quietly, lifting the receiver and flipping through the small address book by the phone, past his mother's business contacts—seafood suppliers, regular customers who called ahead for specific fish…

Choi Da-yun…

Park Mal-soon…

Kang Mi-ryeong….

Moon Seul-gi…

…

Until she finds what she was looking for.

Gi-hun-hyung.

There he was. No surname attached, no customer information, and the honorific, written so cleanly and carefully in what she assumed to be Sang-woo’s handwriting.

So-yi quickly dials the numbers, and waits, waits, waits. The phone rings twice before a familiar, low voice picks up.

"Yeoboseyo?"

She clears her throat, dropping her voice as low as she can manage. "Gi-hun—! it's… uh… it’s Sang-woo."

"...Sang-woo-ya?" he croaks, and So-yi could practically hear the confusion radiating off of him. Was her impression that bad? "Are—are you okay?"

"I’m—I’m fine! Just… Can you come over?"

Silence.

"…What?"

Was she selling this? Did he actually believe her? She didn’t know. But she did know that this needed to be done.

"Please? So-yi is gone. Come over."

"Sang-woo-ya, what are you—

He cut himself off, and there was a pause. A long one. So-yi's stomach flips. Maybe he didn't believe it after all. Maybe he was about to hang up. This was crazy, anyway.

Then—

"Okay," he slowly says. "I'll be there in ten."

And with that, the line goes dead. So-yi stares at the phone, blinking.

Oh my god.

He's actually coming.

Her hands shake as she sets it back on the receiver. She had no idea whether he'd bought it or if he was just deeply concerned and showing up out of sheer instinct, but that didn’t matter.

What mattered was that this was working.

She had to stop herself from jumping with excitement, practically crawling her way back to Sang-woo’s bedroom. As luck would have it, he was still in the bathroom, getting ready for sleep.

Or was he just ignoring her? It was hard to tell. At this point, she didn’t mind. He could ignore her all he wanted. It wouldn’t change anything anymore.

It felt so liberating, to finally have answers. Besides, she was doing a good thing, wasn’t she?

The door creaks open, and Sang-woo steps back into the room, hair damp from washing up, tugging at the sleeves of his sleep shirt. He blinks at So-yi, who looks up from where she sits cross-legged on the floor, suspiciously composed.

"Bathrooms free," he mutters. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

She smiles. "Did you have fun today?"

Sang-woo furrows his brow, clearly caught off guard by the question. "Yeah. Why?"

So-yi shrugs, fiddling with the hem of her shirt like it's the most casual conversation in the world. "Just wondering. You seemed happy."

Sang-woo says nothing. He crosses the room and sits stiffly on the edge of his bed, facing away from her, like the weight of the day is finally catching up.

"I liked seeing you like that," she adds quietly. "It was nice."

He doesn’t respond right away. Just keeps his gaze fixed on the wall, jaw tense. "You’re being weird."

So-yi hums. "I’m always weird. You’re also weird."

She catches him rolling his eyes. For a second, it’s silent again—tense, crackling.

"You don’t like me much, do you?"

Sang-woo’s back stiffens, just a little. Not enough for most people to notice, but So-yi noticed everything.

He doesn’t turn around. "That’s—" A pause. "That’s not true."

"Oh, you don’t have to lie. Our dates have been the most awkward experience in the world, and that’s just true! Even a blind person could see that. And blind people can’t really see."

Sang-woo huffs. "Well, technically some blind people can see color and dark—"

"You know that’s not what I meant, Sang-woo-ssi," she murmurs with a smile. "I just don’t think this is working."

Sang-woo exhales through his nose. Still not looking at her. His hands clench slightly in his lap. "You came to my house to break up with me?"

So-yi laughs, but it’s light. Kind. "How can I break up with someone I was never really dating? We both know it was all a matter of peer pressure, c’mon."

That finally makes him turn. Slowly. His eyes search hers, like he’s expecting mockery, but there’s none. Just that same serenity.

"You didn’t want this," she explains gently. "And I think I kind of knew that all along."

Sang-woo opens his mouth, but no words come out. His throat bobs with the effort, swallowing a lump of saliva.

So-yi pushes herself to her feet, brushing off her knees, still grinning. "But don’t worry! I’m not mad." She crosses to the door, casual, unbothered. "I’m actually kinda excited."

He cocks an eyebrow, squinting as if his brows were about to fly off. How amusing. "What are you talking about?"

So-yi turns, hands behind her back like she’s a kid hiding a slingshot. "Well," she says sweetly, "you seemed really, really lively earlier. With Gi-hun, I mean."

He stares at her. Eyes narrowing.

"And it made me realize," she goes on, "that maybe we’ve both been pretending this whole time. You to like me. Me to think I could make you like me. It’s silly, right? Pretending is silly."

"You’re wrong," he grumbles, still scowling just a bit.

"No, I don’t think I am. I’m actually pretty right."

Then, like it was nothing, she clasps her hands together, plastering a smile over her face.

"Anyway, I called Gi-hun. He’s on his way right now."

Sang-woo turns slowly. "You— what?"

She keeps her smile soft, but there’s mischief dancing behind her eyes. "While you were in the bathroom, getting ready for bed. I pretended to be you."

His face drains of color. "You what?! "

"I did the voice and everything," she proudly muses. "He totally bought it. Or maybe he didn’t. I think he just agreed to come over because he’s in love with you."

"You—" He bolts to his feet, hands clenched at his sides. "You lied to him?! Using my name?! "

"You’ll thank me in about," she pauses—checking the time— "five minutes. Maybe less. Hey, at least you can stop pretending you like me! Anyway," she says, turning the knob, "I’m gonna get yakgwa. Tell me what happens tomorrow, okay?"

She blows him a kiss on the way out, like she didn’t just blow up his entire emotional life.

At least she had a good story to tell Seul-won. At least she was free.

They could finally both be happy.