The fragile warmth that had lingered in Ji-won's chest since the art room evaporated the moment he stepped into his bedroom. His eyes, almost automatically, went to the small, locked drawer in his desk. It was his sanctuary, the one place where he stored his meticulously saved earnings from his job—money for university applications, for textbooks, for a future that wasn't this.
The drawer was ajar.
A cold dread, far more familiar than any warmth, instantly flooded his veins. He froze, his breath catching in his throat. He rushed over and yanked it open. The envelope was still there, but it was thin, limp. He tore it open. Empty. Only a few stray, insignificant coins remained.
The world tilted. All the late nights at the convenience store, the relentless studying, the careful budgeting—all of it, gone.
He turned, his movements stiff, and walked out of his room. His mother, Han Mira, was just coming out of the kitchen, a freshly lit cigarette dangling from her lips, a new, cheap-looking handbag on her arm.
"Mom," Ji-won's voice was dangerously quiet. "The money in my drawer. Where is it?"
She took a long drag, avoiding his eyes. "What money?"
"The money I was saving!" His voice cracked, rising in volume despite his effort to control it. "The money for my future! It's gone!"
She waved a dismissive hand, the smoke curling around her fingers. "Ah, that. I needed it. Don't make such a big deal. You can always make more."
The casualness of it, the utter lack of remorse, shattered something inside him. "You needed it?" he repeated, a bitter, broken laugh escaping him. "For what? For that?" He pointed a trembling finger at the garish handbag. "For more cigarettes? For more soju?"
"It's my house too! I have needs!" she snapped back, her own voice turning shrill. "You think you're so much better than me? Hoarding all your money like a selfish little—"
"I am saving it to get out!" he roared, the sound raw and guttural, filled with years of pent-up despair. "I am saving it so I don't end up like you! Drunk and pathetic and stealing from your own son!"
The words hung in the air, cruel and final. Han Mira's face went slack with shock, then hardened into a mask of wounded fury. She didn't say anything. She just turned and walked away, the click of her heels on the floor echoing the sound of Ji-won's heart breaking.
He stood alone in the middle of the living room, the emptiness of the envelope feeling like a physical hole in his chest. The warmth Haneul had sparked was gone, extinguished completely. The cold wasn't just a defense anymore; it was his reality. It was all he had left.
Ji-won collapsed onto the edge of his bed, the fragile shell of his composure finally shattering. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, but it was no use. Hot, silent tears he hadn't shed in years streamed down his face, each one a testament to a stolen future. The weight of it all—his mother's betrayal, the relentless struggle, the sheer hopelessness—crushed him. He was completely, utterly broken.
What did I do to deserve this? The question was a silent scream in the suffocating quiet of his room. Why is everything I build always torn down?
He was drowning in the cold, dark certainty that nothing would ever change.
Then, a soft ping cut through the silence.
His phone screen lit up, a beacon in the gloom. He didn't want to look. He didn't want any more reminders of the world outside his pain.
But he did.
It was a message from Haneul.
There were no words. Just a single, brightly colored image—a flyer for an upcoming national art contest. Ji-won's tear-blurred eyes scanned it, ready to dismiss it.
Then he saw it.
At the bottom, in bold, beautiful letters, was the grand prize:
"FULL SCHOLARSHIP TO THE PRESTIGE ART UNIVERSITY OF PARIS, FRANCE.
Awarded to the artist whose painting is selected for the Grand Exhibition in Seoul."
The world stopped.
France. An art university. A scholarship. A way out. A real, tangible, breathtaking way out.
It was a key. The very key to the future he had just watched being stolen from him. And Haneul, the boy he had hurt, the sunshine he had tried to push away, had just silently, unknowingly, handed it to him.
A ragged, disbelieving sob tore from Ji-won's throat. He clutched the phone to his chest, the glowing screen pressed against his heart where the cold had been moments before. It wasn't just a contest flyer. It was a lifeline. It was a message from the universe, delivered by the most unexpected angel, telling him that his dream wasn't dead. It was just waiting for him to pick up a brush again.
The next morning, Haneul approached their shared desk with a nervous energy, carefully avoiding any mention of cupcakes or pushing. He was determined to keep his promise to be less insistent.
Before he could even say good morning, Ji-won spoke, his voice low but clear.
"I'll do it."
Haneul froze, his bag halfway to the floor. "Do... do what?"
