The crisp mountain air was filled with the rustling of leaves and the faint chirping of birds. Ji Hoo and Jan Di stood at the edge of the clearing, surrounded by tall trees and the soft murmur of a nearby stream. The perfect spot for their next project had revealed itself—a bamboo hut that would serve as a peaceful retreat amidst nature.
"This is going to be harder than it looks," Jan Di muttered, eyeing the scattered bamboo poles they had carried up the trail earlier. She brushed a strand of hair from her face, already smudged with dirt.
Ji Hoo chuckled softly, leaning casually against a tree. "We'll figure it out. You've survived worse, haven't you?"
Jan Di shot him a mock glare but couldn't help the smile tugging at her lips. "Surviving F4 is different from surviving manual labor."
Ji Hoo smirked and crouched next to the materials. "Let's start with the base. We need a sturdy foundation if this is going to last through the mountain winds."
Hours passed as the two worked together, their laughter and banter filling the quiet of the forest. Ji Hoo measured and cut the bamboo poles with precision, his calm demeanor making every movement seem effortless. Meanwhile, Jan Di tied the joints together with thick rope, her determination shining through as she wrestled with the stubborn knots.
"Do you always have to be so perfect at everything?" Jan Di teased, watching Ji Hoo secure a vertical pole in place without breaking a sweat.
Ji Hoo tilted his head, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. "Not perfect, just patient. You should try it."
Jan Di stuck her tongue out at him but quickly regretted it when the next knot refused to budge. "Fine. Teach me your ways, oh master of patience."
Ji Hoo crouched beside her, his hands gently guiding hers as they worked the rope together. "Like this," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. For a moment, Jan Di forgot about the knot entirely, her heart skipping a beat.
By midday, the frame of the hut stood tall and sturdy. The sun filtered through the trees as they began weaving the palm leaves for the thatched roof. Jan Di sat cross-legged on the ground, her fingers fumbling with the leaves. Ji Hoo sat nearby, his hands moving deftly as he demonstrated the technique.
"Why do I feel like you've done this before?" Jan Di asked, squinting at him suspiciously.
Ji Hoo glanced at her, his expression serene. "My grandfather used to take me camping in the mountains. He taught me how to build shelters like this."
Jan Di smiled, imagining a younger Ji Hoo learning these skills with the same quiet focus he had now. "I didn't know you liked the mountains so much."
"They remind me of peace," he replied simply. "And of freedom."
For a moment, the two of them worked in silence, the only sounds the rustling of leaves and the occasional breeze. It was a comfortable silence, the kind that spoke of unspoken understanding between them.
By the time the sun began to dip toward the horizon, the bamboo hut was complete. The thatched roof gleamed golden in the fading light, and the soft cushions Jan Di had brought from her bag made the seating area inviting and warm. Curtains, made from lightweight fabric, fluttered gently in the mountain breeze.
Standing back to admire their work, Jan Di placed her hands on her hips. "We actually did it," she said, pride evident in her voice.
Ji Hoo nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's not bad."
"Not bad?" Jan Di turned to him, feigning offense. "This is amazing! We make a pretty good team."
Ji Hoo's smile widened as he leaned against one of the bamboo posts. "We do."
As the first stars began to appear in the sky, Ji Hoo and Jan Di settled into the hut, sipping warm tea from a thermos Jan Di had brought along. The mountain air grew cooler, but the warmth of their accomplishment—and their quiet companionship—kept them comfortable.
"This is perfect," Jan Di said softly, gazing out at the mountains bathed in twilight.
Ji Hoo glanced at her, his expression thoughtful. "It is."
And for that moment, surrounded by nature and the fruits of their labor, it felt like nothing else in the world mattered.
The crisp mountain air was filled with the rustling of leaves and the faint chirping of birds. Ji Hoo and Jan Di stood at the edge of the clearing, surrounded by tall trees and the soft murmur of a nearby stream. The perfect spot for their next project had revealed itself—a bamboo hut that would serve as a peaceful retreat amidst nature.
"This is going to be harder than it looks," Jan Di muttered, eyeing the scattered bamboo poles they had carried up the trail earlier. She brushed a strand of hair from her face, already smudged with dirt.
Ji Hoo chuckled softly, leaning casually against a tree. "We'll figure it out. You've survived worse, haven't you?"
Jan Di shot him a mock glare but couldn't help the smile tugging at her lips. "Surviving F4 is different from surviving manual labor."
Ji Hoo smirked and crouched next to the materials. "Let's start with the base. We need a sturdy foundation if this is going to last through the mountain winds."
Hours passed as the two worked together, their laughter and banter filling the quiet of the forest. Ji Hoo measured and cut the bamboo poles with precision, his calm demeanor making every movement seem effortless. Meanwhile, Jan Di tied the joints together with thick rope, her determination shining through as she wrestled with the stubborn knots.
"Do you always have to be so perfect at everything?" Jan Di teased, watching Ji Hoo secure a vertical pole in place without breaking a sweat.
Ji Hoo tilted his head, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. "Not perfect, just patient. You should try it."
Jan Di stuck her tongue out at him but quickly regretted it when the next knot refused to budge. "Fine. Teach me your ways, oh master of patience."
Ji Hoo crouched beside her, his hands gently guiding hers as they worked the rope together. "Like this," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. For a moment, Jan Di forgot about the knot entirely, her heart skipping a beat.
By midday, the frame of the hut stood tall and sturdy. The sun filtered through the trees as they began weaving the palm leaves for the thatched roof. Jan Di sat cross-legged on the ground, her fingers fumbling with the leaves. Ji Hoo sat nearby, his hands moving deftly as he demonstrated the technique.
"Why do I feel like you've done this before?" Jan Di asked, squinting at him suspiciously.
Ji Hoo glanced at her, his expression serene. "My grandfather used to take me camping in the mountains. He taught me how to build shelters like this."
Jan Di smiled, imagining a younger Ji Hoo learning these skills with the same quiet focus he had now. "I didn't know you liked the mountains so much."
"They remind me of peace," he replied simply. "And of freedom."
For a moment, the two of them worked in silence, the only sounds the rustling of leaves and the occasional breeze. It was a comfortable silence, the kind that spoke of unspoken understanding between them.
By the time the sun began to dip toward the horizon, the bamboo hut was complete. The thatched roof gleamed golden in the fading light, and the soft cushions Jan Di had brought from her bag made the seating area inviting and warm. Curtains, made from lightweight fabric, fluttered gently in the mountain breeze.
Standing back to admire their work, Jan Di placed her hands on her hips. "We actually did it," she said, pride evident in her voice.
Ji Hoo nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's not bad."
"Not bad?" Jan Di turned to him, feigning offense. "This is amazing! We make a pretty good team."
Ji Hoo's smile widened as he leaned against one of the bamboo posts. "We do."
As the first stars began to appear in the sky, Ji Hoo and Jan Di settled into the hut, sipping warm tea from a thermos Jan Di had brought along. The mountain air grew cooler, but the warmth of their accomplishment—and their quiet companionship—kept them comfortable.
"This is perfect," Jan Di said softly, gazing out at the mountains bathed in twilight.
Ji Hoo glanced at her, his expression thoughtful. "It is."
"I hope when we come back, Yi Jung and Ga Eul will appreciate it," Jan Di remarked, a hint of hopefulness in her voice as she looked out at the sprawling landscape before them.
Ji Hoo, noticing the fading light in the sky, chimed in with a thoughtful suggestion. "What if we spend the night here? It could be an adventure."
"Are you serious?" Jan Di replied, her brow furrowing in concern. "We didn't bring anything with us—no tent, no sleeping bags, and certainly no food. We've only been surviving on the water from the stream since morning." She glanced nervously at the towering trees surrounding them, their shadows lengthening as dusk approached.
"You're right, of course," Ji Hoo admitted, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "But we should really start heading down the mountain before it gets darker. I don't want to risk getting lost in the woods."
Jan Di nodded, the urgency of the situation settling in. "we shall use the hut for dining."
Ji Hoo's face brightened at her suggestion. "I remember spotting a lake nearby too. Maybe we could catch some fish for dinner and even go for a swim if we have time."
