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Yoo Sangah was well read, not that she particularly enjoyed reading. If she had to choose between going to karaoke or staying at home reading she would one hundred percent choose the former.
The former school president set down her boxes full of what she thought was important enough to bring; multiple stuffed plushies, a kindle that was a hand-me-down that her brother insisted she take, and a lighter. She doesn't smoke but if she were ever stuck in an apocalypse where it was everyone for themselves, she would probably survive longer with the butane filled cylinder on her person.
Her dorm was humble enough, one bed, a window and a desk. She had no roommate much to her dismay, it was hard enough convincing her parents to let her dorm and they absolutely refused on letting her share a room with another person, lest the other person be someone that has a little too much fun.
Another way her parents let her know that she was still under their control. A few towns away from them yet she could still feel their invasive claws sinking into her throat.
She unpacked, trying to make her dorm a bit easier on her eyes. A few posters of a boy group she did not particularly care for but was popular enough to use as a conversation starter, something she was well versed in and needed to make new friends. A pilates mat that would keep her fit and a modest kitchen set so she would be able to save on food instead of constantly eating takeout. She dusted her hands, marvelling at what she had managed to get done in a few hours.
But her unpacking was far from complete.
Her phone rang with impatience, buzzing in her pocket. She fished it out and checked the time; almost ten o’clock. The club fest was starting.
Shit, she hadn't even sorted out her clothes.
She rummaged through boxes, holding each crumpled shirt against the mirror trying to figure out which one suited the occasion. It was her first day on campus so something somewhat put together to leave favourable impressions on people that were to be her classmates. But something that wasn't too extravagant, something simple that didn’t promise too much.
A white shirt with its closure being small ribbons in the front caught her eye. It was clean and light, the perfect thing to go with a simple pair of jeans. She gleamed, hastily grabbing a few gold rings and a necklace to pair with.
Once she had changed, she looked in the mirror.
She was different from high school. Her blonde hair barely kissed her shoulders and swished with movement. Her lips tinted with a bright hue of pink and glitter dotted the inner corners of her eyes. For a second she wanted to remove it all from her face, replace it with lip balm and clear mascara. There was something embarrassing about trying something new, about wanting to be noticed - not as someone with a curt smile and a quick walk - but as someone outgoing, someone that loved to talk and had a loud obnoxious laugh.
She squeezed her lip, trying not to cry. She wondered about her high school classmates, how they would react to her now. Would they laugh? Telling her that someone as poised as her doesn't suit such bright colours? Would they point out how short hair made her look less refined, like a delinquent.
Yoo Sangah shook her head, she was eighteen and far from home, the perfect chance to reinvent herself. She smiled in the mirror, not the polite smile her mother said was expected from a lady, but a smile that was wide, showed off her teeth and dimples, the one that crinkled under her eyes and gave her wrinkles that would make the aunties faint. It scared her a bit, but she had no time to let that fear take over a second time.
With hurriedness, she grabbed a small bag that laid on the floor and hopped into her trainers and ran out the door.
***
It was hot, so fucking hot. And nothing exacerbated that more than sweating bodies pushing, shoving into each other and yelling with hot breath. Yoo Sangah couldn't take it anymore, she broke away from the crowd and weaved in between people that urged her to join their club. She gritted her teeth, trying to be as polite as possible while looking for shade to take refuge in.
She grabbed a free water bottle from the university's entrance stand, looking around aimlessly. She had been stopped frequently by male students, all saying how gorgeous she looked and if she had any social media. After the fourth rejection she had enough and just wanted to be back in her dorm.
She slid downwards, sighing loudly and cradling her head in her hands. She looked up towards the sky, praying that someone kind enough would come by with sunscreen and maybe an umbrella.
Then, she was shaded, protected from the sweltering sun. She lowered the hand that had been shielding her eyes and looked to the person holding the parasol. It was a man. She chided internally, knowing she would have to once again have to smile uncomfortably and turn down the person that held her refuge.