"The contest," Ji-won said, finally looking at him. His eyes held a new, fierce determination. "I'll paint. And compete."
For a second, Haneul just stared, processing. Then, pure, unadulterated joy exploded across his face. "Really? You mean it?!"
In a burst of unrestrained happiness, he threw his arms around Ji-won in a tight, spontaneous hug. "Thank you! We're going to do it together! We're going to win!"
The hug was sudden, overwhelming. Ji-won stiffened, his arms frozen at his sides. But as Haneul held on, the warmth and genuine excitement radiating from him, Ji-won felt the rigid tension in his own shoulders begin to melt. This wasn't a demand or a manipulation. It was a gift. It was the exact kind of uncomplicated, human connection he hadn't realized he was starving for. He needed this hug more than he'd ever needed anything.
He hesitated, a war waging within him, but his arms remained locked at his sides. He couldn't allow himself to hug back. It felt like surrendering too much.
Haneul, too ecstatic to notice the internal struggle, pulled back, his eyes shining. "We have to tell Kang Hyuk-seonsaengnim right now! He'll be so excited!" Without waiting for a reply, he grabbed Ji-won's wrist and began pulling him, half-dragging him down the hallway toward the art room, chattering a mile a minute about themes and canvases.
And for the first time, Ji-won didn't resist. He allowed himself to be pulled along, the ghost of that brief, needed hug still warming the cold places inside him.
The art room fell into a stunned hush when Haneul practically bounced in, dragging a stoic Han Ji-won behind him.
"Kang Hyuk-seonsaengnim!" Haneul announced, beaming. "Jiwon-ssi is going to join the contest with me!"
Kang Hyuk, the art teacher, lowered his paintbrush, his expression one of pure disbelief. "Ji-won? Is this true?"
Ji-won gave a single, curt nod. "Yes, sir."
A thoughtful look crossed Kang Hyuk's face. "I can't just let anyone represent our school in a national contest, Ji-won. I'm willing to tutor you, but for the contest entry... I'll need to see what you can do. I'll give you a test during our next lecture."
"Understood," Ji-won replied, his voice calm. "I agree."
When the official art period arrived later that day, the whispers started the moment Ji-won walked through the door with Haneul. The top student, the ice prince, in art class? It was unimaginable.
But the person most affected was Min-seo. She watched from her easel, her usual cheerful expression replaced by a deep, sulky frown. She saw the way Haneul had immediately claimed the spot next to Ji-won, setting up his supplies for him, his entire being oriented toward the new arrival. Her best friend, her partner in crime, the star of all her imagined bl storylines, was now clinging to the one person who had ever made him cry. The "Sunshine Artist and the Jealous Jock" arc in her mind was crumbling, replaced by a far more complicated and, to her, far less satisfying plot. She felt a sharp pang of something that felt a lot like betrayal, mixed with a hefty dose of protective worry.
The art test began, and Kang Hyuk-seonsaengnim placed a simple still life of a ceramic vase and an apple at the front of the class. "Capture the essence. You have one hour."
The usual chatter of the art room died down, replaced by the soft scratch of charcoal and pencils. But the silence was soon broken by soft gasps and whispers as all eyes drifted to Ji-won.
He worked with a methodical, unnerving grace. His hand, which usually held a pen for equations, now held a piece of charcoal, mapping out the composition with swift, confident lines that captured the proportions perfectly. When he moved to the paints, he didn't just squeeze colors onto the palette; he mixed them with a quiet intensity, creating subtle, complex hues that made the standard reds and greens look childish.
Haneul was mesmerized, his own painting forgotten. He was so captivated that he didn't notice Min-seo sitting a few easels away, pointedly not looking at him, her shoulders stiff.
Finally, Haneul's gaze shifted from Ji-won's masterpiece-in-progress to his best friend. A wave of guilt washed over him. He'd been so wrapped up in Ji-won, he'd completely ignored her.
He quietly slipped off his stool and went over to her. "Min-seo-ya," he whispered.
She didn't look up from her canvas, where she was aggressively stippling paint. "What do you want?"
"I'm sorry, I was just—"
"I know what you were 'just'," she cut him off, her voice tight. "You were just fawning over your new project. Don't let me keep you."
"Min-seo, that's not fair. He's joining the contest with me, it's a big deal."
"Right. A big deal." She finally turned to him, her eyes hurt. "So big you forgot I existed. Just go back to him, Haneul. I'm sure he's much more interesting than I am."