Encouraged, Jan Di began jotting ideas down, adding "fishing" and "swimming" to their growing list of plans. They excitedly continued brainstorming until, without warning, Jan Di's foot connected with something unexpected. She paused, glancing down to find something white, soft, and fluffy lying on the ground. Her heart raced as she wondered what it could be, momentarily distracting them both from their previous conversation.
Jan Di's curiosity got the better of her, and she leaned forward to peer over Ji Hoo's shoulder. Her wide eyes reflected both worry and intrigue as she whispered hesitantly, "Is it... an animal?" Her voice trembled slightly, uncertain of what lay before them.
Ji Hoo carefully brushed away the surrounding leaves, revealing the object in its entirety. His brow furrowed as he examined it, the tension in his expression softening as he picked it up gently. "It's... a wounded cub," he said, his voice calm yet tinged with concern. The soft, white fur of the small creature was marred by a faint stain of blood near its tiny, trembling body. It whimpered weakly, its fragile form barely able to move.
"Oh no… Sunbae…" Jan Di gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as she took a step closer. Without hesitation, she extended her arms toward Ji Hoo, her heart aching for the helpless animal. He handed it over carefully, and she cradled the cub against her chest, her touch as delicate as a mother's. The tiny creature groaned softly, its eyes fluttering open for a brief moment before closing again.
"We should take it to the vet," she urged, her voice firm despite the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.
Ji Hoo shook his head gently, his gaze fixed on the cub's wounds. "I don't think it will make it…" he began, his words heavy with the weight of reality. But before he could finish, Jan Di's hand shot up to cover his mouth.
"Please don't say that," she pleaded, her voice quivering with emotion. Her eyes locked with his, a silent determination radiating from her as she held the cub closer, shielding it with her warmth. "Let's give it first aid first. We can't give up on it."
Ji Hoo's breath caught as he watched her, something stirring deep within him. He'd seen this side of her before—the compassionate, unwavering care that seemed to flow effortlessly from her. But this moment felt different, more profound. As Jan Di's gentle hands worked to comfort the fragile life she held, Ji Hoo realized, yet again, why he had fallen in love with her.
It wasn't just her eyes, though they were undeniably beautiful. It was the light that shone through them, the kindness and strength they carried. Her beauty came from the soul that reflected in those eyes—the same soul that had captivated him from the very beginning. She didn't just see the world; she felt it, lived it, and loved it with a passion that was impossible to ignore.
For two years, Ji Hoo had silently treasured these moments, the times when her actions spoke louder than any words. Jan Di had become his favorite story, her every thought and emotion an unfolding chapter. He didn't need novels or poetry because she was a masterpiece in her own right. She was the book he would never tire of reading—the one he would hold closest to his heart forever.
Jan Di's soft voice broke his thoughts. "Sunbae, do you have any bandages or anything in your bag? We have to stop the bleeding."
Ji Hoo blinked, snapping back to reality. "I think I might have something," he replied, his tone softer now, as though her determination had reignited his own. He crouched beside her, rummaging through his bag until he found a small first-aid kit. Together, they worked in silence, the fading light casting a warm glow over their quiet resolve.
As they tended to the cub, the forest seemed to grow still, as though it too was holding its breath. And for the first time in a long while, Ji Hoo felt a sense of peace—a feeling that perhaps, in the presence of someone like Jan Di, even the smallest and most fragile lives had a chance to heal.
The drive back to the city was steeped in a heavy, almost suffocating silence, broken only by the rhythmic hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of leaves brushing against the car as they passed under the canopy of towering trees. Ji Hoo gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles whitening as his gaze alternated between the winding road ahead and Jan Di, who sat beside him, cradling the fragile cub in her lap.
The tiny creature seemed so small and vulnerable against the fabric of her jacket, its soft, white fur matted with dried blood despite their earlier attempts to clean its wounds. It whimpered faintly, a sound so pitiful it seemed to echo in Ji Hoo's chest, tightening the knot of unease already forming there. His jaw clenched involuntarily, the weight of responsibility bearing down on him like the darkening sky overhead.
Jan Di, for her part, had barely spoken since they had gotten into the car. Her brow was furrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line as she gently stroked the cub's head, murmuring soothing words that Ji Hoo could barely make out over the engine's hum. Yet, her voice, soft and tender, carried with it a deep sense of urgency—a quiet plea for the little one to hold on just a bit longer.
"Don't worry, Jan Di-ah," Ji Hoo said, breaking the silence. His tone was calm, but the tension in his voice betrayed his inner turmoil. "We'll get to the vet soon. They'll know what to do. The cub will be fine."
She turned to him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, a mixture of gratitude and determination shining through the worry that clouded them. "Thank you, Sunbae," she whispered, her voice fragile but steady. Her hands cradled the cub with such care, as though her touch alone could keep it tethered to life. She glanced back down at the little creature and added, more to herself than to Ji Hoo, "We've come this far. We can't let anything happen to it."
Ji Hoo's throat tightened at her words. He had seen Jan Di in many lights before—spirited, determined, defiant, and even vulnerable—but this moment, watching her pour every ounce of her compassion into protecting this fragile life, stirred something deep within him. She had a strength that went beyond physical resilience; it was a strength of heart, one that shone through in moments like this. And it was that strength that both inspired and humbled him.
The road ahead twisted and turned, the city still a distant glow on the horizon. Each mile felt agonizingly slow, the minutes stretching endlessly as they carried the weight of the cub's fragile life between them. Ji Hoo's hands tightened on the steering wheel again as he silently willed the car to go faster, to outrun the uncertainty that loomed over them.
The cub let out another faint whimper, its tiny body trembling in Jan Di's hands. She immediately leaned closer, whispering words of comfort. "You're strong, little one," she said softly, her voice trembling with emotion. "Just hold on a little longer. We'll take care of you."
Ji Hoo glanced over at her, and for a moment, the ache in his chest wasn't just for the cub. It was for Jan Di too—for the way she wore her heart so openly, for the way she carried burdens that weren't hers simply because she couldn't bear to turn away. She was always reaching out, always giving, even when it hurt her. And in that moment, he realized just how deeply he admired her for it.
The lights of the city began to come into view, faint but unmistakable. Relief surged through Ji Hoo, though it was tempered by the reality that their work was far from over. "We're almost there," he said, his voice steady but low. "Hang on, both of you."
Jan Di nodded, her gaze never leaving the cub in her arms. She tightened her hold on it, as though willing her warmth to seep into its fragile body. "We're almost there," she repeated softly, her words a promise to the tiny life she had vowed to protect.
As the car sped forward, the faint glow of the city grew brighter, a beacon of hope cutting through the weight of uncertainty.
Ji Hoo pulled into the nearest veterinary clinic, its glowing sign offering a small sense of relief against the darkening evening. He parked the car and quickly stepped out, hurrying to open the door for Jan Di. She moved with delicate precision, careful not to disturb the sleeping cub nestled in her arms.
The tiny creature stirred briefly, letting out a soft, plaintive sound before settling back into the warmth of Jan Di's jacket. Ji Hoo reached out, one hand resting gently on her shoulder while the other steadied hers as she carried the fragile bundle.
"Let's go," he said softly, his voice calm despite the tension lining his face.
The vet, an older man with kind eyes and a reassuring demeanor, met them at the entrance. He wasted no time ushering them inside. "Bring it in here," he said, motioning toward the examination room.
Jan Di laid the cub on the padded table with great care, her hands lingering for a moment as if reluctant to let go. The vet quickly began his assessment, examining the little creature with practiced precision.
"We'll need to do a scan," the vet said after a moment. "Wait here."
As the cub was taken to another room, Jan Di stood frozen in place, her arms now empty but still cradled as if the tiny life remained there. Ji Hoo stepped closer, his quiet presence offering her comfort.
Minutes felt like hours, but eventually, the vet returned. He removed his gloves with a small sigh, glancing between them. "The cub's been hit by a bullet. It's lodged in the paw."
Jan Di's eyes widened, her hands flying to her mouth. "A bullet?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Ji Hoo's brow furrowed in disbelief. "Hunters?" he asked, the word sharp and heavy in the air.
The vet nodded grimly. "It's not uncommon. Hunters often target rare species like this one—whether for sport or profit, it's despicable either way. How did you find it?"
"We stumbled across it in the mountains," Ji Hoo explained, his voice low but steady. He glanced at Jan Di, whose eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "It was lying there, hurt and vulnerable."
