❥ || chapter twelve

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Sunghoon showed up at the office earlier than usual, his hair still tousled from sleep and a coffee in each hand.

"Truce," he said, holding one out.

I blinked at him. "What are we trucing?"

"No idea," he grinned. "Just figured it was time I bought you one instead of you always bringing the snacks."

I took the coffee, trying to hide the way my fingers trembled. It was just Sunghoon. Sunghoon, who always brought the warmth. Sunghoon, who remembered the little things. Sunghoon, who was supposed to die.

We fell into our usual rhythm, little jokes, subtle glances, shared eye rolls over office gossip. But something felt different. It had for days. Maybe it was the way his shoulder brushed mine when we both reached for the stapler, or how he always found a way to walk me out at the end of the day, lingering just a little too long.

There was an awareness now, a gentle hum between us, like the pause in a song before the chorus hits. A tension that wasn't unwelcome, just unfamiliar.

Then came the question.

"Hey, are you free this weekend?"

I looked up from my desk. He leaned casually against the partition, sipping his coffee like it was just another Thursday.

"Depends," I said slowly, suspicious. "Why?"

"Thought we could hang out. Just us. No work, no drama." He hesitated. "Like a friend date."

My heart did a somersault. I nodded too quickly. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

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Saturday arrived with too many nerves. I stood in front of my mirror, trying to pick something that said "just friends" and not "I've been in love with you since episode three." After three wardrobe changes, I gave up and wore something safe. Something comfortable, and familiar. Neutral, like beige armour.

Sunghoon met me at the bookstore near the river. Of course he did. He knew that was my favourite spot.

"I figured we could start here," he said, hands tucked into his pockets. "Then maybe lunch? A walk, if it's not too cold. Maybe some coffee after, depending on how sick you are of me by then."

We wandered through shelves, laughing at ridiculous titles and pointing out books we'd both loved. Sunghoon picked up a poetry collection and read me the first line without warning, his voice soft, the cadence unhurried.

It felt like something out of a dream.

There was a moment where I caught him staring. Not in a teasing, exaggerated way like he sometimes did, but really looking, like he was memorizing me. Like he wanted to hold on to this version of me for as long as he could.

He bought the poetry book without saying a word and tucked it under his arm like it was a secret he wanted to keep.

We stopped by a street vendor who sold handmade bookmarks, and Sunghoon insisted on picking one out for me. "This one," he said, holding up one with pressed wildflowers. "It's whimsical. Like you."

I rolled my eyes, but my face burned.

Over lunch, we sat at a quiet café tucked between flower stalls. He ordered something sweet and insisted I try it, holding the spoon up with a mischievous gleam.

"You're insufferable," I said, but leaned forward anyway.

It was warm. Intimate. Dangerous.

He wiped a crumb from the corner of my mouth, and my heart stuttered.

We lingered long after the food was gone, our hands grazing over the table, fingers tapping in rhythm like a quiet language only we understood. He made fun of my love for depressing novels, and I teased him about his secret obsession with baking competition shows.

Every time he laughed, I felt myself slipping further. I kept telling myself: Don't fall harder. Don't forget what happens. Don't make this harder than it has to be.

But how could I not?

He noticed the silence.

"You okay?"

I nodded. "Just thinking."

"Thinking about how charming I am?" he teased.

I smiled weakly. "Something like that."

He nudged his plate toward me. "You've barely touched anything."

"I'm nervous," I admitted.

"Why?"

I hesitated. "Because this feels like it matters. Like more than it should."

Sunghoon didn't laugh. He didn't tease. He just looked at me with this softness that made my chest ache. That made me forget, for a second, that we weren't in a world where we could make this last.

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We walked by the river afterward, the same path I'd taken with Heeseung. But this felt different. Sunghoon didn't fill the space with small talk. He let it breathe. Let me breathe.

"I used to walk here with my grandma," he said quietly. "She'd always make up stories about the couples we passed."

"Like what?"

"Like that guy in the green jacket? Secretly an author who's in love with his editor."

I laughed. "And what about us?"

He stopped walking. Looked at me.

"You and me? We'd be the slow burn, the kind of thing people root for without realizing they've been holding their breath."

I didn't know what to say to that.

We stood by the water's edge for a while, the world slowing down around us. The city sounds dimmed to a gentle hush. Our reflections shimmered on the surface like they belonged to people who had a chance. People who weren't bound by tragic endings.

As the sun dipped low, casting gold across the water, he turned to me.

"Eun," he said, and something in his voice made me stop.

"Yeah?"

"There's something I..."

He didn't finish. Instead, he leaned in. Slow. Gentle. Hesitant. Like he was giving me time to pull away.

I didn't.

The world faded. I could hear nothing but the soft rustling of the trees, the distant ripple of the river, and my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. His face was just inches from mine, close enough that I could see the flecks of amber in his eyes, the faint curve of his lips. His breath was warm, brushing my skin like the promise of something fragile and real.

My eyes fluttered shut.

I tilted forward.

His hand grazed my cheek.

Our noses brushed. I felt the warmth of him, the anticipation, the unbearable hope.

And then-

"Sunghoon!"

A voice from down the path. One of our coworkers. Of course.

We jerked apart. The spell broke.

Sunghoon stepped back, clearing his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess that's our cue," he said, trying for lightness but failing to hide the flicker of frustration in his eyes.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw a rock at the universe.

Instead, I smiled, the edges of it trembling. "Guess so."

We walked back slowly, the silence different this time. Full of unspoken things. Our hands brushed, and this time, neither of us pulled away. It was like we were testing the limits of how close we could be without losing the moment again.

When we reached the street, Sunghoon stopped.

"I meant it," he murmured, voice quieter than the evening air between us. "I was going to say that... this day meant more to me than I expected. That you mean more. More than I thought I was allowed to feel."

My breath caught, the ache in my chest twisting sharper. "Me too. More than I meant to."

He smiled. Shy, almost bashful, like he was afraid of what came next. His eyes lingered for a moment longer, filled with something soft and unfinished. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

And I stood there, heart full and breaking all at once.

Because I knew how his story ended.

And I wasn't ready to let it.

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