She turned her back on him, a clear dismissal. Haneul stood there for a moment, his heart sinking. He'd been so excited about the light he'd found in Ji-won, he hadn't realized he was casting a shadow on someone else.
Haneul's shoulders slumped. He knew that tone. He'd really hurt her. Instead of arguing, he did what he did best: he went for pure, unadulterated sincerity.
He shuffled closer and wrapped his arms around her from the side, resting his chin on her shoulder, effectively trapping her. "Min-seo-ya," he whined, his voice a soft, pleading murmur. "I'm really, really sorry. I was a bad friend."
She kept her face stubbornly turned away, but he could feel her resolve wavering. "Go away."
"No," he pouted, tightening his hug. "Not until you forgive me." He leaned his head around to try and catch her eye, giving her the full force of his puppy-dog look—wide, glistening eyes and a trembling lower lip. "You're my best friend. The one I tell everything to. Even if you just smile a tiny bit, that means you forgive me, right? Please?"
Min-seo tried to maintain her stern facade, but a traitorous twitch tugged at the corner of her mouth. He was impossible to stay mad at. Seeing the crack in her armor, Haneul pressed his advantage.
"I'll… I'll buy you the new volume of 'Love in the Autumn Rain'!" he promised desperately. "The special edition! With the postcards!"
That did it. A genuine, if reluctant, smile finally broke through. She shoved him playfully. "You'd better! And you're buying me bubble tea for a whole week, you traitor."
Haneul giggled, the sound full of relief, and hugged her properly. "A whole week! I promise! You're the best, Min-seo-ya."
"Yeah, yeah," she grumbled, but she was smiling now, hugging him back. "Just don't forget who your original bl co-conspirator is, okay?"
"Never!" Haneul declared, his world feeling balanced and bright once more. He had his best friend back, and a mysterious, talented painting partner. For now, everything felt perfect.
The final brushstroke was placed. Ji-won set down his palette and stepped back from the easel. A hushed anticipation fell over the art room as Kang Hyuk-seonsaengnim approached.
The teacher didn't speak at first. He leaned in, his eyes tracing the precise lines of the charcoal under-sketch, the masterful blending of colors that gave the simple vase and apple a startling, almost luminous depth. The technical skill was undeniable, but there was more—a cold, controlled beauty that was uniquely Ji-won's.
A low murmur of awe rippled through the students. They had expected competence, perhaps, but not this level of quiet brilliance.
Haneul held his breath, his hands clenched into nervous fists, his eyes darting between the painting and the teacher's impassive face. His own heart was beating a frantic rhythm, not from jealousy, but from a desperate, shared hope.
Finally, Kang Hyuk straightened up, a slow, impressed smile spreading across his face. "Outstanding, Ji-won. The control, the composition... it's exceptional. You have my full support for the contest."
A collective gasp was followed by a wave of enthusiastic whispers and praise from their classmates. "He's amazing!" "I had no idea!"
But Ji-won heard none of it.
His eyes were locked on Haneul.
The moment the teacher gave his approval, Haneul's face exploded into a joy so pure and unguarded it was almost blinding. He let out a happy little gasp, his hands flying to his mouth before he literally jumped in place, a burst of unrestrained happiness. He was beaming, his eyes crinkling at the corners, glowing with a pride that was entirely for Ji-won.
Ji-won stood frozen, the praise of the entire class fading into a distant hum. He watched Haneul, this boy who had every reason to be jealous or competitive, instead radiating a genuine, selfless happiness for his success.
A memory, sharp and cold, flashed in his mind: his mother, dismissive or too drunk to notice a perfect test score. He couldn't recall a single time she had ever looked at him with that kind of uncomplicated pride.
But Haneul did.
In the middle of the crowded, noisy art room, surrounded by praise he had worked his whole life for, the only thing Han Ji-won could see was the face of the boy who was celebrating as if it were his own victory. And for the first time, an achievement didn't feel like a solitary step on a lonely path. It felt shared. It felt warm.
The final bell rang, and the hallway flooded with students. Haneul fell into step beside Ji-won, his words tumbling out in an excited, unstoppable stream.
"That was incredible, Jiwon-ssi! The way you mixed that grey for the shadow? And the line work! It was so precise! I've never seen anyone—"
Ji-won suddenly stopped. In one fluid motion, he turned and guided Haneul back a step, cornering him gently against the lockers. The stream of compliments cut off with a soft gasp.