The vet offered a small, reassuring smile. "You brought it here in time. I can save it, but it'll take a lot of care—and over a month of recovery, at least. It's still very young, so it'll need constant monitoring."
Jan Di stepped forward, her voice firm despite the emotion in her eyes. "Do whatever it takes. We'll make sure it gets the care it needs."
Ji Hoo placed a hand on her back, silently supporting her resolve. He looked at the vet. "We'll cover the costs, no matter what."
The vet nodded, his expression softening. "You've already done so much by bringing it here. I'll make sure it gets the best treatment possible."
As the vet prepared to start the procedure, Jan Di leaned into Ji Hoo slightly, her shoulders finally relaxing just a little. The road ahead would be long, but in that moment, they both felt a glimmer of hope—hope for the small life they'd saved and for the journey it had brought them on together.
The operation took less than an hour, though to Jan Di, it felt like an eternity. She sat in the small waiting area, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as her foot tapped nervously against the floor. Ji Hoo sat beside her, calm and composed as always, but his occasional glances toward the operating room betrayed his concern.
"It's going to be okay," Ji Hoo said gently, his voice breaking the tense silence.
Jan Di turned to him, her expression uncertain. "You think so, Sunbae? What if…" She trailed off, unable to voice her worst fears.
Ji Hoo reached out, placing a reassuring hand over hers. "It's in good hands. The vet knows what he's doing, and you've already given that cub a chance by bringing it here. Just trust the process."
Before she could respond, the door to the operating room creaked open, and the vet emerged, removing his gloves as he walked toward them.
"The operation was a success," he announced with a warm smile. "We managed to remove the bullet and stitch up the wound. The cub is still sedated, but it should wake up soon."
Jan Di let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, her hands flying to her chest in relief. "Thank you so much," she said earnestly.
The vet nodded. "You both did the hard part by getting it here in time. But as I mentioned before, it's going to need time to recover. You'll need to decide if you want to leave it in our care or take it with you. Either way, it'll need a safe and quiet place to heal."
Ji Hoo and Jan Di exchanged a look, the unspoken question hanging between them. Finally, Ji Hoo spoke. "If it's all right, we'd like to take care of it ourselves. We'll make sure it gets everything it needs."
Jan Di's eyes widened slightly at his words, but the gratitude in her gaze was unmistakable. She nodded in agreement. "We'll do whatever it takes to help it heal."
The vet smiled, clearly touched by their determination. "Very well. I'll give you detailed instructions on how to care for it, as well as the medication it'll need. But remember, this is a long commitment. It won't be easy."
"We understand," Ji Hoo replied confidently.
A nurse appeared, carrying the cub in a small, soft bed. Its paw was carefully bandaged, and its tiny body rose and fell with each slow breath. Jan Di's heart melted at the sight.
As the nurse handed the cub over to her, Jan Di cradled it gently, her touch as light as a feather. "You're safe now," she whispered, her voice filled with a quiet promise.
Ji Hoo stood by her side, watching the scene with a soft smile. "Looks like we've got a new adventure ahead of us."
Jan Di glanced up at him, her lips curving into a small smile. "I think we were meant to find it, Sunbae. Maybe this little one needed us as much as we needed it."
Ji Hoo nodded, his gaze warm and steady. "Let's take it home."
Together, they walked out of the clinic, the weight of responsibility mingling with a newfound sense of purpose. The road ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear: they were in it together, for the cub and for each other.
Grandpa nestled into his well-worn armchair, its fabric faded from years of use, gently rocking back and forth in a rhythmic motion that brought him comfort. The low hum of the car engine outside drifted through the window, momentarily whisking him away from the reality of his 75 years, a number that often weighed heavily on him. Just three days ago, he had defied the odds and found himself climbing the old oak tree in his backyard, the rough bark digging into his palms as he clung to its branches. He did it all for the thrill of spying on his grandchildren, who were laughing and studying in their bright new mobile home. The sheer joy of watching them, unburdened by the challenges of age, made him feel as though he were a young man once again, if only for those fleeting moments.
The familiar sound of footsteps on the porch pulled him back to the present. He looked up to see Ji Hoo and Jan Di stepping inside, their faces lit with a mix of excitement and exhaustion. In Jan Di's arms was a small bundle of fur—white, soft, and fragile.
"Finally..." Grandpa muttered, his voice gruff but laced with warmth. "Ji Hoo-ah... Jan Di-ah. Where have you been?"
Jan Di stepped forward, her smile bright despite the weariness in her eyes. "We saved this little cub in the mountains," she said gently, holding the small creature closer for him to see. The cub stirred slightly, its tiny body still bandaged but looking more at peace than before. "Can you look after it when we're away?"
Grandpa raised an eyebrow, leaning forward in his chair as his weathered hands reached out to take the cub. The little animal let out a soft, almost plaintive whimper as it settled into his arms, its weight surprisingly light.
He studied it for a moment before groaning, a sound that was half exasperation and half reluctant affection. "So… you've made up your mind about going on that camping trip, have you?"
Ji Hoo chuckled softly, kneeling beside the armchair. "Grandpa, you make it sound like we're abandoning you."
"Because you are!" Grandpa shot back, though the corners of his mouth twitched with the hint of a smile. "You bring me a wounded cub, toss it into my lap, and then head off to play in the woods like you're still kids." He glanced down at the cub, his expression softening as he stroked its tiny head with a calloused finger. "Though I suppose this little one might be some decent company."
"Grandpa," Jan Di said, crouching down next to him, her eyes sparkling. "We're only going for a few days. You'll have us—and the cub—back before you even notice we're gone."
Grandpa snorted. "That's what you always say. And then I'm stuck here, babysitting strays you pick up on your adventures." But his grumbling was undercut by the gentle way he cradled the cub, his thumb brushing lightly against its paw. "Fine. I'll take care of it. But don't you dare come back with any more surprises. I'm too old for this."
Ji Hoo exchanged a knowing look with Jan Di, both of them suppressing laughter. "You're the best, Grandpa," Ji Hoo said, standing and patting the old man's shoulder.
"Yeah, yeah," Grandpa muttered, but there was a glint of pride in his eyes. "Just don't expect me to climb any trees while you're gone."
As Ji Hoo and Jan Di moved to pack the last of their things for the trip, Grandpa sat back in his chair, rocking gently once more. The cub snuggled closer to him, its small body warm against his chest. He looked down at the tiny creature and sighed, a fond smile breaking through his gruff demeanor.
"Well, little one," he murmured, "looks like it's just you and me now. Let's see if these kids come back with any more trouble."
The cub gave a soft, contented sound, and Grandpa chuckled, the rhythmic creak of the rocking chair filling the room once again.
The aroma of freshly cooked food filled the air as Ji Hoo, Jan Di, and Grandpa gathered around the modest dining table. Steam rose from the bowls of rice and side dishes, their colors vibrant under the warm glow of the dining room light. The gentle clink of utensils against the plates broke the quiet rhythm of the evening.
Ji Hoo, without a second thought, reached over with the serving spoon and placed a generous helping of beef and rice onto Jan Di's plate. "Eat," he said simply, his tone neither commanding nor hesitant, but carrying a quiet assurance that left Jan Di momentarily speechless.
She looked down at her plate, her lips parting slightly as if to respond, but no words came. Instead, she glanced up at Ji Hoo, who had already returned his attention to his own plate, seemingly unaware of the gesture he'd just made.
Grandpa watched the interaction with a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Though he didn't say anything right away, the sparkle in his eyes betrayed his amusement. He picked up his chopsticks and began to eat, his movements slow and deliberate, as if savoring the scene more than the food itself.
The cub, nestled safely in its makeshift basket on the floor, let out a small, sleepy sound. Jan Di's eyes flickered to the little creature, a reminder of their earlier ordeal. She reached down to adjust the blanket covering it, her movements careful, as though afraid of disturbing its fragile rest.
The quiet lingered, heavy with unspoken thoughts, until Grandpa finally cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "Well," he began, his voice gruff but gentle, "I hope you two realize you're leaving me with more work than I've seen in years. That cub's already got me wrapped around its paw."
