After finally storing the perishable food in the freezer, Ji Hoo and Jan Di decided it was time to freshen up before heading to the library to prepare for their crucial medical entrance exam. The day had been long, filled with lively laughter, playful teasing, and the camaraderie of friendship, but the weight of the impending test hung heavily over them, a constant reminder of the seriousness of their aspirations.
As Jan Di moved toward her room, ready to change, Ji Hoo's voice broke the moment, soft yet compelling: "Wait, Jan Di-ah."
She paused and turned, curiosity piquing in her chest as he presented her with a small, neatly wrapped package adorned with a delicate silver ribbon. His expression was calm, but the flicker of anticipation in his eyes betrayed the significance of the moment.
"What's this?" she inquired, gingerly accepting the package from his hands.
"Just… something I thought you'd like," he replied nonchalantly, yet his laser-focus on her reaction hinted at his excitement.
With careful hands, Jan Di began to peel back the wrapping, revealing an outfit that took her breath away—a stunning all-white denim overall dress, tailored impeccably with subtle gold accents that shimmered like starlight. It came with a matching crop top that boasted a trendy cut, blending both modern flair and a daring hint of sophistication. The contrast with her usual simple and modest attire felt striking.
She held the outfit up to herself, blinking in disbelief as she looked at Ji Hoo. "This? For me?"
He nodded, a small, genuine smile spreading across his lips that lit up his entire face. "I thought you'd look… really nice in it."
A warm blush crept onto Jan Di's cheeks as she processed his compliment. "Ji Hoo Sunbae… this is a bit too—"
"Try it on," he interjected gently, his voice now softer, almost coaxing, imbued with a playful insistence that made her heart flutter.
After a moment of hesitation, she disappeared into her room, her mind racing with thoughts. Moments later, she stepped out, dressed in the outfit, her heart pounding as Ji Hoo's gaze fell upon her. His eyes softened, taking in the way the crisp white fabric hugged her form, the gold details catching the light and glinting like memories waiting to be created. The crisp white fabric of her overall dress clung to her curves, distressed in just the right places to add a rebellious edge. The gold accents—gleaming buttons, buckles, and delicate embroidery—caught the light, making her look like something untouchable yet entirely captivating. The straps draped over her shoulders, fastened with shining clasps that winked with every movement, drawing attention to the fitted bodice that melted seamlessly into the high-waisted mini skirt.
Beneath it, a simple white crop top hugged her torso, modest in coverage but bold in the way it framed the outfit, leaving just enough skin exposed to tease. It was playful and daring, innocent yet dangerous—a contradiction in fashion, just as she was in spirit.
Self-consciously, she fidgeted with the hem of the dress, adjusting the straps as she struggled to meet his eyes. "I look ridiculous, don't I?" she muttered, casting her gaze downward, insecurity creeping in.
Ji Hoo stood, taking a few steps toward her, captivated by her transformation. He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary. "You look beautiful," he said quietly, every word imbued with sincerity.
For a fleeting moment, the world around them faded away, the bustle of their lives and the pressure of their studies dissolving as they stood together in quiet intimacy. Jan Di's heart raced; it was a feeling she had never quite experienced before. Then, breaking the spell with a nervous laugh, she grabbed her bag, urgency returning as she said, "We're going to be late for the library."
Ji Hoo simply smiled, his heart warmed by the sight of her, the image of her in that striking outfit etching itself into his memory as they stepped out the door together.
As soon as they stepped out of the mobile home, Yoon Seok Young appeared, cradling a small cub in his arms—a fuzzy little thing with bright, curious eyes that peeked from under his grandfather's gentle grip. His sharp gaze flicked from Ji Hoo to Jan Di, lingering on her for a beat longer before a knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
"Harabeoji," Jan Di greeted warmly, her cheeks slightly flushed as she noticed his lingering stare. She fidgeted with the hem of her outfit, feeling self-conscious. "Do I look weird?" she asked, her voice soft, filled with uncertainty.
"No, my dear," Yoon Seok Young replied, his smile widening, though there was a teasing glint in his eyes. "I'm just worried about how my grandson will handle so many eyes on you."
"Eyes?" Jan Di blinked, glancing around in confusion as if expecting a crowd to appear from nowhere.
Ji Hoo cleared his throat sharply, a subtle signal for his grandfather to rein in his words. But Yoon Seok Young was as stubborn as they came, his playful grin only growing wider. His words were always sharp, playful jabs hidden beneath layers of affection—a trait Ji Hoo both admired and dreaded, especially in moments like this.
When Jan Di had first stepped out of her room wearing that outfit, Ji Hoo's heart had skipped a beat. He immediately regretted giving it to her—not because she looked bad, but because she looked too good. Beautiful, radiant, confident in a way that made his chest tighten. He had wanted to tell her to change, to find something less… striking. But the words never made it past his lips. She looked perfect.
Maybe we should go to the river instead of the library, Ji Hoo thought, trying to suppress the sudden urge to keep her away from prying eyes. But reality set in quickly. It was late afternoon, and the cold would creep in soon. The library was the safer choice—quiet, warm, and less likely to stir unnecessary attention.
"Let's get going," Ji Hoo finally said, brushing past his grandfather with a half-hearted glare that only made Yoon Seok Young chuckle softly.
As they walked toward the car, Ji Hoo stole a glance at Jan Di, her hair dancing lightly in the breeze, the golden accents of her outfit catching the fading sunlight. His heart ached with something he couldn't fully name, but it settled deep, nestled quietly between admiration and something dangerously close to longing.
The ride to the school library was quiet, the hum of the engine filling the space between them. Ji Hoo navigated through the less crowded streets, deliberately avoiding the busy main roads. He knew Jan Di's trauma too well—the shadow Gu Jun Pyo had cast with his recklessness. It was a silent gesture of care, one he didn't need to explain, and she didn't need to acknowledge. The comfort of understanding lingered between them.
When they arrived, the library's towering structure loomed ahead, its glass doors reflecting the golden hues of the setting sun. Jan Di hesitated as she stepped out of the car. Her eyes darted around cautiously, scanning the sparse crowd, her heart racing with an irrational fear of judgment. Only when she was sure no familiar faces were in sight did she straighten her back and smooth her outfit, forcing a nonchalant expression.