Leaning in slightly, his voice was low and intense, his gaze searching Haneul's flustered face. "Why?"
Haneul blinked, his heart hammering against his ribs. "W-why what?"
"This," Ji-won said, his voice barely above a whisper. "The compliments. The contest. The... happiness for me. Why are you doing all of this?"
The directness of the question, the proximity, the intensity in Ji-won's usually icy eyes—it was too much. A deep blush spread across Haneul's cheeks and down his neck. He couldn't hold Ji-won's gaze, his eyes dropping to the floor as he fidgeted with the strap of his backpack.
"I... It's nothing," he mumbled, his voice small. "We're a team, right?" He desperately tried to change the subject, looking anywhere but at Ji-won. "L-let's go buy art supplies for you after school! You'll need your own brushes and a good palette if we're going to win this!"
He tried to duck under Ji-won's arm to escape, but the question hung in the air between them, unanswered. Ji-won didn't move, watching the blush, the avoidance, the nervous energy. He wasn't getting a real answer, but the reaction itself was more telling than any words could have been.
The art supply store was a paradise of vibrant colors and potential, but the atmosphere around the four teenagers was a different kind of colorful.
"Are you sure we need the 'artist-grade' watercolor set?" Ji-won asked, holding the expensive box as if it were a live explosive.
"Of course!" Haneul chirped, already piling a stack of pristine canvases into Ji-won's arms. "We can't have you using student-grade paint for a national contest! It's an investment! And I'm buying, because I'm happy!"
"Absolutely not," Ji-won stated, trying to put the canvases back. "I'll pay for my own supplies."
From a few aisles over, Min-seo's voice floated, thick with sarcasm. "Oh, don't mind me! I'll just be over here, contemplating the profound loneliness of being replaced by a set of sable brushes!" She was dramatically stroking a display of erasers.
Haneul giggled, unaffected. "You're not replaced! We'll get your manhwa right after this, I promise!"
Just then, Doyun rounded the corner, his expression a storm cloud. He'd "coincidentally" run into them. His eyes narrowed as he watched Haneul try to wrestle a sketchbook out of Ji-won's hands.
"Here, let me carry that for you, Haneul," Doyun said, stepping forward and easily taking the heavy canvases from a surprised Ji-won.
"It's fine, I have them," Ji-won said flatly, trying to take them back.
"But you look... busy," Doyun replied, holding the canvases just out of reach. "Being lectured on brush fiber composition."
Haneul, oblivious to the tension, held up two different palettes. "Jiwon-ssi, plastic or wooden? Wooden is more traditional, but plastic is easier to clean!"
"Plastic is more practical," Ji-won answered, his eyes still locked on Doyun.
"But wooden has more soul!" Haneul argued playfully.
"He said plastic," Doyun interjected, shifting the canvases in his grip.
"I can speak for myself," Ji-won said, his voice dropping a few degrees.
Haneul looked between the two glaring boys and the palettes, then beamed. "We'll get both! One for practicality, one for soul!" He tossed them into the already overflowing basket.
Min-seo wandered over, peering into the basket. "Wow. At this rate, you're not just buying supplies, you're funding his entire first year at art university. How romantic."
Haneul blushed. "It's not romantic! It's... supportive!"
Ji-won, who had finally managed to reclaim his canvases from Doyun, let out a long-suffering sigh. But as he watched Haneul happily debate the merits of charcoal pencils with a store clerk, a tiny, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. The chaos was exhausting, but for the first time, it didn't feel cold.
The scene at the checkout counter was a standoff. The cashier looked on, bored, as a small war erupted over the payment terminal.
"Give me the basket. I will pay for my own supplies," Ji-won stated, his voice flat, trying to maneuver his wallet out.
"Absolutely not!" Haneul declared, holding his card like a shield and physically leaning over the basket. "I invited you! I'm paying! It's the rule of friendship!"
"It's not a rule," Ji-won argued, attempting to gently push Haneul's arm away. "It's illogical. This is my responsibility."
"Your responsibility is to paint a masterpiece! My responsibility is to enable it!" Haneul countered, his voice rising with playful determination.
From behind them, Min-seo narrated to no one in particular, "And here we see the classic 'Who Gets to Provide for the Brooding Artist' trope. The tension is palpable."
Doyun watched, his eye twitching. The sight of them bickering—leaning close, hands almost touching over the basket—was somehow more infuriating than if they were getting along. It was too... domestic.