Jan Di folded her napkin and pushed her chair back. "I should head home tonight," she said, her tone polite yet firm as she glanced between Ji Hoo and his grandfather.
Ji Hoo's grandfather, who had been quietly sipping his tea, raised an eyebrow. "At this hour?" he asked, leaning back in his chair. His eyes shifted to Ji Hoo, a faint glimmer of mischief sparking in them. "I thought you were excited to enjoy your mobile home. What's taking you home?"
"I need to do some packing," Jan Di replied quickly, standing and brushing her hands off.
"Packing?" Ji Hoo echoed, his voice calm but questioning. "For what?"
"For the camping trip," Jan Di explained, meeting his gaze. "I don't have everything I need here. Some of my clothes and supplies are still at home."
Ji Hoo frowned slightly. "But we've already got the essentials—your tent, sleeping bag, cooking supplies. What else do you need?"
"Some... not all," she said vaguely, picking up her bag. "Goodnight."
Ji Hoo let out a soft sigh, his frustration evident but muted. Before he could say anything, his grandfather stepped in with a thoughtful nod.
"Jan Di-ah," the old man began, his voice laced with gentle concern. "It's late. Are you sure you want to head home alone right now?" He turned to Ji Hoo, who was watching the exchange intently. "Ji Hoo-ah, why don't you drive her? You could even stay for a bit and help her pack. That way, you'll both get back here safely."
Ji Hoo's head tilted slightly, and for a moment, his expression softened as he considered the suggestion. "That's a good idea," he said, rising from his seat. "Let me grab the car keys."
Jan Di hesitated, her hand still resting on the doorframe. "That's not necessary," she started, but Ji Hoo's grandfather cut her off with a knowing smile.
"Nonsense," he said. "What kind of host would I be if I let you head out on your own this late? Besides, it's not like Ji Hoo has any plans tonight."
Ji Hoo shot his grandfather a look but said nothing, walking to the door instead. "Come on," he said simply, gesturing for her to follow.
Jan Di sighed, clearly outnumbered. She turned back toward the door, her steps reluctant but measured. "Fine," she muttered, clutching her bag tighter.
As they stepped outside, Ji Hoo's grandfather smiled to himself, the corners of his eyes crinkling in satisfaction. He watched them leave, their figures disappearing into the night, and muttered under his breath, "Sometimes, young people just need a little nudge."
The ride home was quiet, the gentle hum of the car engine the only sound filling the space. Ji Hoo's gaze flickered between the dimly lit road ahead and Jan Di, who sat beside him, her face turned toward the window. The streetlights outside cast fleeting shadows across her features, and he noticed the way her hand occasionally pressed against her stomach, her expression unreadable.
"What's wrong?" Ji Hoo asked, his voice soft but concerned.
Jan Di shook her head quickly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Nothing, Sunbae."
Ji Hoo didn't press her further, though his worry lingered. Instead, he focused back on the road, his grip tightening slightly on the wheel. The familiar sight of her house soon came into view, and he slowed the car to a stop near the entrance.
As Jan Di reached for the door handle, Ji Hoo stopped her with a quiet but firm, "Wait."
He stepped out of the car, the cool night air brushing against his face as he walked around to her side. Opening her door, he leaned in to help, but her seat belt stubbornly refused to budge.
"It's stuck," she murmured, her voice tinged with frustration as she tugged at it.
Ji Hoo leaned closer, his hand brushing past hers to reach for the belt. Their movements brought them close—too close. The faint scent of her shampoo lingered in the air between them, and as he worked to free the jammed strap, their faces were only inches apart.
Jan Di's breath hitched. Her lips parted slightly, her wide eyes locked on Ji Hoo's face. His hand, steady but unintentional, grazed her waist as he shifted to get a better angle. He froze for a moment, his gaze drifting to hers, the intensity in his eyes making her heart race.
Their breaths mingled in the confined space, and the world outside seemed to blur and fade away.
"It's jammed," Ji Hoo muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, as though speaking any louder might shatter the fragile moment between them.
Jan Di nodded, her throat suddenly dry, unable to find the right words.
With a gentle but firm motion, Ji Hoo finally freed the seat belt. His hand lingered near hers for just a second longer than necessary before he pulled back, clearing his throat softly.
"There," he said, stepping away to give her space. "You're good to go now."
"Thanks," Jan Di replied, her voice quiet as she avoided his gaze, her cheeks flushed.
Ji Hoo straightened, shoving his hands into his pockets as he took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Do you want me to wait until you're inside?"
Jan Di hesitated, her hand gripping the edge of the door. "No, it's fine. I'll be okay."
He nodded but stayed by the car, watching her walk to the door, his heart beating faster than he cared to admit. As she disappeared inside, Ji Hoo let out a sigh, wondering if she had felt the same spark that he couldn't seem to ignore.
Ji Hoo lay awake in his bed, the faint glow of the moon filtering through the curtains and casting soft shadows on the walls. The stillness of the house was unnerving, amplifying the emptiness he felt. He'd decided not to stay in the mobile home tonight—without her, the space felt cold and lifeless. Turning to his left, his gaze landed on a framed picture of Jan Di that rested on his bedside table.
He reached out, running his fingers lightly along the edge of the frame, as though it could somehow bridge the distance between them. "It's not been an hour, and I miss you already," he murmured to himself, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, its vibration breaking the silence. He snatched it up quickly, his heart skipping a beat as he saw her name on the screen.
"Sunbae, can you help me?"
The message made Ji Hoo sit up abruptly, his movements so quick that he nearly knocked over the photo. His reflexes saved it just in time, and he set it back carefully before typing out a response.
"Can I call?"
"Sure."
Without hesitation, he dialed her number. The phone barely rang twice before she answered, her voice soft and hesitant on the other end.
"Something the matter, Otter?" he teased gently, using the nickname that always seemed to soften her.
"Well... um..." she stammered, clearly struggling to get the words out.
Ji Hoo frowned, concern flickering in his chest. "What's holding you back?" he asked, his tone calm but coaxing. "You always tell me everything. What's wrong this time?"
There was a long pause, and he could hear her breathing on the other end, uneven and unsure. Finally, she blurted out, "Can you buy me..." She hesitated again, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Sanitary napkins."
Ji Hoo froze for a second before a warm smile broke across his face. So that's why she wanted to go home earlier.
"Of course," he replied, his voice steady and reassuring. He could almost imagine how embarrassed she must have looked saying it, her cheeks likely flushed as she averted her gaze from her phone.
"I'll come there in ten minutes. Can you wait?" he asked.
"Yes, I can. Thank you, Sunbae," she said, relief evident in her tone.
"Then wait for me," Ji Hoo said gently before ending the call.
As he slid out of bed, Ji Hoo couldn't help but chuckle to himself. She'd been so flustered, and yet she trusted him enough to call and ask for something so personal. That thought warmed him as he grabbed his car keys, his steps quick and purposeful.
Exactly ten minutes later, Ji Hoo stood outside Jan Di's modest home. The quiet street was bathed in soft moonlight, the faint hum of crickets and distant traffic filling the cool night air. He paused briefly, glancing at the warm glow spilling from the windows before raising his hand to knock gently on the wooden door. The sound of his knuckles echoed faintly in the stillness.
The door opened to reveal Jan Di's mother, her expression shifting from curiosity to delighted surprise as she recognized him. "Oh!" she exclaimed, her tone warm and welcoming. "Young Master Yoon, it's so late! What brings you by?"
Ji Hoo offered a polite bow, his calm demeanor as steady as ever. "Good evening, ma'am. Jan Di called and asked for my help. May I come in?"
Her features softened with a motherly smile, and she stepped aside to make room for him. "Of course, of course. Come in, come in. You're always welcome here."
Stepping inside, Ji Hoo was greeted by the distinct warmth of the Geum household. Though modest and small, the space radiated a sense of care and love. The walls were adorned with slightly crooked family photos and handmade trinkets, each one telling a story of its own. A faint aroma of herbal tea lingered in the air, and the dining table, though tiny, was neatly set, its centerpiece a simple vase of fresh wildflowers.
"This way," Jan Di's mother said, leading him down a narrow hallway. Ji Hoo followed, his eyes quietly taking in every detail—the scuffed wooden floor, the patched curtains, and the subtle but unmistakable charm of a home built on love rather than luxury.