Ji Hoo chuckled softly at her obvious anxiety. His laughter was warm, like the soft strum of a familiar melody. "If you're feeling uncomfortable… wear this," he said, reaching into the car and pulling out a pristine white fur coat.
The fur shimmered slightly under the dim, amber streetlights, impossibly soft and plush, cascading in perfect symmetry. Its wide, lavish collar framed the neckline with effortless sophistication, draping around her like it had been crafted just for her. Every detail whispered of elegance—tailored seams, a gentle flare at the waist that hinted at a graceful silhouette. It wasn't just a coat; it was a masterpiece, a symbol of quiet power and refined poise.
Without waiting for her to protest, Ji Hoo stepped closer and gently draped it over her shoulders. His fingers brushed lightly against her arms, sending an unexpected warmth through her even in the cool evening air. "Comfortable?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Jan Di swallowed the lump in her throat, nodding slightly. "Umm… too comfortable. It might make me drowsy," she joked weakly, trying to mask the way her heart fluttered under the luxurious fabric.
Ji Hoo smiled, that soft, rare smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. Without thinking, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer in a protective gesture that felt as natural as breathing. "Let's go," he murmured, his warmth seeping through the coat and straight into her heart.
The pottery studio was bathed in the soft glow of the late afternoon sun, casting long, amber streaks across the worn wooden floor. Dust motes floated lazily in the beams of light, dancing to the quiet rhythm of the spinning pottery wheel. The air smelled faintly of damp clay, tinged with the comforting warmth of sun-soaked walls.
Yi Jung's hands moved expertly, molding a lump of wet clay into something delicate and promising. His brows were furrowed in concentration, lips slightly parted—a portrait of quiet focus. Ga Eul watched from a distance, perched on a small stool, her chin resting on her knees. The gentle hum of the wheel was hypnotic, but it wasn't the clay that had her attention. It was him.
After a while, she broke the silence, her voice soft but teasing. "You know, for someone who's mastered the art of charm, you get incredibly serious when you're working."
Yi Jung glanced up, a lopsided grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Clay doesn't fall for charm, Ga Eul-yang. It demands patience… and honesty."
She chuckled, standing and wiping her hands on her apron as she approached. "Maybe that's why I like it."
He tilted his head, intrigued. "You like it because it's honest?"
She nodded, leaning in to inspect his work—a vase with curves both bold and delicate. "Clay doesn't pretend. It's fragile, messy… but if you handle it right, it holds together." Her eyes flicked to his, lingering longer than intended. "Kind of like people."
Yi Jung's smile faded, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. Without thinking, he reached for her hand. "Try it," he said quietly, guiding her fingers to the cool, damp clay.
His touch was gentle, yet it sent a jolt through her, like the first touch of warm water on cold skin. He moved behind her, his arms enveloping hers, their hands meeting on the spinning clay. She could feel his breath near her ear, steady but close enough to make her heart race.
"Don't control it too much," he whispered, his voice low and warm. "Just feel it. Let it respond to you."
Ga Eul tried to focus on the clay, but her senses were consumed by everything else—the faint scent of his cologne, the warmth of his chest just inches from her back, the way his fingers overlapped hers, strong but tender. Their hands moved together, shaping something imperfect yet beautiful.
After a while, Yi Jung turned off the wheel. Silence settled between them, thick with unsaid words. The vase stood in front of them, a fragile testament to the moment they'd just shared.
Ga Eul broke the quiet, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know if we made something beautiful or if it just feels beautiful because… you were here."
Yi Jung didn't respond right away. Instead, he gently turned her to face him, his hand lingering on hers. Their eyes met—his dark, contemplative; hers wide, vulnerable.
"There's beauty in both," Yi Jung's fingers brushed a stray streak of clay from Ga Eul's cheek, but instead of pulling away, his hand lingered. His thumb grazed her skin, slow and deliberate, tracing the faint curve of her cheekbone. The studio grew unbearably quiet, save for the faint creak of the cooling kiln and the wild drumming of Ga Eul's heart in her chest.
Her breath hitched, sharp and soft, like the tiniest crack forming in glass. She didn't dare move, afraid the moment would shatter. She could feel the heat radiating from him, the space between them charged like static before a storm. His dark eyes, usually filled with playful arrogance, now burned with something raw and unguarded—something that made her knees feel unsteady.
Yi Jung's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his gaze flickering from her eyes to her lips, lingering there like he was memorizing every curve, every breath. His fingers slid from her cheek, trailing down to the delicate line of her jaw, then to the base of her neck where her pulse throbbed wildly beneath his touch.
"Ga Eul-yang," he whispered, his voice husky, rough around the edges like he was holding back an avalanche. "I've been trying… not to do this."
Her lips parted slightly, a soft exhale escaping, but no words followed. She didn't trust her voice—not when her heart felt like it was about to break free from her ribs. Her hands, almost trembling, found their way to his forearms, gripping lightly as if anchoring herself.
Then, slowly—agonizingly slowly—Yi Jung leaned in.
His forehead rested against hers for a beat, their breaths mingling, uneven and shallow. She could feel the tremor in his body, the way his chest rose and fell with each ragged inhale. His scent—earthy, with a faint trace of clay and something uniquely him—wrapped around her like a spell.
Her eyes fluttered shut, not because she was afraid, but because it felt too big to look at. She could feel him hesitate, the faintest pull back as if giving her space to change her mind. But she didn't. She leaned in that last fragile inch.
The moment their lips met, it was like everything else dissolved—the walls, the spinning wheel, even time itself. His mouth was warm, soft yet demanding, tasting of unspoken words and pent-up longing. It wasn't gentle—not entirely. It was desperate, like he'd been starving for this, for her, and now that he had a taste, he didn't know how to stop.
Ga Eul's hands slid up, fingers tangling into his hair, pulling him closer as if afraid he might disappear. Her heart raced so fast she was certain he could feel it pounding through her chest. Yi Jung's hands moved too—one cradling the back of her head, the other gripping her waist, fingers digging in slightly as if anchoring himself to the reality of her.
The kiss deepened, growing bolder, their bodies pressing together, erasing the space that had always felt too wide. It wasn't just lips meeting—it was years of tension unraveling, of stolen glances, of late-night thoughts neither dared to voice.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathless, foreheads still touching, their eyes heavy-lidded and dazed like they'd been pulled from a dream.