"ENOUGH!"
The word exploded from Doyun, startling everyone, including the cashier. He shouldered his way between them, pulled out his own wallet, and slammed his credit card onto the payment terminal before either could react.
"There!" he barked. "I'm paying. For everything. Now can we please go before you two start arguing about who gets to carry the bag?"
The machine beeped in acceptance.
Haneul and Ji-won stood in stunned silence, staring at Doyun.
"But... why?" Haneul asked, bewildered.
"Because," Doyun grumbled, snatching the receipt and the heavy bag of supplies, "watching you two was giving me a headache. This was the fastest way to make it stop."
He stomped out of the store, leaving a confused Haneul, a mildly offended Ji-won, and a cackling Min-seo in his wake.
"Well," Min-seo said, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye. "That's one way to resolve romantic tension. With a third-party financial intervention."
The walk to the manhwa store was a parade of conflicting emotions. Haneul, buzzing with gratitude, stuck close to Doyun.
"Really, Doyun-ah, thank you! But you have to let me pay you back! Give me your number, I'll transfer the money right now!" Haneul insisted, pulling out his phone.
A spark of triumph lit in Doyun's eyes. Getting Haneul's number was an unexpected victory. "You don't have to pay me back. Really."
"But I insist!" Haneul said, his sense of fairness overriding everything else.
A few steps behind them, Ji-won watched the exchange, a strange, sour feeling twisting in his gut. He saw the easy smile Doyun gave Haneul, and he felt a sudden, irrational urge to step between them, to pull Haneul back to his side. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay quiet.
Seeing Haneul's stubborn pout, Doyun decided to change tactics. He suddenly stopped walking, forcing Haneul to halt too. He leaned down, bringing his face close to Haneul's, a playful, intimate smirk on his lips.
"Fine. If you insist on paying me back," Doyun said, his voice dropping to a more personal tone. "Then buy me dinner someday. Just the two of us."
Haneul's eyes lit up, missing the subtext completely. "Oh! That's a great idea! A thank-you dinner!" He turned, beaming, to include the whole group. "Hey, guys! Let's all have dinner together tomorrow! My treat!"
The smirk vanished from Doyun's face, replaced by pure, unadulterated panic. "W-what? No, I meant—" he stammered.
But Ji-won, who had been silently fuming, immediately latched onto the idea. "Acceptable," he stated, the word cutting off Doyun's protest.
Min-seo, who had caught Doyun's original, whispered "just us," nearly doubled over with silent laughter. She wheezed, clutching her stomach. "Oh, this is gold," she whispered to herself. "The jealous jock's private date gets hijacked by the oblivious sunshine and the grumpy artist. This is the best trope mash-up ever!"
Doyun stood frozen, his planned one-on-one dinner now a chaotic group outing, his dream of a romantic moment utterly demolished by Haneul's innocent, inclusive enthusiasm.
The manhwa store was a sensory overload for Ji-won. Walls were lined with vibrant, dramatic covers depicting everything from fantasy battles to... other things he couldn't quite process. He stood frozen near the entrance, looking profoundly out of place.
Min-seo, however, was in her element. She marched straight to a specific shelf, boldly pulling down volumes with covers featuring men in various states of emotional and physical entanglement. She didn't even blush.
Haneul, noticing Ji-won's shell-shocked stiffness, felt his own cheeks heat up. The thought of Ji-won seeing the more... intimate... BL manhwas Min-seo loved was suddenly mortifying.
Doyun saw his chance. Seizing the opportunity, he casually picked up one of the more popular, slightly suggestive BL manhwas from a display. He sidled up to Haneul, holding it up with a knowing, slightly nervous smile.
"Hey, Haneul," Doyun said, his voice a little too casual. "I've, uh, heard this one's really good. The story about the two soccer players." He held the book so the cover—featuring two young men locked in a tense, close embrace—was clearly visible. "It's supposed to be really heartfelt."
It was a test. A bold hint, trying to gauge Haneul's reaction and subtly signal his own openness.
Haneul's eyes widened, flicking from the cover to Doyun's hopeful face. His brain, already flustered by Ji-won's presence, short-circuited. "Oh! Uh... yeah! Min-seo loves that one!" he squeaked, his voice pitching high. He pointed frantically across the store. "She's the expert! You should ask her!"
He then promptly turned and fled down the nearest aisle, leaving a disappointed Doyun and a still-bewildered Ji-won, who had just witnessed the entire, awkward exchange without understanding any of the subtext, but feeling that strange, protective irritation toward Doyun all over again.