‘I don't have any social media nor am I free. It's the first day of uni and there's a lot of work to get done. I apologise for turning you down so rudely.
The man blinked at her, tilting his head to the side in confusion.
‘I didn't even say anything?’
Yoo Sangah raised her head again.
He looked pretty handsome; short bangs that swooped across his face, covering his eyebrows, a nose that was slender with a high nose bridge and lips that curved into an innocuous smile. He gazed down at her, the breath caught in Yoo Sangah .His eyes were by far his best feature; gentle but mischievous with long eyelashes that casted shadows across his well balanced face. His eyes flitted between an earthy brown colour or the grey of ancient marble. His eyes betrayed his nonchalant expression, he looked at her like she was the only thing worth beholding in this world.
His eyes widened in surprise before he looked away, ears red.
Now Yoo Sangah was confused. ‘Do I know you?’ she asked, befuddled at his reaction.
‘No, I don't think we've met before.’
He turned his head towards her, eyes avoiding contact. ‘But do you mind if I sit here with you? Every bench is already taken.’
Yoo Sangah nodded, shifting a bit to let him sit down. He lowered himself with a humph, holding the umbrella in between them.
‘You know it's funny, I was just thinking how nice it would be if someone had an umbrella.’
He smiled at her, ‘Plot armour.’
‘What?’
‘Oh uh, nothing.’
They stayed silent for a few minutes, Yoo Sangh fiddled around with her phone trying to look busy.
‘What's your name?’ the young man asked finally.
‘Yoo Sangah,’
‘Ah I recognise that name, were you the one that won the youth short story competition?’
She gave him an incredulous expression, how would he have known that? Were they from the same city?
‘Yes?’
His eyes twinkled with excitement.
‘Oh my god, I'm Kim Dokja and I'm your biggest fan!’
She tried not to cringe at that statement and instead put on her best polite practised smile. ‘Really?’ she said, trying to seem interested, ‘But that was from 4 years ago, I’m glad you liked my story.’
And she was surprised he remembered the author's name. From when they were fucking fourteen.
He leaned in closer, maybe a bit too close for comfort. He rambled on about how genius her prose was, how cleverly written her themes were and how self contained the story was. Yoo Sangah nodded and smiled, trying her best not to let her irritation show.
She hated reading, it was a lonely activity and she had been uncomfortable in her loneliness for too long. But in front of her was someone that loved the act of nitpicking every single word, analysing and probing to get answers that weren't there. He was a living remainder of the past she desperately tried to get away from. She hated reading and now she hated Kim Dokja.
But of course she couldn't let Kim Dokja know that.
She got up and dusted herself off, turning back to Kim Dokja hopefully for the last time.
I'm gonna go now! The crowds seem to be letting up.’
Kim Dokja made an o with his mouth before rummaging through his sling bag for something. He fished out a flyer and handed it to Yoo Sangah. Yoo Sangah took the flyer like it was hot coal, hoping it wouldn't be his social media or phone number or something stupid like that.
Instead it was an advert for a club called’ the authors requiem’. She wanted to ball the paper flyer and throw it in this stupid man's face. But of course she did not.
She gripped the paper and schooled her expression into something that would qualify as serene.
‘You’ll join our club won't you? Me and my friend are starting a club for authors to practise their writing and network! I think you'd fit right in.’
She smiled at him, carefully choosing the words to reject his ‘kind’ offer with.
***
She did not reject his offer.
The people pleaser in her could not say no. This along with the mental image of Kim Dokja’s sad eyes and pained smile. Well she just couldn't, that was the bottom line.
She flopped onto her bed and groaned, it was only in the safety of her room could she let her facade drop entirely. She was comfortable in her pajamas decorated with her favourite childhood mascot, childish but she could not care less.
She sat upright and looked out her little window. She could see the lights of Seoul finally start to light up, one by one like bursts of a fire cracker.