Yi Jung let out a shaky breath, his lips still grazing hers as he whispered, "I should've done that a long time ago."
Ga Eul managed a soft, breathless laugh, her fingers still threaded in his hair. "I was wondering how long it'd take you."
He chuckled, resting his forehead against hers again, his thumb brushing the corner of her swollen lips, his eyes filled with a tenderness she'd never seen before.
Here's a richly detailed, emotional development of the scene, capturing the deep emotions between Yi Jung and Ga Eul, along with an intricate description of the ring:
Yi Jung's hands trembled slightly as he smashed the piece of clay onto the pottery wheel, the wet sound of it splattering echoing softly in the quiet studio. His heart raced, pounding against his chest like it was trying to break free. Ga Eul looked at him with curious eyes, the same eyes that had haunted his thoughts for months—warm, honest, and filled with a kindness he never thought he deserved.
Without saying a word, he grabbed her hand, the warmth of her skin grounding him as he guided her fingers into the soft clay. Their hands moved together, molding, shaping, but Yi Jung's focus wasn't on the clay anymore. His eyes flickered to her face, memorizing every detail—the way her brows furrowed in concentration, the faint flush on her cheeks, the slight parting of her lips when she was focused.
As their fingers dug deeper, Ga Eul's fingertips brushed against something solid hidden within the cool, malleable clay. Her brows knitted in confusion, and she glanced up at Yi Jung, who gave her a soft, almost shy smile—an expression she'd never seen on him before.
"Yi Jung… what is this?" she asked softly, her voice trembling with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. His name without the formal honorific sounded like a melody he wanted to hear for the rest of his life.
"Open it," he urged, his voice low, thick with emotion.
Ga Eul's clay-streaked fingers carefully pulled out a small velvet red box, its rich crimson color stark against the earthy brown of the clay. She wiped her hands hastily on a cloth, her breath hitching as she slowly lifted the lid.
Inside, nestled against the plush velvet, was a ring that seemed to capture the very essence of light itself.
The ring was a masterpiece—crafted from rose gold, its warm, blush hue glinting softly under the studio's dim lighting. The band was delicate yet strong, etched with intricate, swirling patterns reminiscent of vines entwined with tiny blossoms, symbolizing growth and resilience. Along the band, a row of perfectly cut diamonds sparkled like a constellation, each stone meticulously set to catch the light from every angle.
But the centerpiece was what stole Ga Eul's breath—a stunning, round-cut diamond perched elegantly in a four-prong setting, its facets catching the flickering glow like fragments of stardust. The diamond wasn't just clear—it shimmered with a subtle fire, casting tiny rainbows whenever it moved. Surrounding it, delicate milgrain detailing framed the stone like a crown, giving the ring an antique, timeless feel, as though it held not just beauty but history.
Ga Eul's fingers trembled as she traced the cool metal, her heart swelling with emotions she couldn't put into words.
Yi Jung's voice broke the silence, rough and raw with emotion. "I'm sorry it took me so long to realize what my heart wanted. I was too stubborn… too afraid to admit it." He reached for her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles gently. "But every moment with you chipped away at my walls. You've been patient, kind… and somehow, you've made me believe in things I thought I'd buried long ago."
He took the ring from the box, his fingers slightly shaking—not from fear, but from the overwhelming rush of finally doing what his heart had been screaming for.
"This isn't an engagement ring," he whispered, his gaze locking with hers, dark eyes filled with vulnerability and longing. "It's a promise. A promise that I'm here—that I'm not running anymore. That my heart… belongs to you."
Ga Eul's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her breath shaky as she nodded, unable to find words. Yi Jung gently slid the ring onto her finger, the perfect fit sealing the unspoken vow between them.
She let out a soft, shaky laugh, tears slipping down her cheeks. "You're such an idiot, Yi Jung," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
He laughed softly, leaning forward until their foreheads touched, his thumb wiping away her tears. "I know. But I'm your idiot now."
And with that, he kissed her—not with hesitation, but with the fierce, undeniable certainty of a man who'd finally found home.
The atmosphere in the library shifted the moment Ji Hoo and Jan Di stepped through the grand wooden doors. The usual hum of pages turning and soft whispers faded into a collective silence as every head subtly—or not so subtly—turned in their direction. Their presence commanded attention without effort, like gravity itself had shifted to orbit around them.
Ji Hoo walked with his usual calm grace, his hand gently guiding Jan Di as they made their way to their usual spot by the large arched window. The afternoon sunlight streamed through, casting a warm, golden glow that seemed to frame them perfectly. No one dared to occupy those two seats—they were silently reserved by an unspoken rule. Everyone knew those seats belonged to Yoon Ji Hoo, one of the F4, and now, by extension, to the girl who had quietly captured his heart.
Ji Hoo pulled out Jan Di's chair first, a simple gesture wrapped in an elegance that made it feel regal. She sat, offering him a shy smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. Without a word, Ji Hoo slipped behind her, his fingers lightly grazing her shoulders as he slid off the pristine white fur coat he had draped around her earlier. The motion was slow, deliberate, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary—enough to stir something unspoken between them and ignite a quiet stir among the observing students.
Then came the hairpin.
It was simple yet exquisite—an intricate design carved into delicate metal, a small jade stone gleaming softly at its center. A gift from the old woman in the Chinese market, it now carried a weight that felt heavier than its actual size. Ji Hoo's fingers brushed against the nape of Jan Di's neck as he gently gathered her hair, twisting it into a loose, elegant knot before sliding the pin through with careful precision. His touch sent a shiver down Jan Di's spine, though she kept her gaze forward, pretending to focus on the papers laid out before her.
But Ji Hoo wasn't done unraveling her composure.
He took his seat beside her, impossibly close. Their arms brushed as they opened the old exam papers their grandfather had provided. The warmth from his body seeped into her skin, a contrast to the cool breeze sneaking through the slightly cracked window.
As they reviewed the questions, Ji Hoo leaned in, his face inches from hers. His breath was warm against her cheek, tinged with the faint scent of mint and something uniquely him. He pointed at a complicated diagram, his hand sliding around her bare waist with the casual ease of someone who had every right to be there. But it wasn't casual—not for Jan Di. Her heart raced, a delicate drum against her ribs, betraying the calm facade she desperately clung to.