Stopping at a small door, her mother knocked lightly before turning to Ji Hoo with a knowing smile. "I'll leave you to it," she said, a playful twinkle in her eye. "Take care of her."
"Thank you," Ji Hoo replied, bowing slightly before watching her retreat.
As he pushed the door open, he stepped into Jan Di's tiny room for the first time. It was everything he imagined—simple, tidy, and filled with her essence. The walls were decorated with hand-drawn sketches, old photos, and a faded poster of a bygone idol group. A small desk sat in the corner, cluttered with books and notes, while her bed was neatly made, save for a pillow or two tossed haphazardly onto the floor. Despite the room's size, it felt alive, warm, and unmistakably hers.
Jan Di sat cross-legged on the bed, clutching a pillow tightly to her chest. She looked up at him, her cheeks faintly pink with embarrassment. "You didn't have to come all the way here, Sunbae," she said softly, her voice a mix of gratitude and shyness.
Ji Hoo walked further into the room, holding up the discreet paper bag he'd brought. His tone was light but sincere. "You asked for my help, didn't you? I couldn't leave you hanging."
Her lips curved into a small, sheepish smile, and she reached for the bag, quickly hiding its contents as though she were still embarrassed. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ji Hoo studied her for a moment, then glanced around the room again. "It's nice," he said, his tone quiet but full of meaning.
"What is?" Jan Di asked, tilting her head.
"Your home," he replied simply. "It feels... like you."
The sincerity in his voice caught her off guard, and she blinked at him, her grip on the pillow loosening slightly. A soft smile spread across her face, and the tension that had been hovering around her seemed to melt away. "Thank you, Sunbae," she said, her voice steadier this time.
Ji Hoo set the bag on her desk and wandered over to examine it. His eyes fell on a drawer slightly ajar, revealing the glimmer of a necklace—the star and moon pendant Jun Pyo had once given her. His gaze shifted to her neck, where the necklace he had given her rested instead.
"Your desk is as cluttered as ever," he teased lightly, though there was no judgment in his tone.
Jan Di laughed softly, moving to sit on the bed's edge. "I like it that way," she replied.
Ji Hoo turned back to her, his eyes soft as they met hers. "Are you feeling better now?" he asked gently.
She nodded, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her pajama top. "Much better. Thanks to you."
Without waiting for permission, Ji Hoo sat down on the edge of her bed, his movements unhurried and natural. Jan Di's eyes widened slightly, but she didn't protest.
"I'll change quickly," she said, grabbing the bag and darting toward the small bathroom attached to her room.
When she returned, Ji Hoo was still there, his attention now focused on one of her sketchbooks resting on the desk. He looked up as she reentered the room, his gaze warm and steady.
"You didn't leave," she noted, surprised.
Ji Hoo leaned back slightly, his arms resting on his knees. "I didn't feel like leaving," he admitted simply.
Jan Di blinked, her heart skipping a beat at the honesty in his words. She sat back down on the bed, her movements slower this time, as though trying to prolong the moment.
"Can I stay?" Ji Hoo asked softly, his voice almost a whisper, though the sincerity in his eyes spoke volumes.
Jan Di's cheeks flushed again, and she looked down at her hands, her lips curving into a shy smile. "If you want to," she replied, her voice just as quiet.
The room fell into a comfortable silence, the space between them filled with unspoken words and a quiet understanding. Ji Hoo didn't move, and neither did she. For now, just being there was enough.
Ji Hoo crouched by the bed, carefully taking off his sandals, his movements deliberate as though not wanting to disturb the delicate balance of the moment. He glanced up at Jan Di, who had turned her face away, her cheeks tinged with pink.
"Are you sure?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
She fidgeted with the edge of the blanket, her fingers curling around it nervously. Then, with a small huff, she lay back against the pillows, pulling the covers up to her chin. "Just sleep," she muttered, her gaze fixed firmly on the ceiling. "Before I change my mind."
Ji Hoo smiled—a small, knowing smile that reached his eyes. He slipped into the narrow bed beside her, his presence instantly filling the tiny space. The mattress creaked slightly under his weight, and he adjusted himself carefully, trying not to crowd her.
Her bed was much smaller than he was used to, and it was warm—undeniably hers, carrying her scent and the quiet comfort of her presence. Ji Hoo settled in, resting his head on the pillow beside hers, close enough that he could hear the soft rhythm of her breathing.
He turned his head slightly, his voice gentle as it fell into the quiet space between them. "Does your stomach hurt?" he asked, his words brushing against her ear like a warm breeze.
Jan Di stiffened slightly, her hands clutching the blanket tighter, but she didn't answer right away.
Ji Hoo shifted closer, the concern in his tone evident. "Shall I rub it for you?"
Her breath hitched at his suggestion, and she turned her head toward him, her wide eyes meeting his. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the night outside.
"You don't have to," she whispered, her voice soft but flustered.
Ji Hoo's lips quirked into another small smile. "I don't mind," he said simply. His gaze held hers, steady and unwavering, his sincerity wrapping around her like a comforting embrace.
Her fingers loosened their grip on the blanket, and she exhaled quietly, the tension in her body softening. "...Fine," she murmured, turning onto her side and pulling the covers just below her stomach.
Ji Hoo moved closer, his hand hesitating for just a moment before gently resting on her stomach. His touch was warm and soothing, his movements unhurried as he began to rub gentle, circular motions over her abdomen.
Jan Di closed her eyes, her body slowly relaxing under his touch. The dull ache that had been bothering her faded into the background, replaced by a comforting warmth that seemed to radiate from him.
"You're good at this," she muttered, her voice muffled by the pillow.
Ji Hoo chuckled softly, his tone light. "I've had practice," he replied. "Sometimes the horses get colicky, and I have to soothe them."
Jan Di's eyes snapped open, and she turned her head to glare at him. "Are you comparing me to a horse, Sunbae?"
He laughed, the sound low and melodious in the quiet room. "Not at all," he said, his smile widening. "But if it makes you feel better, you're much cuter than any horse I've ever seen."
Her glare softened, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "You're impossible," she muttered, turning back toward the pillow.
Ji Hoo's hand stilled for a moment, his voice dropping to a quieter, more serious tone. "Does it feel better now?"
Jan Di nodded, her eyes fluttering closed again. "Much better," she murmured, her voice drowsy.
Ji Hoo didn't move, his hand still resting lightly on her stomach as he watched her begin to drift off to sleep. The tension that had been in her face earlier was gone now, replaced by a peaceful expression that made his chest tighten slightly.
He leaned back against the pillow, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before closing his own eyes. "Goodnight, Jan Di," he whispered.
From somewhere in the haze of sleep, she murmured back, "Goodnight, Sunbae."
Once Ji Hoo felt her breathing steady, a sign that she had drifted into sleep, his hand stilled on her stomach. For a moment, he just lay there, watching her peaceful face in the dim light filtering through the window. The faint curve of her lips, the way her lashes rested delicately on her cheeks—everything about her seemed to draw him in.
His hand moved instinctively, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face, his fingertips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. Slowly, he inched closer, his chest barely grazing her arm as he leaned in.
He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead, letting his lips rest there for a heartbeat longer than usual. The warmth of her skin against his lips sent a strange ache through his chest—one that felt both comforting and unbearable.
As he pulled back slightly, his gaze traveled over her sleeping face, taking in every detail as though committing it to memory. Unable to resist, he pressed a light kiss to her closed eyelids, one after the other, his breath mingling with hers.
His lips found her cheek next, the kiss feather-light yet filled with emotion. He could feel the faint heat of her blush still lingering on her skin, even in her sleep.
Hovering just above her lips, Ji Hoo paused, his heart hammering in his chest. Her parted lips, soft and inviting, seemed to call to him. He could feel the warmth of her breath, and his resolve wavered.
Yearning for that kiss, his face inched closer, the gap between them almost nonexistent. But then he froze, his breath catching in his throat.
No. Not like this.
His hand gently withdrew from her stomach, and he shifted back slightly, resting his head on the pillow beside hers. He wouldn't take that moment—not when she couldn't share it with him.
Instead, he allowed himself to revel in the closeness, his heart aching with the longing he didn't dare act on. "Goodnight, Jan Di," he whispered so softly that the words seemed to disappear into the quiet night.