***
‘Good Morning Sangah-ssi’
She wanted to grunt in response, but decided it wasn't the impression she wanted to leave on this beautiful man with baby brown eyes, so she put on her sweetest smile while wringing his neck in her mind.
Awake at fucking 7am because of him
Kim Dokja had greeted her at the door of their modest club and walked her in. It was a small room with maybe 5 or so other people typing quietly on laptops and discussing diction with crumpled paper surrounding them.
Kim Dokja approached a bench at the far end of the room, looking over his shoulder to monitor Yoo Sangah’s response. He tried to be inconspicuous but it was blatant, but Yoo Sangah was excellent at ignoring and pretending to be pre-occupied.
‘Sooyoung - ah,’- Kim Dokja called out, a girl with a sharp black bob and a mole under dark eye bags turned in response. , ‘this is Sangah - ssi! The person I was telling you about.’
That was her moment, Sangah focused her eyes towards the woman called Sooyoung and gave her best smile. Her cheeks hurt at the amount of smiling she had to do.
Han Sooyoung was frankly a beautiful person. Lustrous hair that despite being messy added to her youthful charm, full lips stained with the mellow shine of coffee and intentionality in her movement that reminded Yoo Sangah of a cat. She wore a black hoodie and grey sweatpants and Yoo Sangah wasn't sure how long she had been wearing those same clothes. She was beautiful but she looked rough and tired. She clearly had not slept in days.
The author stumbled out of her chair, tripping over her long pants and falling, suspended in mid air. Yoo Sangah held out her hands in that split second and caught her before she collided with the floor. Han Sooyoung looked up at her, eyes wide with shock and sudden alertness.
She stared at Yoo Sangah for quite a while. Mouth agape.
‘Wow, uh, oh wow thank you.’
Han Sooyoung lingered a moment longer in her arms before getting up. Not taking her eyes off her.
‘Wow, Kim Dokja was right.’
Yoo Sangah titled her head. ‘Right about what.’
Han Sooyoung smirked, a tint of mischief overtook her surprise.
‘About how everyone around you would fall for you instantly.’
Yoo Sangah’s smile froze. Of course, of course that would be his motivation for approaching her. Nothing was ever genuine from anyone. And she was foolish to think Kim Dokja would have been any different.
‘Sooyoung-ssi, not what I said.’ Kim Dokja said with a tight smile and a twitching right eye.
‘Oh come on now, is humour dead?’
Han Sooyoung took both of Yoo Sangahs hands in hers and smiled brightly at her.
‘Welcome to our little authorial haven.’
Yoo Sangah tried to hide her grimace when she heard the word author but she still smiled nonetheless and accepted the invitation with grace.
***
Yoo Sangah had stayed true to her word and visited the author’s club every week. She came by with snacks and cheerful words of encouragement, proofreading and editing works of fiction while offering compliments she knew authors wanted to hear. She was a delight to be around and everyone adored her.
But she dreaded each visit.
Her steps were short and efficient, she never raised her voice higher than she needed to, she laughed politely from behind her hand. She had not done her makeup beyond a clean base, no glitter or sparkle or bright lip colour. She was the same boring class president.
She was still stuck in the past.
She stole a glance over to her right. Kim Dokja and Han Sooyoung were deep in conversation about something, her expression grew darker. She wondered briefly if her year would have gone differently if she did not bump into him out of happenstance. There was nothing tying them together but Yoo Sangah felt tied to him, burdened.
She wanted to go back to her junior year and rip that short story into little bits, particles so small that not even a phoenix could rise from it.
Kim Dokja looked over to her and beamed. Yoo Sangah looked away just as quickly, trying to engross herself in a manuscript that she was given. From her peripheral vision she could see a disappointed Kim Dokja still trying to catch her eye.
The day passed by, another day gone.
Yoo Sangah packed up her bags in a hurry, wanting to get out of there. But she was stopped, she looked behind her, her hand gently gripped her sleeve.