Each time his fingers brushed her skin, goosebumps followed, hidden beneath the fabric of her blouse. Their eyes met—once, twice, and then again—long enough for the rest of the world to blur into insignificance. There was an intensity in Ji Hoo's gaze, a softness layered beneath curiosity, as if he was reading more than just the words on the paper.
The students around them were captivated, not just by their beauty but by the invisible thread of tension woven between them. It was the way Ji Hoo's hand lingered a second too long on her waist, the subtle hitch in Jan Di's breath, the slight curve of Ji Hoo's lips when he caught her staring. It was in the silence between their words, in the quiet pauses where their hearts spoke louder than any whispered conversation.
For the rest of the library, it was a distraction—a beautiful, heart-stirring distraction. But for Ji Hoo and Jan Di, it was something else entirely. A slow-burning realization that no amount of exam papers or focused study could bury the feelings simmering just beneath the surface.
When Jan Di wasn't looking, Ji Hoo found himself lost in the quiet art of memorizing her—every line, every curve, every detail etched into the fragile canvas of his heart. The library faded into a blur of muted whispers and rustling pages, the world narrowing down to just the girl sitting beside him, her presence more vivid than any masterpiece hanging in a gallery.
His gaze drifted to her face, tracing the smooth, soft creaminess of her skin, kissed faintly by the golden hue of the setting sun spilling through the window. It was flawless, not in the way perfection is often measured, but in the way it felt achingly real—unapologetically her. The delicate slope of her jawline, the faint blush dusting her cheeks as she concentrated on the exam paper, the tiny freckle near her ear he'd only noticed when she tucked her hair behind it—it was all poetry without words.
But his eyes never lingered long; they always found their way back to hers.
Jan Di's eyes—those round, big brown doe eyes—were the kind of beautiful that didn't just catch you off guard; they reached inside you, stealing something precious without asking. They held galaxies within them, stories untold, emotions raw and unfiltered. Ji Hoo remembered the first time they met, how those eyes had looked at him not with awe, but with sincerity, piercing through the layers of quiet solitude he'd built around himself. She had called him the mirror of her soul a few days ago, her voice soft, almost afraid to admit it aloud. But what she didn't know was that she was also the mirror of his soul—the reflection he never knew he needed until it was right in front of him.
His gaze traveled to her nose, small and delicate, perfectly proportioned as if sketched with gentle strokes by an artist who understood restraint. And then, inevitably, his eyes found their way to her lips.
Oh, those lips.
Soft, pink, and slightly parted as she read through the papers, occasionally mouthing words to herself without realizing it. Ji Hoo felt his heart tighten, his chest constricting with the weight of wanting something he knew he shouldn't crave this deeply. After their second kiss a few days ago, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about them—the way they had felt against his, warm and moist, trembling slightly as if the world had gone still except for that one fragile moment.
It wasn't just the kiss; it was everything it represented.
Desire, yes. But also fear. The fear of falling too hard, too fast. The fear of never being enough. Yet, despite it all, he was already lost. Every heartbeat whispered her name, every breath carried the ache of wanting.
Ji Hoo's fingers itched to reach out, to trace the curve of her cheek, to tuck that stray strand of hair behind her ear—not because it was out of place, but because it gave him an excuse to touch her, to feel the warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips. But he didn't. Instead, he clenched his hand into a fist beneath the table, grounding himself in restraint.
His heart had never belonged to anyone the way it belonged to Jan Di. It wasn't fleeting infatuation; it was a quiet, all-consuming love—the kind that didn't need grand declarations or dramatic gestures. It lived in stolen glances, in the soft curve of a smile, in the way her laughter echoed in his memory long after it faded from the room.
And as he watched her now, oblivious to the chaos she stirred within him, Ji Hoo realized something with painful clarity—he could never look at anyone else the way he looked at Jan Di. No one else's presence could fill the spaces in his heart she had carved out just by existing. She wasn't just a part of his life; she was the melody to his silence, the heartbeat beneath his calm facade.
She was it. She was everything.
…
Too many emotions surged through Ji Hoo, crashing against the walls of his carefully composed demeanor like relentless waves against fragile glass. His heart raced—not with the excitement of the moment, but with the terrifying, beautiful realization that he was utterly, hopelessly in love with Jan Di. It wasn't new, but today it felt different. It felt heavier, deeper, like gravity itself had shifted just for her.
His hand moved before his mind could catch up, driven by something more primal than thought—instinct, maybe. His fingers found the curve of her waist, the warmth of her through the thin fabric sending a jolt straight to his chest. He didn't grip her, didn't pull harshly. It was gentle, reverent, as if she were something fragile, something sacred he wasn't sure
he deserved to touch. But he needed to. Just to feel that she was real, here, within reach.
Jan Di's body reacted before her mind did—a slight shiver rippling through her, delicate as the tremor of a leaf kissed by the wind. Ji Hoo felt it, the soft quiver beneath his fingertips, and his heart clenched. It wasn't cold. It wasn't fear. It was something else—something unspoken that echoed between them like the soft hum of a distant melody.
She turned her head slowly, her eyes meeting his. Time seemed to stretch, the seconds elongated into eternity. One heartbeat. Two. Three. Their gaze locked, and the rest of the library—the rustle of pages, the faint scratching of pens, even the soft murmurs—faded into silence. It was just them, trapped in this fragile, weightless bubble where nothing existed but the pull of their souls, tangled in a connection neither fully understood.
Jan Di's heart stumbled, a chaotic rhythm against her ribs. She couldn't look away, couldn't break the invisible thread tethering her to Ji Hoo's gaze. His eyes were dark, burning with something she'd never seen before—not just affection, but longing, raw and unfiltered. It wasn't the soft, distant warmth he usually held in his quiet demeanor. No, this was different. This was a wildfire.
And then, like an uninvited whisper, an image crept into her mind—vivid and startling. She saw herself with him, their bodies submerged in the warmth of a hot spring, steam curling around them like a veil, his lips on hers, claiming her with the same intensity mirrored in his eyes right now. The vision felt real, too real, and it sent a rush of heat cascading through her veins.
