Ji-Hyun woke up with a mind that felt like cotton — soft, floating, a little unreal.
Last night still clung to her like cigarette smoke from the party balcony: the cold air on her cheeks, the quiet crash of music behind the glass, and Seon-woo's unreadable expression when he said they should date for one month.
Just enough for their exes to notice.
Just enough to remind the universe they were still worth something.
It had felt absurd. Dangerous. Too tempting.
But she had still said yes.
When she lifted her phone that morning, a message was already waiting.
Seon-woo:
Morning. We need rules.
Straight to business.
No greeting. No smile emojis. No hesitation.
She typed back.
Ji-Hyun:
Yeah. I'll list them.
And then she wrote the rules — the same ones you intended originally:
1. No falling in love.
2. No face pictures.
3. No clinginess.
His responses were short, simple, and borderline cold… which somehow made her chest tighten more.
Seon-woo:
Rule 1 makes sense. Don't worry. I can't fall in love again anyway.
Ji-Hyun stopped breathing for a moment.
He said it like a fact, not a fear.
She didn't ask why.
Not yet.
She wasn't strong enough to handle someone else's heartbreak when her own was still bleeding.
At work, she kept zoning out. Even while pinning fabric on mannequins or checking sketches on her tablet, Seon-woo's face kept coming back to her. Not his whole face — just flashes from last night:
His eyes.
His voice.
The way he had stood beside her like someone who had forgotten how to rest.
Mina noticed instantly.
"You're weird today," she said, leaning on Ji-Hyun's desk. "Like… weird-weird."
Ji-Hyun clicked her pen loudly. "I'm fine."
Mina shook her head. "That's exactly what people say before they do something extremely stupid like texting their ex or adopting a cat."
Ji-Hyun didn't answer.
Because she had already done something stupid.
She agreed to pretend-date a stranger with sad eyes and an even sadder smile.
Then her phone buzzed again.
Seon-woo:
Free tonight? We should make the plan look real.
Her heartbeat skidded.
Make it look real.
She didn't reply for a full minute, but the truth was she was already choosing an outfit in her head.
They met at a riverside walkway just after sunset. The wind was colder there, brushing past the water like quiet fingers. Seon-woo stood leaning against the railing, hands in pockets, posture loose but somehow alert — like he always expected something to go wrong.
He straightened when he saw her.
"You came."
"I said I would." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She suddenly felt nervous — the stupid, fluttery kind.
"We should talk about how we'll… appear," he said. "If this is supposed to look real."
Ji-Hyun nodded. "I know. We need some base story. How we met."
He tilted his head slightly. "We met on a balcony. That part can stay."
"But we can't say we trauma-bonded over our exes," she muttered.
A tiny smile flickered at the edge of his lips — a rare, fleeting spark.
"No," he said softly. "Probably not."
They walked along the river, watching boats drift past, lights shimmering across the water. For a while, neither of them spoke. There was something calm in the silence, like they were both too tired to pretend.
Finally, Seon-woo stopped.
"We should define boundaries," he said. "Rules are fine, but boundaries are different."
She blinked. "Okay… what boundaries?"
He looked at the river, not at her.
"No touching unless necessary."
Her stomach tightened unexpectedly.
Necessary.
Why did that word feel like a hook in her ribs?
"Fine," she said.
"And…"
He hesitated — his first hesitation since meeting her.
"And no asking about the past," he finished.
She understood. Too well.
"Then you can't ask about mine either."
"I won't."
For a moment, they stood facing each other under the street lamp, shadows overlapping, the river wind brushing between them.
He spoke again, more softly:
"One month, right?"
"Yes. One month."
"Good," he said. "I'm not good at… long things."
Ji-Hyun wasn't sure if he meant relationships or life in general.
They sat at a bench afterward, and Seon-woo pulled out his phone.
"For the plan to work," he said, "we should have something to post. Nothing obvious. Just… enough."
She frowned. "I'm not posting a couple photo."
"No faces," he reminded her. "Just something people will assume."
Ji-Hyun sighed. "Like what?"
He took a picture — clean, aesthetic, almost annoyingly perfect — of their hands resting on the bench, not touching, but close enough that someone could misinterpret it.
She blinked. "How did you— You took that without asking?"
"You looked away," he said simply.
"That's creepy."
"That's efficient."
Against her will, she laughed.
"Fine. Show me."
He turned the screen toward her. It was simple but intimate: her sleeve brushing near his hand, the warm streetlight making their shadows overlap just a little.
She hated that it looked… beautiful.
"Post it," he said quietly.
Her heart jumped at the quiet confidence in his voice.
She posted it.
Within minutes, her notifications began exploding.
Mina:
WHO IS THAT HAND AND WHY IS IT NEXT TO YOURS????
Her ex:
…Seriously?
Ji-Hyun stared at the message from her ex for a long moment, feeling something sharp inside her loosen.
It was working.
She looked up at Seon-woo.
"Your ex notice anything yet?" she asked.
He shrugged. "She blocked me last month. But her friends follow me. Someone will tell her."
"So what do we do tomorrow?"
He stood, hands sliding into his pockets.
"Tomorrow," he said quietly, meeting her eyes, "we let them see us together."
Her breath hitched.
"You mean… in public?"
"Yes." His expression didn't waver. "If we want this to work, we show up like a couple."
The word couple pulsed in the space between them.
A temporary lie.
A short-term illusion.
A one-month performance.
Yet somehow…
It already felt too real.