‘Wait Sangah-ssi, could I treat you to dinner before you leave?’
Her right eye twitched, she looked up at Kim Dokja, yanking her sleeve away as she did so.
‘What for?’
Kim Dokja bit his lip and looked at her with pitiful eyes, eyebrows quivering. Yoo Sangah’s heart skipped a beat. Those eyes were her true weakness.
She sighed before agreeing, waiting outside the clubroom for Kim Dokja to finish locking up the place.
A can of icebrew coffee thunked inside the vending machine. Kim Dokja reached inside, making sure the can was cold before handing it to Yoo Sangah.
‘Is this all you want?’
Yoo Sangah nodded as she slid a nail under the tab, a refreshing spritz sound accompanied the opening of the can, she took a swig and heaved out a satisfied breath. Kim Dokja sat next to her on the stairwell leading up to their classes. They were in the same computer programming course, much to Yoo Sangah’s dismay.
But why was she dismayed? She did not hate him, far from it she found Kim Dokja’s company reassuring hell she may have said she enjoyed it.
‘You need to stop grinding your teeth, the enamel will get damaged.’
She stopped, letting her jaw go slack. She didn’t realise she had been doing it.
‘Ah sorry, it’s a nervous habit,’ Yoo Sangah took another sip of coffee, wishing she had said she wanted soju instead of some shitty coffee.
‘Do I make you nervous then?’
There was a long pause between them. Yoo Sanagh fiddled with the aluminum tab on her coffee can instead of looking him in the eye. Her mind was racing with polite ways to word the answer to that question.
‘Wouldn’t any woman feel nervous being alone with a man.’
Kim Dokja softly tsked at this response. He shifted his body weight to a step lower, so he would be under Yoo Sangah, looking up at her with the eyes she loved so much.
‘That's not my question and you know it.’
Moonlight danced on his irises, his hair lightened in the soft glisten of the night and expression filled with sadness.
She took in a deep breath trying to suppress the momentary angry that rose in her before she burst, letting it all out.
‘Yes, you do. Are you fucking happy now?’
She clamped both hands over her mouth. The regret filled her the moment those words left her mouth.
But instead of looking surprised or aghast, Kim Dokja did something no one had ever done as a response to her.
He laughed.
‘Ah I thought you were nervous around me, not that you didn't like me,’ Kim Dokja flashed her a smile that could win hearts. ‘I apologise for that.’
‘Why are you laughing?’
Kim Dokja opened his own vending machine can and took a swig. It was too dark to make out the name of what he had been drinking. ‘Why should I not laugh?’
Yoo Sangah gripped the can tighter, her shadow cascading down the stairwell. ‘Aren't you angry?’
He took a long sip, tasting it properly before he replied.
‘No, I’m glad you told me something that had been on your mind for a while.’
She gave an outraged bark. ‘Hating you? I barely even know you?’
He shook his head.
‘A good protagonist always loves a good facade.’
Protagonist? She did her best not to let her discomfort show.
He put a can at her feet and looked up at her again. ‘You're not uncomfortable with me, otherwise you wouldn't have joined this club in the first place.’
Yoo Sangah wanted to kick him out of the way and sprint back home, she wanted to scream into a pillow. Why was she being interrogated now? By him of all people? She did everything right yet it still wasn't enough.
Kim Dokja snapped his fingers.
‘See that expression! That's exactly what I was talking about.’
Huh?
Yoo Sangah touched her face, confused. She had been taught how to hide her emotions and thoughts ever since she was a child. No one had ever noticed, not even her closest friends in high school. Yet he did? She wondered for a brief moment if he truly saw her as person, or if he was quantifying her in a way that would be easily understood to him, not taking into consideration that she was a real person that had lived a life of turmoil before they crossed paths.
‘How would you know anything about me?’
‘I don't,’ He smiled at her, ‘You’re right I don't know anything about you.’