Her eyes snapped back to reality, wide and blinking rapidly as if trying to shake off the vivid daydream. She could still feel the ghost of that imagined kiss lingering on her lips. That's when it happened—the flutes. The soft, melodic tune drifted through the library again, as if the universe was mocking her or perhaps trying to tell her something she wasn't ready to hear. The melody was gentle and tender, yet it carried an undeniable weight of fate, weaving through the charged silence between them.
Panic bubbled up, and Jan Di did what she always did when emotions felt too big to handle—she retreated behind the comfort of her awkwardness.
"I-I'm hungry," she blurted out, her voice a little too loud for the hushed library. The excuse was weak, transparent even, but it was the only shield she had to protect herself from the overwhelming tide of feelings threatening to drown her.
Ji Hoo didn't move his hand right away. His thumb brushed against her skin, a subtle, almost unconscious caress, as if he didn't want to let go. His lips curved slightly, not into his usual polite smile, but something softer—almost wistful.
"Hungry, huh?" His voice was low, laced with a warmth that made her heart stutter again. Ji Hoo blinked, the intensity in his gaze dimming just slightly, replaced by a soft, knowing smile. He didn't call her out on the excuse. He didn't need to. He saw right through it, through her. But he let her have it, because he understood her better than she understood herself sometimes.
His hand slid away from her waist, leaving behind a ghost of warmth, and he leaned back slightly, giving her the space she silently begged for. But his heart—his heart stayed right there with her, wrapped around her like an invisible thread that no distance could ever sever.
Ji Hoo's voice was soft, like velvet wrapped around the raw tension lingering between them. His words floated into the fragile space they'd just shared, an anchor pulling Jan Di back from the edge of emotions she wasn't ready to name.
"What do you want to eat?" he asked, his lips curving into a gentle smile that didn't quite reach his eyes—eyes still shadowed by the echoes of their unspoken feelings. His fingers brushed through his hair, as if to shake off the intensity of the moment, but his gaze never fully left her face.
Jan Di swallowed, her heart still thudding against her ribs like it was trying to break free. She couldn't find her voice at first, the sudden shift from that magnetic pull to something so simple—cookies—making her brain scramble for balance.
Ji Hoo reached into his bag, pulling out a small container wrapped neatly, like it had been packed with care. "I have some of your favorite cookies," he continued, his voice a little lighter now, as if trying to smooth over the rough edges of the tension still hanging between them. He opened the container slightly, the sweet aroma drifting between them, warm and familiar. "Vanilla… chocolate… ginger. Which one will you have today?"
Jan Di blinked, her lips parting slightly, but no words came out. The simplicity of the question felt like a lifeline, pulling her out of the emotional undertow. Yet, her heart betrayed her, squeezing tight because it wasn't just about cookies. It was about how he remembered. Every little detail. Every small thing that made her smile.
She glanced at the cookies, then back at him, her chest tightening at the way he looked at her—not with expectation, but with quiet affection, like her answer mattered more than it should.
"Ginger," she finally whispered, her voice softer than she intended.
Ji Hoo's smile deepened, warmth flickering behind his eyes like sunlight breaking through clouds. He picked the ginger cookie gently, as if it were something fragile, and held it out to her. Their fingers brushed as she took it—just a brief, fleeting touch, but it was enough to send a spark zipping up her spine.
As she nibbled on the cookie, pretending it was just a snack and not a shield against the storm brewing in her heart, Ji Hoo watched her with that same quiet intensity. His gaze was a soft caress, lingering on the curve of her smile, the way her lashes dipped when she chewed thoughtfully, and the faint flush on her cheeks she couldn't quite hide.
He didn't say anything more. He didn't need to. The silence between them spoke louder than words, filled with everything they weren't ready to admit.
Yet.
…
The quiet sanctuary of the library, usually a place of hushed whispers and the soft rustle of pages turning, had transformed into a hive of barely contained gossip. The tension between Ji Hoo and Jan Di was like an invisible thread, weaving through the rows of books and binding the curious eyes of the students around them. The faint scratch of pens against paper had been replaced by low murmurs, sneaky glances, and subtle nudges under tables.
"Did you see that?" A boy whispered, leaning across the table to his friend, his eyes still darting toward the corner where Ji Hoo and Jan Di sat. His voice carried the mix of disbelief and awe, like he'd just witnessed something forbidden.
"I saw," his friend replied, barely moving his lips, as if afraid the couple in question could somehow hear them over the soft hum of the library's fluorescent lights. His gaze flickered back to Ji Hoo, who was now gently adjusting Jan Di's hairpin, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary.
A girl seated nearby couldn't resist chiming in, her voice coated with the kind of excitement that came from watching a real-life drama unfold. "He's looking at her as if she's the only person in the world."
Her friend rolled her eyes slightly but nodded in agreement, her face betraying a reluctant fascination. "Why are you surprised?" she replied, adjusting her glasses with an air of false indifference. "I mean, she's closer to Ji Hoo Sunbae than Jun Pyo Sunbae. She's in a relationship with Jun Pyo Sunbae, but always with Ji Hoo Sunbae."
"I know that," the first girl snapped back, her tone defensive, as if admitting it out loud made the situation more complicated. Her fingers fiddled with the corner of her notebook, eyes darting back to the pair across the room.
"Yes, you know," another girl interjected from the next table over, her voice dripping with 'bitter honesty' as she leaned forward, unable to resist adding her own commentary. "And to be honest with you—bitter honesty—she looks better with Ji Hoo Sunbae than with Jun Pyo Sunbae if you ask me."
A collective pause settled over the group, the words hanging in the air like a scandalous secret that had been too long unspoken. The boy who'd first spoken let out a soft, breathless chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "It's the way he looks at her," he murmured, voice softer now, almost reverent. "Like she's art—something precious. Not just someone he likes."
Across the room, oblivious—or perhaps deliberately indifferent—to the storm of whispers swirling around them, Ji Hoo leaned closer to Jan Di, pointing at something in her notebook. His hand rested lightly on the small of her back, fingers splayed with casual familiarity that spoke volumes. His eyes, however, weren't on the page. They were on her—watching the way her lips moved when she spoke, the faint crease in her brow when she concentrated, and the subtle rise and fall of her breath.
