Ripple of Emotions

Training Room — Late Evening

"Han Nari-ssi, are you busy?"

The cheerful voice of Dohyun broke through the quiet hum of background music. Nari looked up from her clipboard of sketches, her brows slightly raised. Dohyun, the ever-energetic maknae of LUMINA, stood there with a bright grin, holding a bottle of water in one hand.

“Not particularly. Why?”

Dohyun took a seat beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed lightly. “I was watching you sketch earlier. It looked really cool. Could you teach me a bit? Just the basics?”

Nari smiled, slightly surprised. The members rarely approached her like this outside of official work. “Sketching? I guess I could show you something simple. What do you want to try drawing?”

He leaned over, eyes fixated on her paper. “Honestly, whatever you think is easiest. I just want to learn from you.”

From across the room, Jihoon leaned against the mirrored wall, arms crossed. His eyes were locked on the scene in front of him—on the way Dohyun laughed, on how Nari leaned in to explain something. His jaw clenched.

He looks too comfortable with her.

Too familiar.

“Han Nari-ssi!” another voice called. Minjae, with his ever-casual confidence, strolled over with a mischievous grin. “You can’t just teach Dohyun. I want to learn too. Let’s call it… fanart practice.”

Nari chuckled softly. “Minjae-ssi, I think you’ll surprise yourself. You might be better than you think.”

“I doubt it,” Minjae said, taking a seat on Nari’s other side, purposely close. “But I’m a fast learner if the teacher is you.”

Dohyun groaned in protest. “Hyung, you’re distracting.”

Minjae gave him a playful nudge. “You’ll survive. Let noona give me some attention too.”

Nari laughed nervously. The atmosphere had shifted—subtle tension in the air. She could feel it in the way Minjae leaned in, in the glance Jihoon shot their way, sharp and unreadable.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by the sound of deliberate footsteps.

“Han Nari.”

Jihoon’s voice cut through the noise. Calm, low—but firm. Dohyun and Minjae both turned.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Jihoon asked, his eyes on Nari.

She hesitated. “Now?”

“Yes.” His gaze flicked toward the other two. “You two—back to practice. Don’t bother the staff.”

Minjae raised a brow. “We're just talking, hyung.”

“Find someone else to talk to,” Jihoon muttered under his breath, barely audible.

Nari stood, bowing slightly. “Excuse me.”

She followed Jihoon out. The hallway was quiet, their footsteps echoing down the corridor. He didn’t say anything at first—just walked, fast enough that she had to quicken her steps to catch up.

They stopped in a small, unused practice room upstairs.

Jihoon opened the door and gestured for her to enter.

Nari stepped in, her heart pounding. The silence between them stretched.

“What’s going on?” she asked carefully. “Is something wrong?”

Jihoon turned to her, his expression unreadable. “Why are you so comfortable around them?”

Nari blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Dohyun. Minjae. You laugh with them. You smile. But with me… there’s distance. Always.”

Nari hesitated. “I’m… trying to stay professional.”

“Professional,” Jihoon repeated, almost bitterly. “Do you think I can stay professional when I see that?”

He took a slow step forward.

“You don’t see it, do you? You treat me like I’m just another idol in this building. Like we don’t have history. Like what we had meant nothing.”

“Jihoon-ssi…”

“Don’t call me that.”

His voice lowered, thick with restrained emotion. “Don’t keep building walls between us.”

She looked away. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is to me,” he said. “I see you smile for them and it… it drives me insane. Because I know how your real smile looks. The one you used to give me.”

Nari’s lips parted, but no words came.

Jihoon stepped closer—just close enough for her to feel his breath. “You think I haven’t noticed how hard you’ve been avoiding me since we came back? You think I haven’t counted the days we didn’t talk? You think I don’t feel how far you’ve pulled away?”