He kneeled on that concrete stairwell and interlaced his fingers with hers. Yoo Sangah blushed, fighting the urge to push him.
‘But I would like to.’
He smiled at her again, brilliant and blinding. Genuine and sincere. He was everything she was not. And this realisation made her angry. Everything he had just said now were honeyed words meant to woo Yoo Sangah. Yoo Sangah wanted to desperately believe that he was no genuine, just a man who was incredible at acting.
He knew nothing about her.
‘You disgust me Kim Dokja.’
He look startled, eyes wide with bewilderment, like a puppy that had been reprimanded.
‘Confessing your love to a girl you barely know, claiming you've analysed her just because you've read a few books? A class act Mr reader.’
She finally crumpled the coffee can had been nursing, grabbed her bag and sprinted up the stairwell. Not looking behind her lest she get pulled into those expressive eyes that dimmed the entire world around it.
***
The next day was incredibly awkward.
Yoo Sangah slipped into the clubroom hoping she could just slide behind a laptop, pretend to edit a manuscript and talk to other club members about revisions, and leave before Kim Dokja even got the chance to open his mouth.
No such luck.
He straightened in his seat the moment she stepped through the door, eyes sparkling like he had been waiting the entire morning. Han Sooyoung raised a brow over her coffee cup, smirking like she had information that no one else did.
Yoo Sangah forced a greeting with a tight smile and set down her bag, pretending her heartbeat wasn’t resonating with an insistent pounding that deafened her ears. She avoided Kim Dokja’s gaze and bent her head over, busy with work.
But she could feel him looking.
Of course he was looking.
The club members slowly began to file out of the club room, wanting to get a headstart on the exam the next week. Yoo Sangah had promised too many people that she would proofread their manuscripts so she begrudgingly stayed behind with Han Sooyoung and Kim Dokja.
The peace lasted exactly thirteen minutes before Sooyoung loudly announced she was “going to get coffee” despite the well known fact that the author hated coffee. She looked over to Yoo Sangah and winked at Sangah, and left her alone with the problem incarnate.
Kim Dokja coughed. Once. Twice.
Then, too softly:
‘Can we talk?’
‘No,’ she said instantly.
‘Sangah-ssi—’
‘No.’
But he was already on his feet, scratching the back of his neck like he wanted to crawl out of it.
“Then… could you at least walk with me?” he asked, voice embarrassingly hopeful.
She should have refused.
She wanted to refuse.
But the room felt too small with him inside it, and she needed the cool air more than she needed the upper hand.
‘Fine,’ she muttered.
They walked.
Campus was quieter in the evening, students scattered thin like distant lanterns. Kim Dokja led them toward the small park behind the humanities building — somewhere quiet, somewhere dim, somewhere unfortunately romantic if you ignored the mosquitos.
It was the same moonlit mood as the night previous.
Yoo Sangah crossed her arms.
‘Say what you need to say so I can go home.’
Kim Dokja inhaled deeply, like he was preparing for a plunge. ‘I… thought a lot about what you said yesterday.’
She tensed.
Of course he would bring it up.
‘And I realized,” he continued, staring up at the lamppost like it might offer him better dialogue, ‘I probably came across as… presumptuous.’
‘Probably?’
‘Very presumptuous,” he corrected immediately. “Extremely..’
She nodded. ‘Good. Self-awareness suits you.’ She tried to go for a light tone but it sounded accusing when the words tumbled out of her mouth. Maybe that's a good thing, to be less of a pleaser.
He winced but pressed on. ‘The thing is… you really do make me nervous. Not the scary kind. More like…’ He waved his hands helplessly. “My brain stops working and I kind of embarrass myself, kind.”
Yoo Sangah narrowed her eyes. This was starting to sound like a confession again.
‘If that's all you're going to say, then I'm leaving.’
‘Wait please.’