She stirred faintly, her lips curving into a small smile as though she'd heard him, even in her sleep. Ji Hoo's lips twitched into a small smile of his own as he watched her, his heart full yet heavy at the same time.
For now, this was enough.
The following morning, Jan Di awoke to the faint, sweet aroma of hot brown sugar mixed with the savory scent of freshly made pancakes wafting through the small cracks of her bedroom door. The chorus of excited voices from her family filled the modest home, layered with laughter and occasional gasps of disbelief.
"Can you believe it? The son of the former president stayed here!" her mother's thrilled voice echoed from the kitchen.
"I saw him helping with the dishes!" her younger brother chimed in, his voice full of awe.
Jan Di's eyes fluttered open, squinting against the morning light streaming through the thin curtain. Instinctively, she reached for the warmth beside her, but her hand met only the cool, crumpled sheets. Ji Hoo was gone.
She hissed softly, the sharp cramp of her monthly pain returning with full force, a cruel reminder of the comfort she'd fallen asleep to—Ji Hoo's gentle hand soothing her through the night. She clenched the blanket, drawing it closer as if it could somehow substitute the warmth he'd left behind.
Slowly, she sat up, wincing as another wave of discomfort hit. She could hear Ji Hoo's soft laugh blending with her family's chatter, his voice calm and warm even through the thin walls. Her heart gave a little jolt—he was still here.
Pushing herself out of bed, she shuffled toward the door, her steps sluggish from both sleep and the stubborn ache in her lower abdomen. She paused just before opening it, glancing at her reflection in the cracked mirror hanging on the wall. Her hair was a mess, her face slightly flushed—but there was no time to fuss.
Sliding the door open quietly, she peeked out.
Ji Hoo sat at the small, wobbly dining table, his sleeves rolled up, a gentle smile on his face as he politely accepted another serving from her mother. Her father was animatedly talking about old neighborhood tales, while Ji Hoo nodded thoughtfully, genuinely engaged. Her little brother stared at him like he was a superhero who'd just landed in their home.
Ji Hoo's eyes drifted toward her, as if sensing her presence. Their gazes met, and his smile softened, a warmth flickering in his eyes that made her forget her discomfort for a brief second.
"You're awake," he said gently, rising from his seat almost immediately. "How are you feeling?"
Jan Di forced a small smile, trying to downplay the sharp ache in her belly. "I'm fine," she muttered, though her hand instinctively pressed against her stomach.
Without another word, Ji Hoo crossed the room with quiet ease, his presence somehow dimming the noisy background. He reached her side and leaned in slightly, his voice low enough for only her to hear.
"Liar," he whispered, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Come sit."
Before she could argue, he gently guided her to his chair, ignoring her weak protests. The warmth of the seat, freshly vacated by him, provided slight comfort. Ji Hoo crouched beside her instead of taking another chair, his hand finding its familiar place against her stomach with the ease of someone who knew exactly what she needed.
Her mother raised an eyebrow but said nothing, though the corners of her lips hinted at amusement.
Jan Di's cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and something else—something softer.
Ji Hoo glanced up at her family. "She's not feeling well. I'll stay a little longer," he said simply, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
And for Jan Di, it was starting to feel exactly like that.
"But Sunbae…" Jan Di whispered softly, her voice fragile against the steady rhythm of morning chatter beyond the walls. She shifted slightly under Ji Hoo's warm hand, her stubbornness flickering through the pain. "We have shopping to do for camping. Have you forgotten?"
Ji Hoo didn't miss a beat. His fingers moved in slow, comforting circles over her lower abdomen, the warmth of his touch easing the tension knotting inside her. His gaze remained steady, his voice calm yet filled with quiet authority.
"No, I haven't," he replied gently, his thumb tracing soothing patterns as if his very touch could chase the discomfort away. "We'll do it in the afternoon. Your health is more important to me."
Jan Di's lips parted, ready to argue, but the words tangled somewhere between her heart and throat. "But…" she began, her protest weak, lacking the usual fiery conviction. She glanced at him, her stubbornness meeting the unwavering tenderness in his eyes.
Ji Hoo didn't respond with words this time. Instead, he leaned in slightly, his face so close that she could feel the soft exhale of his breath against her temple. His fingers never stopped their gentle motion, grounding her in the present moment, in the warmth of his care.
"All I care about right now is you," he murmured softly, his voice almost a whisper, reserved just for her amidst the distant clatter of dishes and laughter. "Just you."
Jan Di's heart gave a small, involuntary flutter. She wasn't used to this—being someone's priority, being looked at like she was the only thing that mattered. It was overwhelming and comforting all at once.
She swallowed hard, her resistance crumbling beneath the weight of his sincerity. "You're stubborn," she muttered, more to herself than to him.
Ji Hoo's lips curved into a soft smile. "I wonder where I got that from," he teased lightly, his fingers pausing briefly to brush a stray strand of hair from her face before returning to their gentle task.
Jan Di couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped, the sound mingling with a sigh as the tension in her body eased, surrendering to the comfort he offered so effortlessly.
"Fine," she whispered, closing her eyes, allowing herself to lean into the moment, into him. "Just for a little while."
Ji Hoo didn't reply with words. He simply stayed, his hand a silent promise against her skin, his presence an anchor in the quiet morning light.
The breakfast table had grown unusually quiet, the warm aroma of hot brown sugar lingering in the air, mingling with the now-forgotten bowls of rice and side dishes. Her parents and younger brother sat with chopsticks in hand, their meals untouched as their attention shifted entirely to the sight before them.
Ji Hoo sat close to Jan Di, his gentle hands resting over her stomach, massaging it with quiet care, his voice a soft murmur of comfort meant only for her. The tenderness in his gaze spoke volumes, a language that needed no translation.
Jan Di's mother glanced sideways at her husband, her voice a hushed whisper under the veil of the morning stillness. "Is Master Gu Jun Pyo better than Master Yoon Ji Hoo?" she asked, curiosity mingled with genuine concern. "Who do you think is best for our Jan Di?"
Her husband didn't answer immediately, his chopsticks resting against the bowl as his eyes remained fixed on Ji Hoo's gentle demeanor. There was no pretense in the young man's actions—just quiet, steady devotion.
Before he could speak, Jan Di's younger brother piped up, his voice cutting through the fragile silence. "Me… I prefer Ji Hoo Hyung."
His mother turned to him, her brow slightly raised. "Why is that?"
The boy shrugged at first, but then his expression grew serious, his young mind reflecting wisdom beyond his years. "Because he's never hurt our Jan Di."
The father finally spoke, his voice low and steady, carrying the weight of old memories. "Gu Jun Pyo has hurt her countless times. We even lost our old house… our jobs… because of his family. And he did nothing about it."
The words hung heavily in the air, mingling with the quiet sounds of the morning—the soft clink of dishes, the faint rustle of leaves outside the window.
But Ji Hoo didn't flinch. He continued to rub Jan Di's stomach gently, his thumb tracing soothing circles. His focus never wavered, as if the world beyond her didn't exist.
Jan Di's mother exhaled softly, her heart tightening with a quiet realization. "It's not about wealth or status, is it?" she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. "It's about who holds her heart without breaking it."
Her husband nodded thoughtfully. "And who's willing to carry it gently, even when it's heavy."
Ji Hoo finally looked up, his gaze meeting theirs across the table. A polite, knowing smile curved on his lips—not the kind meant to impress, but the kind that simply said I'm here. No explanations. No performances. Just him.
The small ice cream shop was tucked away on a quiet street corner, its pastel walls adorned with hand-painted signs and cheerful drawings of cones and sundaes. The soft hum of a lazy afternoon filled the air, punctuated only by the occasional chatter of customers and the gentle clink of metal spoons against glass cups.
Yi Jung sat by the window, his casual elegance unmistakable even in a simple white shirt and rolled-up sleeves. His fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on the condensation of his glass of iced tea, his gaze distant until Ga Eul arrived, her presence pulling him from his thoughts like a soft breeze on a warm day.
"Sorry I'm late," Ga Eul said, slightly breathless, her cheeks flushed from the summer sun. She slid into the seat across from him, her simple dress fluttering slightly with the movement.
Yi Jung gave her a small, crooked smile. "You're not late. I was just early."
