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The thing about college was that it made people feel lonely, even in a crowd.
You’d met Hyunjin in your freshman year English lit class. Both of you showed up late on the first day, both out of breath and flustered. You sat next to each other because there were two seats left in the back corner. He borrowed a pen. You shared your annotated copy of The Great Gatsby. And for whatever reason, that was enough.
From there, everything was easy.
You studied together in the library and got kicked out once for laughing too loud. You survived orientation and mutual group projects that made you both want to scream. You’d go to the convenience store at midnight when neither of you could sleep, arguing over what ramen brand was superior while trying to avoid eye contact with couples making out behind the energy drink fridge.
It was the kind of friendship that wrapped itself around your life without asking.
And for a while, that was enough.
By sophomore year, you were practically attached at the hip.
You were the one who helped him study when his brain short circuited during midterms. He was the one who always brought you boba during your long library sessions. You shared jokes, hoodie rotations, late-night snack runs, and one very complicated Schedule that neither of you could fully explain to others.
He wasn’t sure when it changed for him. When he started noticing the way you twirled your pen while concentrating, or how you scrunched your nose when something made you laugh too hard.
He didn’t realize it had happened until someone asked if you were dating.
“No,” he said immediately, but the word felt wrong.
That night, he couldn’t stop thinking about how natural it would’ve sounded if he’d said yes.
You, on the other hand, had been in trouble since the very beginning.
It was Hyunjin, after all.
Golden-boy Hyunjin, with his shoulder-length hair, ridiculous laugh, and ability to turn cafeteria ramen into a personality trait. He was soft where others were sharp. Loud where you were quiet. Open in ways that made you feel safe, not overwhelmed.
One summer night stood out to you more than others.
It was the end of your freshman year, and the campus was nearly empty. Finals had ended, roommates were moving out, and the air smelled like late spring. warm asphalt, grass, iced coffee, and last-minute regrets.
Hyunjin had asked if you wanted to walk.
You didn’t ask where.
He’d brought a blanket and one of those ridiculous mini Bluetooth speakers. You’d brought leftover fries from your fridge and a warm hoodie that didn’t belong to you but had long since become yours.
The two of you wandered to the edge of campus, past the student union and the library, eventually settling in a little field behind the art building, one of those hidden places students only knew about if they got lost or loved someone who painted.
You lay back on the blanket while Hyunjin scrolled through his endless playlist of songs.
“Do you ever think we’ll still be friends when this is all over?” he asked, casually, like he was wondering if it might rain.
You turned your head. “When what’s over?”
“College. Us living five minutes from each other. Midnight ramen. All of it.”
“I don’t know,” you admitted. “People grow apart.”
He was quiet for a beat. “Do you think we will?”
You paused. “I hope not.”
That seemed to satisfy him. At least, outwardly.
But you saw the way his eyes flicked toward you. The way his hand inched closer to yours on the blanket, fingers barely brushing but never quite holding.
You lay there for an hour, not speaking much. Just looking up at the stars, letting the music fill in the space between you. It was calm. Easy. Until you looked over and realized Hyunjin had fallen asleep, one arm slung over his stomach, lashes fluttering.
You didn’t know what made your chest ache more. The softness of that moment or the fact that you knew he’d never remember it the same way you would.
Still, you memorized everything.
Just in case.
You fell quickly. Quietly. In the way that hurt, just a little.
You’d learned to live with it. To tuck your feelings behind teasing, to laugh off the way he flirted like breathing. Because it was easier than facing the truth:
You were completely in love with your best friend. And he had no idea.
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When he showed up at your door one Thursday night, hair overgrown, box dye in hand, grinning like he’d just solved world peace, you weren’t surprised.
"Want to help me dye my hair pink?" he asked, swaying slightly on your doorstep.
You blinked at him, still in your pajamas. “You want me to do it?”
“Why not you?” he chirped, stepping inside without waiting for an answer. “You’ve got gentle hands. I trust you.”
You tried not to read into that. Tried to ignore how warm your chest got when he kicked off his sneakers like he belonged there.
“Why pink?” you asked, raising a brow.
