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His frame was small, curled up on a plastic chair near the monitor. Slightly shivering, yet he remained seated in silence. His favorite Bape hoodie was pulled tight around his neck. I was the last to shoot, and he'd said he'd wait for me. That was half an hour ago.
“Park Wonbin, you really didn’t have to stay here and wait for me this late. You could’ve just gone back to the dorm early and gotten some proper rest.”
He blinked slowly at the sound of his name. His eyes looked tired, but his smile was warm. That round head of his shook gently, and his reply came light, easy.
“It’s okay. If it’s for you, I don’t mind.”
I didn’t say anything back. Maybe I couldn’t. Maybe I didn’t trust myself to look at him for too long. So I turned my back and walked away to the set. I left him behind, my heart quietly coming undone.
In our next shoot, we were sent to complete a mission inside a haunted house. One team, one camera. A narrow hallway filled with deliberately eerie sounds. I knew he was scared — knew it completely. Even before stepping inside, his hand had already wrapped tightly around my arm. His steps were stiff, his body pressed close to mine the entire way through.
When we reached the farthest room, I gave him a way out.
“If you're scared, you can wait outside. The production team said it’s fine. I can handle the rest on my own. You don’t like haunted houses, right?”
I expected him to nod with that cute sparkle in his eyes and say something like, “Okay!”
Instead, he turned to me, eyes wide and sincere. His face flushed, but his lips still curved into that sweet lovely crescent. His voice was soft, but steady.
“As long as you’re here, even if I’m scared… I feel safe.”
As if safety wasn’t something he had to begin with. Or maybe, for Wonbin, safety didn’t come from places. It came from people. And maybe, just maybe, that person was me.
I was sick that day. I’d never been the one with the strongest immune system. My whole body ached, my temperature rose, and my head throbbed like it was being hammered from the inside. I skipped dance practice and stayed in bed all day, drifting in and out, unsure if it was the meds or just my own thoughts weighing me down. Then, hours later, a message bubble lit up in our group chat.
The only other member my age had sent it: “Eunseok, Wonbin's been kinda gloomy without you around.”
The honesty hit me hard. The word 'gloomy' echoed deep in my already aching head. Since when did my absence affect Park Wonbin like that?
Pride Month.
When I was a kid, I once asked my mom what Pride Month meant. Her answer was short. “Don’t ask about that. It’s not part of our culture.”
Now I’m older. And I know.
We landed in London near the end of June. Today was our only day off before flying back to Korea tomorrow morning. Our manager had told us this schedule four days ago, back when we were still in Seoul.
“Anton said there’s a Pride Parade today.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
Silence. Then his voice again.
“I want to see it—”
He paused for a second, then added,
“—with you.”
And now we’re here: me and Park Wonbin.
Just the two of us, walking together through a city dressed in color, carried along by the joyful noise of strangers cheering with abandon. Following the crowd from Hyde Park Corner, past Piccadilly Circus and Haymarket. Right in the middle of a parade that, supposedly, doesn’t belong to us. Isn’t part of our culture.
No badges, no rainbow banners. We dressed inconspicuously — hats, sunglasses, masks. No signs, no flags. No loud declarations. We didn’t know anyone here. All we had was each other and a hand we refused to let go of.
The crowd’s energy pulled us deeper into its rhythm, into the heart of the celebration that somehow made our own hearts feel a little lighter. Until we reached the steps of Trafalgar Square, where thousands paused and gathered. Amid the thunder of drums and the roar of cheers, I looked up for a second and caught a glimpse of Big Ben rising over the crowd — like a reminder that this wasn’t just a festival. This was a moment in history. For us.
I tightened my grip on his hand. Then, somehow, the courage found its way to his chest too.
“I love you.”
The words slipped from his lips in a hushed breath. I turned toward him. A soft kiss landed on my cheek without warning. Just a fleeting kiss, but enough to knock the wind out of me. How could someone so small have this kind of effect on me? A dimple formed on my face, even with the mask still on.
“Love?”
He corrected himself, gently.
“No, I mean, I’m in love with you.”
A quiet laugh escaped me, floated into the air — warm, but tinged with ache. “You know, when we're back home… people like us don't get to win, Wonbin.”
He didn’t say anything. Just held my hand tighter, then leaned in a little more. His lips found mine, pressing through the stupid layer of fabric between us.
Damn mask.
“As long as I’m with you,” he whispered, “I’ve already won.”
And I swear: once we get back to the hotel tonight, I’ll kiss him back for real. Longer. Freer. No mask. No distance. No fear. And for the first time, with my whole heart.