Ga Eul rolled her eyes playfully, glancing at the menu even though she already knew what she wanted. "Right, because waiting here and staring out the window counts as early."
A light chuckle escaped Yi Jung as he leaned back, his eyes softening. "Maybe I was waiting for something worth the time."
Ga Eul's heart gave a small, involuntary jump at his words, but she masked it with a quick grin. "Flattery, Yi Jung-sunbae? That's unlike you."
"Who says it's flattery?" he shot back smoothly, his gaze meeting hers with a spark of mischief.
The ice cream arrived soon after—two simple bowls, one with vanilla and strawberries for Ga Eul, and dark chocolate with a sprinkle of nuts for Yi Jung. They ate in comfortable silence for a moment, the sounds of the small shop fading into the background.
Ga Eul finally broke the quiet, her spoon idly swirling in her melting ice cream. "I still can't believe we're actually going camping. It feels like something out of a school trip."
Yi Jung smirked. "You don't strike me as the camping type."
"And you do?" she shot back, arching an eyebrow.
"Touché," he conceded with a laugh. "But I think it'll be fun. New experiences, new memories."
Ga Eul smiled softly, her gaze drifting to the window where the afternoon sun cast golden streaks across the pavement. "Yeah. Maybe it's exactly what we all need."
There was a pause, filled with unspoken words and lingering glances. Yi Jung reached across the table, his fingers brushing against hers briefly, as if grounding himself in the moment.
"Come on," he said, standing up and tossing a few bills on the table. "We have shopping to do. You're not getting out of carrying the heavy stuff."
Ga Eul laughed, the sound light and free. "I wouldn't dream of it, Sunbae."
As they stepped out into the warmth of the day, their shadows stretched long on the pavement, walking side by side—two hearts quietly learning to beat in the same rhythm.
…
After walking for a while, their footsteps crunching softly against the gravel path, Ga Eul broke the silence, her voice carrying a trace of frustration. "Do you think Jun Pyo Sunbae will get angry at Jan Di-ah when he finds out we invited her and Ji Hoo Sunbae to go camping with us?"
Yi Jung shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, his eyes squinting slightly against the afternoon sun. "I can't tell, really," he replied, his tone nonchalant, but there was a flicker of concern in his eyes.
Ga Eul scoffed softly, shaking her head. "But I can tell." Her pace quickened slightly, as if trying to outrun the bitterness rising in her chest. "He forced her to marry him. When she said no to him, he threatened her with a car accident, and now she has trauma." She let out a heavy sigh, her breath visible in the crisp air. "Huh. You really have a best friend who has no humanity in him."
Yi Jung stopped in his tracks, turning to face her. His jaw tightened slightly, but his voice remained calm. "It's not that. You know Gu Jun Pyo loves her."
"Of course he loves her," she snapped, sarcasm dripping from her words. "Loves her enough to break her spirit. Loves her to the point of hurting her." She kicked a small pebble off the path, her frustration evident.
"Ga Eul-yang…" Yi Jung's voice softened, his gaze steady, trying to bridge the gap her words had created.
But Ga Eul waved him off, her hand cutting through the tension. "Let's drop the topic," she muttered, her voice quieter now, tinged with sadness rather than anger. She took a deep breath, forcing a smile to lighten the mood. "Anyway, I'm happy that she doesn't allow Jun Pyo to rule over her. She can go anywhere she wants, and he won't stop her."
Yi Jung watched her for a moment, his heart heavy with unspoken thoughts. Then, falling back into step beside her, he simply said, "Yeah. She's stronger than he ever gave her credit for."
And with that, they continued walking, the silence between them now filled with mutual understanding rather than tension.
Arriving at the bustling Chinese black market, Yi Jung and Ga Eul navigated through the maze of vibrant stalls, filled with the scent of incense, roasted chestnuts, and the faint metallic tang of old coins. The chatter of bargaining voices echoed around them, mingling with the clinking of trinkets and the rustle of silk fabrics.
Their eyes soon caught sight of Ji Hoo and Jan Di—not amidst piles of camping supplies as they had expected, but standing at a quaint trinket stall adorned with colorful charms, jade carvings, and intricate metal ornaments. But it wasn't the items that drew Yi Jung and Ga Eul's attention—it was the scene itself.
Ji Hoo stood closely behind Jan Di, his arms gently wrapped around her waist as they both leaned over a small display case. His head was tilted slightly, his breath brushing against the side of her face as they examined a pair of delicate jade tokens, carved with intricate symbols resembling intertwined peach blossoms. The warmth between them was undeniable, though unspoken. An older woman, likely the stall owner, snapped a photo of them with an ancient-looking camera, her face lighting up with a knowing smile.
Just as the flash faded, the woman pulled out two red cords, intricately knotted into what resembled peach blossoms. "These are lovers' peach blossom knots," she explained, her voice raspy yet filled with charm. "They are magical. They must never be untied, or the bond between you two will break apart."
Ji Hoo and Jan Di immediately pulled away from each other, startled by her words.
"We're not—" Jan Di began, her cheeks flushing a deep pink.
Ji Hoo cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yes, we're just—"
But the old woman waved them off dismissively, her grin widening. "Ah, young love always denies the obvious. But hearts speak louder than words." She thrust the knotted bracelets into Ji Hoo's hands. "You should stay together always, and these bracelets should never leave your wrists."
Before they could protest further, Yi Jung and Ga Eul approached, their expressions a mix of amusement and curiosity. Ga Eul arched an eyebrow. "Looks like we missed the action," she teased, nudging Yi Jung.
Yi Jung smirked, folding his arms. "So, what's this? Matching magical love bracelets?"
Jan Di glared playfully at Ga Eul while Ji Hoo tried to hide his smile. Despite their protests, both of them held onto the bracelets, their fingers brushing for a brief moment—a silent acknowledgment of something neither of them dared to voice.
After the old woman had handed them the lovers' peach blossom knots, she rummaged through a small, dusty chest beneath her stall, pulling out a delicate white comb and an ornate hairpin. The hairpin was mesmerizing—its metallic twisted shaft gleamed under the dim market lights, tapering gracefully to a fine point. The upper portion bloomed with an arrangement of colorful gemstones, shaped like an elegant peacock feather intertwined with floral motifs. A butterfly, carved from faceted multicolored stones, perched delicately at the center, its wings shimmering with hues of sapphire blue, emerald green, and soft amber. Dangling from thin silver chains were tiny, sparkling gemstone charms that swayed gently with every movement, catching the light like drops of morning dew.
The old woman's sharp eyes glinted as she turned to Ji Hoo, her wrinkled fingers holding the hairpin with surprising firmness. "Take this," she said, pressing it into his hands. "I saw your eyes on it. Give it to her... it's for free."
Ji Hoo blinked, slightly taken aback. He hadn't realized his gaze had lingered on the pin, but perhaps it wasn't the hairpin itself—it was the thought of how perfectly it would look nestled in Jan Di's dark hair. Before he could protest or even politely decline, the woman shoved it into his hands with a knowing smile.
"And you," she added, turning her attention to Jan Di, whose face was already flushing pink from the sudden attention. The old woman reached once more into her chest and pulled out two elegant Chinese flutes, resting on a beautifully carved wooden stand. The flutes were exquisite—crafted from what seemed to be jade-like porcelain, their surfaces smooth and cool with intricate golden designs etched along their length. Dragons curled around the flutes in detailed artistry, symbolizing strength and fortune. One flute was pure white, adorned with a crimson tassel that hung gracefully from its end, while the other was a deep emerald green, its patterns glowing softly under the ambient lights.
"I saw you looking at this flute," the woman said, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she could read Jan Di's very thoughts.
"I wasn't—" Jan Di started, instinctively raising her hands in protest, her voice tinged with embarrassment.
But the woman waved her off with a soft chuckle. "Ah, young ones always deny what the heart sees. These flutes are special. They can play by themselves, but only when held by those whose hearts are connected." She placed the white flute into Jan Di's hands and the green one into Ji Hoo's. "One is yours, and one is for him."
Jan Di opened her mouth again, clearly ready to protest, but the woman silenced her with a gentle yet firm look. "The two of you make a great pair. You bought so much from me today—it would be rude not to offer my blessings. May your love never break."