The tension was broken by a sound no one in the store had ever heard before: a loud, startled gasp from Han Ji-won.
He had picked up a random, innocently titled book to try and blend in. But the illustration inside was... educational. His eyes were wide with utter, profound confusion as he stared at a page depicting a very distressed-looking male character, with text bubbles frantically discussing... pregnancy.
He looked up, his face a mask of pure, logical disbelief. He held the book out toward Haneul as if presenting faulty evidence.
"This... this is a misprint," he stated, his voice firm with conviction. "The biology is incorrect. Men cannot get pregnant. The publisher has made a critical error."
For a second, there was dead silence.
Then, Min-seo let out a snort that turned into a full-blown, wheezing cackle. She slumped against a bookshelf, laughing so hard she could barely breathe.
The cashier and a few other customers, who had been watching the group of dramatic teens, burst out laughing.
Haneul, who had been hiding from Doyun, peeked out from his aisle. He took one look at Ji-won's deadly serious, confused face holding the omegaverse manhwa, and all his embarrassment vanished, replaced by uncontrollable giggles. He clutched his stomach, tears of mirth springing to his eyes.
"J-Jiwon-ssi," Haneul managed between giggles, "it's not a misprint! It's a... a genre! It's fantasy!"
Ji-won looked from the laughing cashier to the hysterical Min-seo, then down at the book, and then to Haneul's laughing, tear-streaked face. The utter absurdity of the situation, the complete collapse of logic, finally registered. A faint, pink blush of embarrassment crept up his neck.
He slowly, deliberately, closed the book and placed it back on the shelf with the utmost precision, as if handling a live explosive.
"I see," he said, his voice dangerously calm, though his ears were now bright red. "The fantasy genre requires a significant suspension of biological fact."
This only made everyone laugh harder. In that moment, the untouchable ice prince was gone, replaced by a flustered, bewildered boy, and Haneul found him more endearing than ever.
At Evening
The gentle clinking of spoons against bowls was the only sound in the Lee family's warm kitchen for a while. Haneul pushed his food around his plate, a soft, dreamy smile playing on his lips that he couldn't seem to wipe away.
Lee Sun-hee watched him over her own dinner, her own smile gentle and knowing. "You've been floating since you got home," she observed, her voice soft. "Did you have a good time with your friends?"
Haneul's smile widened. "It was the best." He launched into the story—the art supply store, the hilarious manhwa incident, the group dinner plan. He talked a mile a minute, his hands flying, his eyes sparkling.
His mother listened, nodding along. But her sharp, loving eyes noticed the subtle shifts. How Ji-won's name appeared in every other sentence. How Haneul's voice got softer, more awestruck, when he described the way Ji-won painted. How he blushed when he mentioned the way Ji-won had looked at him after the art test.
When Haneul finally paused for breath, she reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. "Haneul-ah," she began, her tone tender. "This boy... Ji-won. It sounds like he's becoming very important to you."
Haneul's animated expression softened. He looked down at their joined hands, his cheeks tinting pink. "He's... different, Mom. When he paints, it's like he's speaking a language only he knows. And when he actually looks at me... it feels like... like the whole world gets quiet."
He looked up, his eyes clear and full of a bewildered, beautiful honesty. "Is this... is this what it feels like? To fall in love?"
Lee Sun-hee felt her heart swell, a mixture of joy and a mother's tender protectiveness for her son's innocent heart. She squeezed his hand. "It can be, my sunshine. It can feel like discovering a color you never knew existed. It's exciting, and a little scary, and it makes everything feel new."
Haneul nodded slowly, the truth of her words settling deep within him. "It does feel scary. But... in a good way."
"Just remember," she said, her voice full of warmth, "your heart is a precious thing. It's okay to offer it, but offer it to someone who sees its value. Someone who wouldn't mindlessly throw your cupcakes out a window," she added with a pointed, but kind, raise of her eyebrow.
Haneul giggled, the sound light and happy. "He's trying, Mom. I think he's just... forgotten how to accept things. But I want to be the one to remind him."
Lee Sun-hee looked at her son—so bright, so full of unwavering faith and love. She saw the first, tender shoots of a profound love taking root in his heart. "Then you keep being your wonderful, patient self," she said, her own eyes misty. "Just remember to protect that beautiful heart of yours, too."