He plopped onto your couch, hands dramatically splayed. “It’s a vibe. I want something soft. Romantic. Vulnerable.”
You stared at him. “…Did you just describe a hair color like it’s a personality trait?”
He grinned. “Would it work better if I told you I wanted to impress someone?”
Your breath caught.
“Oh?” you couldn't ignore how your heart dropped in disappointment, but you managed to play it cool. “Do I know her?”
Hyunjin shrugged. “Maybe.”
You looked down, pretending to busy yourself with opening the dye box. Your heart was pounding.
All of your worst fears had practically been confirmed - Hyunjin didn't like you.
He had his heart set on someone else.
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Later, he stood in the small bathroom, a towel around his shoulders, while you sat on the counter, mixing the hair dye.
"You're really serious about this pink thing, huh?" you asked.
"It's symbolic," he said, as if that explained anything.
"Of what?"
He shrugged. "New beginnings. Confessions. And I think it looks really badass."
You hesitated. "What are you confessing? Your love to that girl you're dying your hair for?"
He went quiet. Too quiet.
You glanced down at him, and his shoulders were tense.
"…Hyunjin?"
He tilted his head slightly, not meeting your eyes. “You ever like someone so much that it scares you?”
You froze.
He twisted a lock of his hair between his fingers. “Like, they’re your best friend, right? And you think, ‘If I tell them, everything might change.’ But then not telling them hurts just as much?”
Your throat went dry.
“…Yeah,” you said softly. “I know that feeling.”
You worked slowly, carefully parting his damp hair into sections. Your fingers moved on instinct, but your mind was spiraling.
Because Hyunjin was looking at you. Not in a casual, friendly way. Not like he was waiting for a punchline.
But like you were the only thing in the room.
“Y’know,” he said, “I always thought about what it’d be like to do something like this.”
You blinked. “Dye your hair?”
“No,” he murmured. “Be like this. With you. Close. Quiet.”
Your heart skipped. “Hyunjin-”
He turned then, finally looking up at you, and there was so much in his eyes. Hope. Fear. Longing.
“I like you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “And I think I’ve liked you for a long time. I just didn’t realize it until it was too late to stop.”
The room went silent except for your heart, slamming against your ribs like it was trying to answer for you.
Your hands, still gloved and pink-stained, hovered uselessly in the air.
“…That’s nice,” you whispered, breathless.
Hyunjin blinked. “That’s nice?!”
You winced. “I panicked, okay?! I didn’t think you’d say it like that!”
His lips twitched. “Yeah?” he said softly. “Why is that?”
You swallowed.
“Because I’ve been in love with you since first semester freshman year and I was so sure you didn’t feel the same and now my brain’s melting and you smell like strawberries and I’m pretty sure I’m going to cry, actually.”
His eyes softened instantly.
“I thought I was just some lovesick idiot waiting for you to actually mean your flirting,” you whispered. “But I guess I was wrong.”
Hyunjin’s smile broke like sunlight through clouds, split into a grin so wide it made you laugh through your embarrassment.
“I knew it,” he said, half-laughing. “You always looked at me like I was the sun.”
“You are the sun.”
He looked stunned, like he didn’t expect to hear it out loud.
You leaned down and kissed his cheek, light as a whisper.
He turned his face.
You kissed his lips, his towel falling in the process.
It was warm, dye-stained, slightly messy.
And it was perfect.
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Twenty minutes later, with his head over your bathroom sink and your hands rinsing the color out, he glanced up at you.
“So,” he said playfully, “are we dating now?”
You snorted. “Is that how this works?”
“Well,” he said, reaching back to flick water at you, “you did touch my scalp and my heart. Seems pretty serious.”
You flicked water back at him.
He beamed.
That night, with his hair rinsed and towel-dried, Hyunjin tugged you onto the couch and collapsed into your lap like he always did, only now, his arms were around your waist. His cheek pressed to your stomach.
You played with the damp ends of his pastel-pink hair.
“You like it?” he asked, sleepy.
“I love it,” you said honestly.
He opened one eye. “You mean me, or the hair?”
You smiled. “Both.”