Both Ji Hoo and Jan Di stood there, flustered and unsure of how to respond, the weight of the woman's words lingering heavily in the air. Yi Jung and Ga Eul exchanged amused glances behind them, trying—and failing—to stifle their grins.
Ji Hoo eventually smiled softly, bowing slightly in gratitude. "Thank you," he murmured.
Jan Di, still holding the flute, glanced sideways at Ji Hoo, her heart oddly unsettled yet warm. She tightened her fingers around the smooth, jade-like surface, wondering why the old woman's words echoed louder than the bustling market around them.
Ga Eul pouted, her eyes sparkling with playful frustration as she tugged at Yi Jung's sleeve. "Can we have some as well?" she pleaded, her voice laced with hopeful charm.
The old woman looked at her with a gentle smile but shook her head slowly. Before she could respond, another woman—likely her granddaughter—stepped forward from beside the trinket stall. She had sharp, observant eyes and a calm demeanor that mirrored her grandmother's wisdom.
"I'm sorry," she said softly, her tone polite but firm. "My grandma only blesses one couple in a year."
Ga Eul's face dropped dramatically as she turned to Yi Jung, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's all your fault," she huffed, her lips forming a slight pout.
Yi Jung raised his eyebrows in disbelief, genuinely baffled. "How is this my fault?" he protested, his hands lifting slightly in defense. "I didn't even say anything!"
Ga Eul rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed with his logic. "If you had been more charming, maybe she would've made an exception."
Yi Jung scoffed, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Oh, so now it's about charm? Please, if anyone's lacking charm, it's—"
Before he could finish, the older woman, having packed away some of her trinkets, paused mid-step. She turned slightly, her eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and wisdom. "It's fate," she said simply, her voice carrying an air of finality as she walked away, disappearing into the crowd.
Ga Eul and Yi Jung stood in silence for a brief moment, her earlier frustration melting into soft laughter. She nudged him lightly with her elbow. "Maybe fate doesn't like you after all."
Yi Jung chuckled, sliding his hands into his pockets as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "Or maybe fate knows I don't need a magical blessing to keep you around."
Ga Eul's cheeks flushed pink, but she quickly turned away, trying—and failing—to hide her smile. "You're such a smooth talker," she murmured, feeling her heart flutter with happiness.
Meanwhile, Ji Hoo and Jan Di awkwardly shifted their positions, both instinctively shying away from each other. Their shoulders tensed, eyes darting anywhere but at one another—yet despite their efforts, fleeting glances betrayed them. Ji Hoo's gaze lingered just a second too long on Jan Di's face, while she peeked at him through her lashes, her heart skipping a beat every time their eyes almost met.
Then, as if on cue, a soft, melodic tune filled the air. The flutes—those elegant instruments the older woman had gifted them—began playing on their own. The sound was light, graceful, and oddly familiar, weaving through the bustling marketplace like an invisible thread pulling at their hearts. The tune was bittersweet, like the whisper of memories they hadn't made yet but somehow felt deep within.
Jan Di's fingers tightened slightly around the flute in her hand, her heart thudding with an emotion she couldn't name. Ji Hoo's lips curved into the faintest smile, though he quickly masked it with a light cough, trying to shake off the warmth spreading across his chest.
The spell was broken when Yi Jung cleared his throat dramatically, cutting through the tension like a blade. "Are you two done?" he teased, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Let's go grab food supplies from the grocery store. Or should we wait until the flutes finish their romantic serenade?"
Ga Eul burst into laughter, and Jan Di shot Yi Jung a playful glare, her cheeks tinged with pink. "We're coming!" she huffed, quickly tucking the flute into her bag.
Ji Hoo chuckled softly, brushing past Yi Jung with a light nudge. "You're just jealous," he murmured.
Yi Jung rolled his eyes, following them with Ga Eul trailing beside him, still giggling. The group walked on, but the faint melody from the flutes lingered in the background—a gentle reminder that some connections play their own tune, whether the heart is ready to listen or not.
"Imagine this..." Ga Eul whispered softly, leaning slightly closer to Yi Jung, her voice filled with mischief. "If Gu Jun Pyo were here, he'd probably demand one of the flutes for himself… or just snatch something from Ji Hoo Sunbae without a second thought."
Yi Jung chuckled under his breath, his eyes glinting with amusement. "I think our minds think alike," he replied, his lips twitching with a grin he tried to suppress.
But their shared laughter didn't go unnoticed. Both Ji Hoo and Jan Di turned around simultaneously, curiosity written all over their faces. Ji Hoo raised an eyebrow, his signature calm expression mixed with a hint of suspicion, while Jan Di narrowed her eyes playfully, clearly sensing they were the subject of the joke.
Yi Jung cleared his throat quickly, straightening his posture, and feigned innocence. "Uh… nothing. Just… appreciating the weather," he said, glancing up at the sky like it held the answers to life's greatest mysteries.
Ga Eul stifled a laugh, covering her mouth as she tried to maintain a straight face. Jan Di rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips, while Ji Hoo shook his head with a soft chuckle, clearly not buying Yi Jung's excuse but letting it slide.
As they continued walking, the tension eased, replaced by light-hearted energy. The flutes still emitted a faint, whimsical tune from Jan Di's bag, as if laughing along with them—an invisible thread connecting them all in that fleeting, precious moment of friendship, teasing, and unspoken feelings.
Grocery shopping had transformed into an unexpected escapade, filled with spirited banter and playful teasing among friends. Yi Jung confidently steered the cart, which was already teetering under the weight of an impressive array of supplies—its metal frame squeaking slightly as he triumphantly added another pack of chicken on top.
"Fifteen kilograms of beef, five packs of chicken, ten kilograms of tomatoes, and onions?" Ji Hoo remarked, his eyebrow arching in disbelief as he crossed his arms, surveying the overflowing cart with a mixture of amusement and bewilderment. "So, Yi Jung… are we shopping for a grand feast or preparing to feed an entire army?"
Yi Jung shrugged nonchalantly, his gaze fixated on the shelves as he picked up a hefty bag of rice, tossing it into the cart with a practiced motion. "Of course not," he replied with a casual air. "We just need to ensure there's enough to eat once we get there."
Exchanging a knowing glance with Jan Di, who was barely containing her laughter at the spectacle, Ji Hoo couldn't resist adding, "Are we planning to stay there for an entire week? Or have you secretly decided to open a restaurant in the woods?" His voice dripped with dry amusement, eliciting another chuckle from Jan Di.
Ga Eul, with her ever-enthusiastic spirit, chimed in, her eyes widening as she gazed at the towering pile of groceries. "Honestly, Sunbae, even if we were camping for an entire month, I don't think we'd manage to finish all of this!"
Unfazed by their jests, Yi Jung grabbed a bottle of soy sauce and several colorful seasoning packets from the shelf, tossing them into the cart as if they were crucial provisions. "You'll all thank me when hunger strikes," he replied smoothly, a mischievous glint in his eye. "It's far better to have too much than to find ourselves with too little. Plus, have you ever witnessed Ji Hoo's appetite when no one's around? He devours food like a stealthy ninja on a secret mission."
Jan Di erupted into laughter, clutching her sides as she imagined the scene, while Ji Hoo simply shook his head, a small yet genuine smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I'd argue that's a bit of an exaggeration," he countered, unable to hide his own amusement.
"Is it, though?" Yi Jung quipped back, playfully patting Ji Hoo's shoulder as if to emphasize his point. "I'm merely being a responsible adult here, preparing for all possible scenarios."
As they roamed the aisles, Ga Eul seized every opportunity to sneak in snacks when Yi Jung's back was turned—crisp chips, colorful candies, and various flavors of instant ramen—earning an exaggerated groan from him each time he caught her in the act.
"Are we camping or throwing a festival?" Ji Hoo teased once again, his voice lighthearted as they finally approached the checkout line, the cart now overflowing with an impressive assortment of groceries.
Yi Jung glanced at the cart with unabashed pride, unfazed by their lighthearted mockery. "A well-fed camper is a happy camper!" he declared triumphantly.
"Or a very full one," Jan Di giggled, shaking her head in disbelief as they lined up to pay, the atmosphere surrounding them buzzing with laughter and camaraderie, turning an ordinary grocery run into a memorable adventure.