Kim Dokja shifted a tiny step closer — enough for the lamplight to catch in his irises again, warm and bright. A stark contrast to the lighting from yesterday. He seemed younger in the faux sunlight, bright enough to wade away the dark night, in competition with the moon itself.
‘You called me disgusting yesterday.’
Her ears burned. “I didn’t mean,”
‘I know.’ His smile was small yet honest. ‘That’s why I’m trying again properly. Without analysing you. Without predicting you. Without… treating you like a character in one of my books.’
She looked away. Her chest tightened, uncomfortable and terrified.
Kim Dokja took the hint and shifted back, giving her space.
“I know you dislike me and I’m not sure why."
She froze.
Sangah swallowed.
‘It's not you,’ she said slowly, unsure to why she was even telling him this. ‘It's just, when you approached me at first, with something I was so desperate to leave behind. It scared me. It felt like something I hated so much would follow me around forever.’
Kim Dokja blinked. ‘You mean the short story?’
Yoo Sangah hesitated before nodding slowly. She kept her gaze on her hands, fingers digging anxiously into the bench. The wood felt solid, grounding, something her breath couldn’t quite manage to be.
Kim Dokja was magnetic, she felt an inexplicable pull to him. He was comforting in the way predictability was. She couldn't help but bare his soul to someone so curious.
'It was a very long time ago,' she murmured, almost too soft to hear. 'Back when I still thought… I still believed I could do things for myself. Before my school work became everything. Before I learned that people only wanted me for the things I did well and represented, not for who I was.'
Kim Dokja didn’t speak, so she continued, the words uncoiling in a slow, trembling spill.
'I wrote it when I had nothing else and when I wanted to prove something to my parents. When I was exhausted and trying to prove I wasn’t useless, that I could be capable of winning something. It was the only thing that felt like mine. And when you brought it up so casually, I thought…'
She exhaled, a small, humourless laugh escaping her.
'I thought you were just another person who saw me as a project or just as my past. Or someone easy to read because I never truly speak my mind.' Her voice wavered. 'I didn’t want anyone else to see that part of me. The insecure one. The girl who tried too hard and still felt like she was never enough.'
She finally turned to him then. Her eyes were glossy with tears, but steady.
'So it wasn’t you,' she said. 'It was me being afraid that someone would look too closely and realise how much of me is an act.'
Kim Dokja’s expression softened, faint surprise flickering in his eyes, as if he had never imagined she carried anything heavy at all.
He opened his mouth, hesitated, then asked quietly, 'And now?'
Yoo Sangah let out a slow breath, her fingers finally relaxing against the wood.
'Now… I’m still afraid,' she admitted. 'But I don’t dislike you. I never did. I just didn’t know how to let someone see me without panicking.'
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
'But you’re still here. And that scares me too… just in a different way.'
Kim Dokja let the silence settle, not intruding on it. There was something careful in the way he looked at her now, as though he were afraid any wrong movement might make her retreat again.
'Ah,' he said finally.
Yoo Sangah let out a soft laugh. She knew what she had just said had been too much for him.She clasped her hands together in her lap. Her fingers trembled faintly, but she didn’t hide them.
'I spent years being the dependable one,' she continued, voice low. 'The one who stayed late at school with the teacher, who covered shifts, who never complained. I thought if I worked hard enough, if I never showed weakness, I would finally become someone worth keeping around.'
Her lips tightened. Scared of what else she would be compelled to say.
Kim Dokja shifted slightly, his brows knitting. Unsure of what do in the circumstances as vulnerable as this.
She exhaled a shaky breath. ‘Honestly I was jealous of how much you seemed to love reading, it was never anything but a performative hobby for me.’
A faint breeze passed between them, tugging at a strand of her hair. She brushed it back, fingers brushing her cheek in a subtle, self-soothing gesture trying not to be obvious in her shaking.