Jan Di seemed unaware of the audience, or maybe she was just good at pretending. She nodded thoughtfully at whatever Ji Hoo was explaining, her shoulder brushing against his, the casual touch igniting sparks that neither of them acknowledged.
But the library saw it all.
Every glance.
Every touch.
Every unsaid word suspended in the air between them.
And the whispers grew louder—not in volume, but in intensity—as if the entire school could feel the shift in the story unfolding right before their eyes.
The evening air had cooled, but inside the library, tension simmered beneath the surface. Jan Di shifted in her seat before glancing at Ji Hoo.
"I'm going to the bathroom," she excused herself softly, standing up and smoothing down the folds of her dress.
Ji Hoo gave a small nod, his eyes following her until she disappeared past the shelves. He wasn't one to hover, but something tugged at his instincts. He reminded himself that she was just stepping out for a few minutes—he didn't need to follow.
And yet…
He noticed them.
A group of boys, three in particular, seated a few tables away. Their gazes lingered on her—not with casual curiosity but with something darker. Their eyes flicked to one another, exchanging silent signals, before they rose to their feet and quietly slipped out after her.
A sharp sense of unease curled in Ji Hoo's chest.
Wolves.
That was what they were.
He knew that look, had seen it enough times at parties and clubs where men thought they could prey on someone simply because they outnumbered them. His fingers curled into fists as he stood, his usually soft eyes now filled with a lethal sharpness. Without a sound, he followed.
By the time he reached the hallway, they were already lingering near the entrance of the women's restroom, their presence predatory. They hadn't noticed him yet—too caught up in their own arrogance as they muttered among themselves. Ji Hoo didn't need to hear what they were saying to know their intentions were anything but good.
He leaned against the opposite wall, watching.
Waiting.
One of them—tall, broad-shouldered, and exuding a false sense of confidence—reached for the door.
That's when Ji Hoo spoke.
"Do you realize this is the ladies' washroom?" His voice was calm, but the ice beneath it sent a shiver through the hallway. "What are you doing here?"
The three boys stiffened, turning toward him. For a brief second, he saw it—the flicker of fear. Good.
But the boldest of them quickly masked it, straightening his shoulders. "And you... what are you doing here, Yoon Ji Hoo?" His voice held false bravado, but his fingers twitched slightly by his side.
Ji Hoo tilted his head, amusement flickering over his otherwise impassive face. The arrogance. The stupidity. This boy had no idea who he was dealing with.
He let out a slow breath, shaking his head as if disappointed. "Listen to me carefully..." His voice dropped, becoming something dark, something lethal. "Whatever idea you have in your head, you better make it evaporate before I lose my patience."
One of the boy's friends grabbed his arm, clearly nervous now. "Dude, let's go—"
But the bold one yanked free, holding his ground. "You think being an F4 scares me?"
Ji Hoo chuckled, but it was devoid of warmth. He took a slow step forward, closing the distance between them with terrifying ease. His presence alone was a force, suffocating and inescapable. Without hesitation, he placed his palm against the boy's chest and shoved.
Not hard. Just enough to make a statement.
The boy stumbled back, eyes widening. Ji Hoo leaned in, his voice a whisper, but it dripped with something more dangerous than rage—controlled, quiet fury.
"If anyone has a dirty mind against Geum Jan Di..." His gaze darkened, and his lips curled into something almost sinister. "...then the demon inside me will awaken."
Silence.
The two friends looked at each other, shifting uncomfortably. The bold one clenched his jaw, but he wasn't stupid enough to push further. Ji Hoo had just reminded them who he was.
A Yoon.
An F4.
A man who, despite his calm demeanor, was not someone to be tested.
Ji Hoo straightened, his stance relaxed, almost indifferent. "Now leave."
The unspoken before I make you hung in the air.
One by one, they stepped back before turning and walking away, their pride wounded but their bodies intact.
Ji Hoo watched them disappear before exhaling, shaking off the simmering anger in his chest. He turned toward the restroom door, making sure Jan Di was safe inside before leaning against the wall, waiting for her.
He wouldn't tell her what happened.
She didn't need to know.
But the next time he caught anyone looking at her like that, there wouldn't be a warning.
Jan Di stepped out of the washroom, her fingers adjusting the hem of her top as she exhaled softly. The cool air met her flushed skin, and for a moment, she felt relief—until she spotted Ji Hoo leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed, eyes unreadable.
"Sunbae?" Her voice held a mixture of confusion and something softer, something almost shy. "What are you doing here?"
Ji Hoo's gaze never wavered from her face as he pushed off the wall and took a step forward, closing the distance between them effortlessly. He didn't answer right away, only studying her, as if confirming for himself that she was safe.
"I was worried," he finally said, his voice quiet, steady.
It wasn't a lie. He had been worried. But there was something more—something deeper he didn't voice.
Before she could react, his hands reached for her arms, his fingers grazing her bare skin in slow, deliberate movements. The touch was light at first, a mere whisper of warmth against her cool flesh. He ran his hands up and down, caressing her gently, his fingertips tracing soft patterns against her skin.
Her breath hitched.
Then, without warning, his hand trailed downward, skimming over the dip of her waist before settling on her bare stomach.
Jan Di's entire body tensed.
His palm, warm and firm, pressed against her skin, moving in slow circles—soothing, yet electrifying. She sucked in a sharp breath, her muscles tightening involuntarily at the sensation. It wasn't the first time he had touched her like this—last night, he had done the same. But tonight, it felt different. More intimate.
Her senses were heightened, her body more sensitive, her emotions a tangled mess of confusion and something she wasn't ready to name.
Ji Hoo felt her shiver beneath his touch, the soft tremble that ran through her body, and his lips curled slightly. He knew. He could feel it.
"Does that make you feel better?" he murmured, his voice dipping lower, huskier.
Jan Di swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. She wanted to answer, to tell him yes or no, or something that would break the tension building between them. But the words wouldn't come.
Because the truth was—she didn't know.
All she knew was that his touch burned, and yet, she didn't want to move away.
Jan Di's breath wavered as her eyes lifted to meet Ji Hoo's. His gaze was deep, unreadable, yet something burned beneath the surface—something she wasn't sure she was ready to acknowledge. The way his fingers moved against her bare skin, slow and deliberate, sent a shiver racing through her spine.
