Warm breaths spilled out in tiny clouds, dissolving into the streetlight glow. Seoul's winter had this way of feeling quieter than it really was—cars moved, conversations hummed, neon lights blinked, and yet the world seemed to muffle itself around the two of them, as if giving them space.
Ji-Hyun hugged her coat tighter, not because of the temperature—she'd lived through worse winters—but because of everything sitting warm and tense in her chest. The conversation they'd just had inside the café still lingered between them, soft but undeniable. And the way Seon-woo had looked at her when she spoke… as if he was listening not just to her words, but to the pieces of her she didn't say.
They walked side by side, not touching, but close enough that the space between their arms felt electric.
"Where are we going?" she asked, watching her breath float up.
"Nowhere specific," he said. "Just walking. Thought you'd like that."
"I do." She smiled a little, eyes forward. "You didn't even ask."
"I didn't have to." His voice stayed calm, but a tiny smirk tugged at his mouth.
She rolled her eyes, but the smile stayed on her face longer than she intended.
For a moment, they just kept walking, footsteps syncing without effort. The city lights painted him in gold and shadow, and she tried—really tried—not to stare at the way his hair fell across his forehead or how sharp his jaw looked under the streetlamps. God, it was annoying how attractive he was when he wasn't even trying.
"Did you notice," Ji-Hyun said, "that you keep acting like you know me?"
He shrugged. "Is it acting if it's true?"
She shot him a look. "You're confident today."
"Not confident," he corrected. "Just… sure."
"Sure about what?"
He hesitated, glancing at her quickly before looking ahead again.
"You," he said simply.
Her breath caught, but before she could ask what he meant, he slowed to a stop. They had reached the small riverside walkway—the one with strings of lights overhead and a railing overlooking the water. Couples often came here. The irony was not lost on either of them.
Ji-Hyun leaned against the railing, the cold metal pressing through her coat. Lights reflected off the water in trembling lines. Seon-woo stood next to her, close enough that she could feel the warmth from his arm through her sleeve.
"You're thinking too loudly," he said.
"How do you know?"
"Because you get that look." He pointed at her forehead. "You scrunch up right here when you're trying to hide something."
"No I don't," she argued on instinct.
"You definitely do."
She exhaled, a half-laugh slipping out. Of course he noticed. He noticed everything.
"Fine," she admitted. "I'm thinking about… earlier." Her fingers traced the railing absentmindedly. "Rooftop, café… everything."
Seon-woo nodded slowly. "Me too."
The silence wasn't awkward. If anything, it stretched comfortably, like both of them were giving the moment room to breathe.
Then his voice softened.
"Ji-Hyun."
She turned to him.
He didn't look away this time.
"I meant what I said up there," he said quietly. "About wanting to stop pretending."
Her heartbeat tripped. "But the one-month deal—"
"Yeah. I know." His jaw tensed for a moment before relaxing. "You made rules. I agreed to them. But rules don't change what's happening."
She swallowed. "And what exactly is happening?"
He inhaled—a slow, steady breath that made her realize he'd been holding this in for a while.
"I like you," he said. "More than I planned to. More than I should."
Her heart felt like it skipped an entire beat.
"And that scares me a little," he added with a small laugh, as if confessing a secret he never meant to voice.
For a second, Ji-Hyun didn't trust herself to speak. She stared at him, taking in the way he said it—not dramatic, not desperate—just honest. Honestly enough to make her chest feel full and fragile at the same time.
"Seon-woo…" she breathed. "You can't just say things like that."
"Why not?" His eyes never left hers.
"Because…" Her words hesitated, trembling at the edges. "Because I don't know if you mean them."
He stepped closer—not touching, but close enough that the air between them tightened.
"I haven't lied to you once," he said. "Not about us."
"That's the problem," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "I'm starting to believe you."
Something flickered in his eyes—relief? hope? She couldn't tell.
She looked away first, staring down at the river. Her breath fogged the air. "You know what scares me the most?"
He waited.
"That you're not like him." She bit her lip. "You don't play games. You don't breadcrumb. You don't pull me just to push me away the next day."
Seon-woo's expression softened. "Ji-Hyun…"
"And I'm scared," she added. "Because the moment I trust that, if you change your mind, I won't survive it."
He didn't respond right away. When he finally did, it was quiet but firm.
"I'm not him," he said. "And I'm not planning on becoming him."
She let out a shaky laugh. "Don't say stuff like that. It's too much."
"It's not," he insisted. "You're just not used to someone choosing you without conditions."
His words hit harder than she expected.
She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to breathe through the sudden warmth rising in her chest. He was right. And she hated that he was right.
When she opened her eyes again, he was still watching her—calm, steady, grounding.
"Can we just walk?" she asked suddenly, needing movement, needing something to do besides drown in his gaze.
"Yeah," he said, stepping back just enough. "Let's walk."
They continued down the riverside, this time even closer than before. Their hands brushed once—just once—and both of them noticed, but neither pulled away.
A group of teenagers passed them, laughing loudly. Ji-Hyun and Seon-woo both stepped aside onto the dimmer part of the path. And maybe it was the lighting, maybe it was the winter breeze, maybe it was the fact that they were standing here as two people trying not to fall too hard—but something made her speak again.
"You know," she said softly, "you're easier to be around than I expected."
He raised a brow. "Easier?"
"Yeah." She looked at him sideways. "You don't talk too much. You don't ask for too much. You don't expect me to perform some version of myself."
"I wouldn't want that," he said immediately. "I like the version you already are."
The comment was so simple, so sincere, it made her trip over her own breath.
She shook her head. "You say things like that so casually."
"That's because I'm not pretending," he replied.
Her steps slowed until she eventually stopped walking. Seon-woo turned to face her fully.
She stared at him for a moment—really stared. The quiet loyalty in his eyes. The softness he tried to hide behind sarcasm. The way he didn't push or demand or twist her emotions.
"What happens if…" She hesitated. "If I break the rules first?"
He blinked—slowly, as if processing her words carefully.
"Then I'd ask you what rule you think you broke," he said.
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "The no falling in love one."
His breath hitched so subtly she almost missed it.
Then he stepped closer—so close their coats brushed, so close she could feel the warmth radiating off him through the cold night.
"Ji-Hyun," he murmured, "you don't fall alone."
Her lungs stilled.
For five seconds, neither of them moved. The only sound was the river behind them and their breaths in the cold air.
Finally, Seon-woo spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper:
"If you fall… I'm already there."
Her heart didn't just skip—it crashed, stumbled, restarted, all at once.
She didn't kiss him.
He didn't kiss her.
But the distance between them?
It disappeared.
The night didn't feel cold anymore.