'When you mentioned the story,' she continued after a while, 'it reminded me of that girl who used to hope for things, I wanted to be recognised as someone worthy of achievement, but it just gave people more fuel to think I was this perfect doll, that I never had to try hard for anything and that it was all natural'
Kim Dokja’s gaze softened further. 'But I did not know that you wrote that short story when I approached you that day'
She blinked.
He continued, quieter. 'And I wasn’t trying to drag your past into the light. I just wanted to know you.'
For a moment she looked startled, almost caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. She looked down quickly, hiding the warmth rising in her eyes.
'I don’t know how to let people understand me,' she confessed. 'I’m still learning. And I’m sorry I treated you as if you’d done something wrong.'
Kim Dokja shook his head. 'No you had every right to be cautious.'
He slumped back into the bench, looking up at the night sky.
‘Honestly the only reason I knew about your short story was because my mother loved it.’
Yoo Sangah raised her head to look at him, any tears threatening to spill out were the least of her concerns.
‘Your mother?’
Kim Dokja continued with a light voice. ‘My mom is an author too and I thought, since you wrote as well it would be a nice thing we could bond over.’
‘But why did you approach me in the first place?’
Kim Dokja hesitated , just long enough for her stomach to twist, before he answered.
'Because you looked lonely.'
Her breath caught.
He didn’t rush to fill the silence. He just kept staring up at the night sky, like the confession didn’t cost him anything. But she could hear it, the quiet vulnerability beneath his voice, the same kind she carried but hid more carefully.
'That day, during the club fest,' he said, 'you sat alone looking around at people, like you didn't belong.'
He huffed a soft laugh. 'And it confused me because someone as bright as you were, someone that looked as kind as you, there was no way such a person would have no one around your orbit.'
Sangah stared at him, the words landing heavier than she expected.
'I thought,' he continued, 'maybe you needed someone to sit with you. Not because of pity or anything but I knew you seemed like a person who deserved not to be alone.'
Her throat tightened painfully. 'You don’t even know me,' she whispered.
'I wanted to,' he replied simply. 'That was enough.'
She looked away, blinking hard. No one had ever said something so earnest to her without wanting anything in return — not approval, not performance, not the polished version of her she tried so hard to maintain.
Just her.
Kim Dokja finally turned his head, meeting her eyes with a small, almost sheepish smile.
'I know I’m awkward. I know I say things weirdly sometimes. But I meant it when I said I wanted to get to know you properly.'
He paused.
'And honestly you owe me an apology for calling me disgusting.'
Despite herself, something like a laugh escaped her — small, shaky, but real.
She exhaled. 'You’re impossible.'
He brightened instantly, hope flickering across his shadowed face. 'Is that bad?'
'Annoying,' she said, though her voice was softer now. 'But… maybe not bad.'
His smile grew.
She turned her gaze back to the campus lights flickering through the trees, her chest loosening for the first time that night.
'So…' she said quietly. 'If you approached me because I looked lonely… why did you stay?'
Kim Dokja didn’t hesitate this time.
'Because you weren’t afraid to tell me no.'
He sat forward again, hands clasped between his knees.
'Everyone else treats me like I’m hard to talk to, or too strange, or too much. But you,' He swallowed.'You pushed me and only me away, but you never pretended. You never lied to be polite. You were honest. Even when it hurts.'
She felt heat rise in her chest — messy, inconvenient warmth she didn’t know how to handle.
'Honest doesn’t mean kind,' she murmured, something her mother would always warn her about.
'No,' he agreed gently. 'But it means real. And I… really liked that about you.'
Her heart stuttered.
The night around them felt very still.
Very close.
She got up from the bench and held out a hand to the reader who still remained seated. He looked up at her with warm light dancing on his pupils, moonlight softening everything around them into a hazy glow, like something out of a dream. Yoo Sangah’s heart thudded incessantly in her ribcage, warm and comforting.
‘Walk you back?’
Kim Dokja stared at her with wide eyes before stifling a small laugh.
‘I should be saying that to you.’