"Sunbae..." Her voice came out softer than she intended, barely above a whisper.
Ji Hoo's hand didn't still. Instead, he drew her closer, his palm pressed firmly against her stomach, fingers splayed across her warm skin. She didn't pull away. That alone surprised him. Jan Di was always quick to put distance between them whenever she felt something unfamiliar—something dangerous between them. But now, she stood there, letting him hold her.
When did this start?
Was it after their second kiss a few days ago?
Or had it always been there, waiting beneath the surface, only now unraveling thread by thread?
Ji Hoo exhaled, his voice low and careful. "Does your stomach still hurt?"
Jan Di shook her head, not trusting her voice. She hoped that would be enough—that he would stop, that the warmth in her chest and the shivers running through her limbs would fade. But Ji Hoo didn't move away. His fingers continued their slow caress, his touch firm yet unbearably gentle, sending heat pooling in places she didn't understand.
"You..." she swallowed hard, forcing herself to speak. "You don't have to do this, Sunbae."
Ji Hoo's lips curled slightly, his thumb brushing feather-light circles over her skin. "I know," he murmured.
And yet, he didn't stop.
Because he didn't want to.
Because she wasn't pulling away.
And because, for the first time, he realized—neither of them wanted this moment to end.
His lips hovered mere centimeters from hers, the air between them charged, crackling like an impending storm. His breath, warm and unsteady, ghosted over her lips, and she felt it—felt him—seep into her, making her chest tighten and her pulse race.
Jan Di swallowed, her throat dry, her body betraying her thoughts. Her eyes fluttered shut before she even realized it, her lashes trembling against her cheeks. She wasn't sure why she closed them—wasn't sure why her breath hitched or why the space between them suddenly felt unbearable.
Anticipation.
A silent yearning neither of them had spoken aloud, yet both of them had felt for so long.
Ji Hoo's heart pounded against his ribs, his fingers tightening ever so slightly against her waist, his other hand lifting, hovering just near her cheek. He could feel the heat radiating from her skin, the slight tremble in her breath as if she were holding it in, waiting.
Waiting for him.
God, how many nights had he imagined this? How many times had he held himself back, convinced that she wasn't his to want? But right now, in this moment, she wasn't pulling away.
She was waiting.
His lips moved closer, a mere whisper away, his breath mingling with hers, his control slipping inch by inch. His fingers grazed the side of her face, thumb ghosting over her cheek, and she leaned into his touch, a barely-there movement, but enough—enough to send fire coursing through his veins.
Then—
A sudden noise from the library.
Laughter. Voices. The sharp clatter of books falling against a table.
The spell shattered.
Jan Di's eyes snapped open, her breath coming out in a sharp exhale. Ji Hoo froze, his forehead nearly pressed against hers, his grip on her waist loosening.
Reality slammed into them like a crashing wave.
She blinked up at him, lips still parted, her cheeks flushed with something she couldn't even name. His jaw tightened, his body rigid, his hands still lingering as if refusing to let go.
Ji Hoo closed his eyes for a brief second, exhaling through his nose, reigning himself back in.
Too close.
Too much.
But damn it, he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold back.
Ji Hoo swallowed hard, forcing himself to step back, to put distance between them before he did something reckless—something he wouldn't be able to take back. His fingers tingled where they had touched her, his heart still hammering against his chest as he inhaled deeply, trying to steady himself.
"Let's get home," he said, his voice rougher than he intended. "We need to get up early for tomorrow."
Jan Di nodded quickly, her movements stiff. "Hum." She didn't meet his gaze, her hands clutching the hem of her coat as if grounding herself.
Ji Hoo watched her for a second longer, searching for something in her expression—regret? Confusion? But instead, he found something else entirely. Something in the way her lips were slightly parted, the way her breath came in uneven waves, the way she still hadn't looked at him.
She felt it too.
The tension, the heat, the way they had almost crossed a line neither of them could deny existed anymore.
Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, but neither moved to break it.
Finally, Ji Hoo exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before turning on his heel. "Let's go," he muttered, leading the way toward the exit, his mind a chaotic mess.
Jan Di followed, her fingers brushing against her stomach where he had touched her moments ago, still feeling the ghost of his warmth lingering on her skin.
Neither of them spoke.
Neither of them dared to.
Because if they did—if they acknowledged what had just happened between them—then everything would change.
Back in their mobile house, the silence between them was deafening. Neither Ji Hoo nor Jan Di had spoken much since they returned. Dinner had gone by quietly, the only sound filling the space was the occasional clinking of utensils against plates. Even his grandfather had noticed the unspoken tension but had chosen to focus on feeding the wounded cub, carefully tilting the small bowl so the little one could drink its milk and warm soup.
Ji Hoo had caught Jan Di stealing glances at him during dinner, her lips slightly parted as if she wanted to say something, but every time she would just lower her gaze and continue eating. He wasn't sure why he felt so restless. Maybe it was because every time he looked at her, he could still feel the warmth of her body under his touch. The memory of her shiver, the way she had closed her eyes, waiting—expecting—lingered in his mind, refusing to fade.
After showering, they had settled into bed, facing opposite directions, the distance between them feeling wider than it actually was.
Ji Hoo lay on his side, staring at the wooden wall of the mobile home, his mind running in endless circles. He could hear her breathing, steady yet slightly uneven, as if she, too, was lost in thought.
He swallowed hard. He wanted to say something—anything—but the weight of the moment in the library still lingered between them, unspoken and unresolved.
Finally, he sighed, his voice coming out quieter than he intended.
"Jan Di..."
She stiffened at the sound of her name but didn't turn. "Hmm?"
A long pause stretched between them before he whispered, "Nothing. Just... sleep well."
She hesitated for a moment, then nodded against her pillow. "You too, Sunbae."
Silence settled once more, but this time, it wasn't empty. It was charged, thick with everything unsaid.
And though they faced away from each other, neither of them could ignore the pull between them—the invisible string that tied them together, whether they wanted it to or not.
As the night deepened, a serene hush enveloped the cozy mobile house where Ji Hoo and Jan Di lay peacefully asleep. The dim glow of the moon filtered through the window, casting silvery beams across the room. Outside, the distant hoot of an owl and the gentle rustling of leaves provided a lullaby to the night.
