Episode 4

Jang Woonyeong's POV

The week flew by, and Tuesday rolled around again, bringing with it a fresh wave of anticipation. Taemin had agreed to poetry, and I'd spent hours in the library, not just re-reading classics but searching for lesser-known pieces I thought might spark a unique discussion.

My long trim haircut was styled with extra care, and I picked out an outfit that felt both smart and approachable.

Today, I also decided to change up our usual study spot.I waited for Taemin outside "The Daily Grind," a cozy campus coffee shop known for its strong brews and quiet corners.

The smell of roasted beans and warm pastries filled the air, a much more inviting atmosphere than the sterile study room. When he arrived, his brown curtain mullet catching the light as he pushed open the door, he looked surprised but not displeased.

"Change of scenery?" he asked, a small smile playing on his lips as he approached."Thought we could shake things up,"

I replied, gesturing to a small table tucked away in a corner. "Plus, coffee's better than vending machine iced tea, right?"

He chuckled, and the sound sent a surprising warmth through me. "Can't argue with that logic."We ordered our coffees—a complicated caramel macchiato for me, a simple black americano for him—and settled in.

I pulled out my collection of poems, my heart thrumming with a mix of excitement and nerves.

"So, I thought we could start with something contemporary," I began, opening a book to a page marked with a sticky note. "This one's called 'City Lights, Soft Hearts' by an emerging poet.

It talks about urban loneliness and unexpected connections."He listened intently as I read the first stanza aloud, his eyes following the lines in the book I held out to him. The quiet murmur of the coffee shop faded into the background.

As I finished, I looked up, ready for his usual analytical response.Instead, he just looked at me, a thoughtful expression on his face. "You pick good ones, Woonyeong. You really get it." His voice was soft, devoid of his usual cocky edge.I felt a blush creep up my neck.

"Well, I try. I relate to the themes, I guess. The 'urban loneliness' part, especially. It's funny, you can be surrounded by so many people, like on campus, and still feel completely alone."

The words tumbled out before I could second-guess myself, a vulnerable confession I hadn't planned. I braced myself for an awkward silence, or perhaps a practical "that's just life" response.

He didn't say anything for a moment, just stirred his coffee slowly. Then, he looked up, meeting my gaze directly. "Yeah," he said quietly.

"I get that. More than you think." His eyes, usually so calm and guarded, held a flicker of something deeper—understanding, perhaps a shared experience.

"I mean, I don't go around proclaiming my 'loneliness' like you do with your grand study group schemes," he added, a hint of his usual tease returning, but it was gentle. "But it hits differently when you're actually trying to connect, and it doesn't quite land."My breath hitched.

He saw it. He actually saw past the confident facade. "So, that's why you joined, then?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "Not just for the common sense and the good notes?"He took a sip of his americano, his gaze unwavering.

"Partly the notes, yeah. You're actually really good at breaking things down," he admitted, almost begrudgingly. "But... yeah. The 'make friends' part wasn't just for show on your flyer.

It resonated." He paused, a rare moment of introspection showing on his face. "Sometimes, it takes a weird, overly enthusiastic literature major with a killer haircut to make you realize you actually do want to connect with people."

He gestured vaguely at my head, and I felt a smile spread across my face, genuine and unforced."So, you're calling my haircut 'killer' now?" I teased, the earlier vulnerability easing into comfortable banter.

"Hey, it's a compliment," he retorted, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Be grateful."We spent the rest of the session discussing the poem, but the undercurrent had shifted.

It wasn't just about literary analysis anymore; it was about shared understandings, quiet admissions, and the subtle blossoming of something far more personal.

The coffee shop, with its warm light and soft chatter, felt like a safe space where two solitary islands were slowly, tentatively, building a bridge.

Choi Taemin's POV

When I got Woonyeong's text about meeting at "The Daily Grind," I was momentarily thrown.

Our study room ritual was becoming familiar, predictable. But a coffee shop? It suited him—the warm, inviting vibe, much like his personality beneath the academic brilliance.

I walked in, my brown curtain mullet swaying slightly as I scanned the crowded room, spotting him in a quiet corner. He looked... eager. Always eager.His caramel macchiato arrived first, looking sweet and complicated, just like him.

My black americano was straightforward. We talked about poetry, and he read a piece called 'City Lights, Soft Hearts.' I listened, really listened, to his voice as he delivered the lines. He had a way of inhabiting the words, making them feel personal. He didn't just read it;

he felt it.When he looked up, waiting for my usual critique, I just said, "You pick good ones, Woonyeong. You really get it." It was true. His taste in poetry, like his academic insights, was surprisingly on point.

Then he confessed, almost whispered, about "urban loneliness" and feeling alone despite being surrounded by people. My usual response would be a dismissive, "That's life," but looking at his open, vulnerable face, I couldn't. I understood. More than he knew.

My life had been pretty solitary, by choice mostly. I liked my space, my quiet. But hearing him put it into words, that raw honesty, resonated."Yeah," I admitted, my own voice lower than usual. "I get that. More than you think.

" It wasn't something I normally shared. My "cocky" exterior was good at keeping people out. But he had a way of breaking through it, gently, without even trying. "I mean, I don't go around proclaiming my 'loneliness' like you do with your grand study group schemes," I added, throwing in a bit of my usual defense mechanism, but softening it with a smile.

"But it hits differently when you're actually trying to connect, and it doesn't quite land."He caught on immediately, those bright eyes searching mine.

"So, that's why you joined, then?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the coffee shop's hum.I took a slow sip of my coffee, buying time. I could lie, deflect, stick to the "notes" story.

But looking at him, at the genuine hope in his face, I couldn't. "Partly the notes, yeah. You're actually really good at breaking things down," I conceded. "But... yeah. The 'make friends' part wasn't just for show on your flyer. It resonated."

It was a huge admission for me, laying bare a truth I usually kept buried. Then, needing to lighten the mood, I added, "Sometimes, it takes a weird, overly enthusiastic literature major with a killer haircut to make you realize you actually do want to connect with people.

"He laughed, a bright, genuine sound. "So, you're calling my haircut 'killer' now?""Hey, it's a compliment," I shot back, enjoying the playful back-and-forth. The tension had broken, replaced by something lighter, yet deeper.

We went back to the poetry, but it felt different. The words on the page were no longer just about strangers; they were about us, finding common ground, acknowledging each other's quiet struggles.

As the session wound down and we stepped back out into the campus air, the afternoon sun felt warmer. The world outside the coffee shop seemed a little less indifferent.

Woonyeong walked beside me, chatting animatedly about another poem, and I found myself just listening, soaking in his presence. The slowburn was definitely on. And for once, I wasn't in a hurry to get anywhere.

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