On the nearby wooden table, their jade flutes rested side by side, their carved patterns gleaming under the soft light. Then, suddenly, something stirred. A faint shimmer pulsed from within the flutes, a heartbeat of magic awakening. The intricate carvings glowed, their ancient energy coming alive, illuminating the space with an ethereal radiance.
And then, from the flutes, a butterfly emerged—luminous, otherworldly, its wings painted in iridescent hues of blue and white. It fluttered into the air with delicate grace, its movement almost hypnotic, leaving behind a trail of twinkling particles that drifted down like enchanted stardust. The tiny specks of light settled over Ji Hoo and Jan Di, caressing their skin like a whisper of unseen magic.
As the enchantment took hold, their breaths deepened, their bodies stilled. Slowly, their consciousness was pulled away, spiraling into a dreamscape where the boundaries of reality melted away.
A Different World
They awoke in a place unlike any other. The room was exquisite, draped in silk curtains that billowed gently as if carried by a non-existent breeze. The air was thick with the intoxicating scent of lavender, mingled with something sweeter—something that stirred emotions deep within the soul.
A bed, large and adorned with layers of plush blankets, sat in the center of the room. The dim glow of flickering lanterns cast playful shadows on the walls, their golden light wrapping around the two figures lying side by side.
Ji Hoo was bare-chested, his damp skin warm beneath Jan Di's trembling fingers. Beads of water trailed down the hard contours of his chest, disappearing beneath the loose towel tied around his waist. She wasn't sure how she ended up here, lying so close to him, her own robe slipping slightly off one shoulder, revealing smooth skin.
Their faces were near—so near that she could feel his warm breath mingling with hers. Her pulse quickened as she looked up into his dark, smoldering gaze. It was different. Darker. More intense than anything she had seen before.
"Husband," she whispered, unsure why the word came so naturally. Yet, it felt right, as if she had said it a thousand times before.
Ji Hoo's fingers twitched at her words, his hand instinctively reaching up to cup her cheek. His thumb brushed lightly over her skin, sending an unfamiliar heat rushing through her veins.
"Repeat it," he murmured, his voice husky, almost pleading. "Call me husband again."
Her lips parted, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks. She wasn't sure why her heart was racing so fast, why her body felt feverish under his gaze. Yet, she obeyed.
"Husband," she said again, softer this time.
A slow, almost sinful smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He leaned in, his forehead barely grazing hers, their noses brushing, teasing.
"Once more," he whispered. His breath ghosted over her lips, his voice melting into the air like silk.
"Hus—"
She barely finished before his lips captured hers, silencing the word in a kiss so soft, so consuming that it sent her mind reeling.
Her fingers instinctively curled against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her touch. His hand moved to the back of her head, cradling her gently, deepening the kiss. The taste of him was intoxicating—warm, slow, and deliberate, like a secret longing finally being fulfilled.
Their lower bodies remained connected, separated only by the thin barrier of the wet towels wrapped loosely around them. The damp fabric clung to their skin, heightening every sensation, every touch.
Ji Hoo pulled back slightly, his dark eyes searching hers, his breath ragged. "Jan Di..." he murmured, his voice laced with something deep, something raw.
She looked up at him, dazed, her lips swollen from his kiss, her body trembling with something she didn't fully understand—but she felt it.
This was no ordinary dream.
It was a world where emotions ran wild, where nothing held them back, where desire was unchecked.
A rush of heat enveloped her as the dream shifted, the world around her blurring into a golden haze. The silk canopy above them fluttered softly, the glow of lanterns casting dancing shadows across the room.
Then, she felt it. Skin against skin. Heat pressed into her, wrapping her in something unfamiliar yet intoxicating.
Ji Hoo's fingers intertwined with hers above her head, his grip both firm and reassuring as he hovered over her, their bodies impossibly close. Her breath caught in her throat as a strange sensation, a blend of sharpness and overwhelming pleasure, coursed through her. A soft moan slipped past her lips, and before she could fully process it, Ji Hoo captured the sound with his mouth, his kiss deep and consuming, as though he needed to steal every gasp, every whisper, every part of her.
"Sweetheart," he murmured against her lips, his voice husky with unspoken emotion, his forehead pressing against hers.
The way he said it—so tenderly, so reverently—sent another shiver through her. She was melting, unraveling under his touch, under the way his body moved against hers.
"I love you," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath but carrying the weight of an undeniable truth.
Her heart clenched. It felt too real. Too deep. Too overwhelming.
"I love you too," she whispered back, her voice trembling with something she didn't quite understand.
And then—
A sudden force.
A sharp pull, as if the universe had yanked them from the dream.
Their eyes snapped open.
They were back in the quiet darkness of their mobile home. The air was thick with silence, yet the remnants of the dream lingered, burning into their skin like an imprint. Their breaths were uneven, chests rising and falling rapidly, their bodies still trembling from the intensity of what had just happened.
Ji Hoo turned first, his wide, searching eyes locking onto hers. The dim glow of moonlight barely illuminated his face, but she could see it—the uncertainty, the silent question lingering in his gaze.
Had she felt it too? Had she seen the same dream, lived it the same way he had?
Jan Di's lips parted slightly, but no words came out. She turned toward him fully, her body still humming with the echoes of a sensation she had never known before.
Neither spoke.
Neither needed to.
Because the truth hung between them, heavy and undeniable. The dream had felt too real, too visceral, too electric to be anything but a revelation of something neither of them had dared to admit—until now.
An invisible red thread wrapped around their wrists. Neither saw nor noticed, yet it pulsed with an unspoken promise—binding them together in a way that transcended time, logic, and reason. The cocoon butterfly had finally blossomed, its delicate wings fluttering in the unseen realm, weaving destiny into motion.
The butterfly of love.
Whether Jan Di realized it or not, her heart had already begun to feel it—this gentle yet undeniable pull toward him.
Love.
It whispered through her veins, settling in the spaces between her breaths, in the warmth of his lingering touch, in the way her body responded to his presence without permission.
Ji Hoo, though silent, felt it too. A sensation, foreign yet familiar, curling deep inside him like a melody he had once known but forgotten.
The threads of fate had tightened.
And soon, they would see what their hearts had already begun to understand.