Episode 5

Jang Woonyeong's POV

The coffee shop confession lingered in my mind like the aftertaste of that overly sweet caramel macchiato—warm, unexpected, and a little addictive.

Taemin's admission about wanting to connect, the way he'd looked at me with that rare openness, replayed on loop during lectures and late-night study sessions. It wasn't dramatic; it was just... real. For the first time, I felt seen, not as the "weird" guy with big ideas, but as someone worth sticking around for.

Our next meeting was set for the usual study room, but the weather app on my phone had other plans:

heavy rain forecasted for the entire afternoon. I texted Taemin a quick heads-up—"Rainy day backup? Library instead?"—and his reply came almost immediately: "Sure. See you there."

I arrived at the university library a bit early, shaking off the light drizzle that had already started. My long trim haircut was getting damp at the edges, the black with brown highlights frizzing slightly, but I didn't mind. The library's quiet hum was comforting—

shelves of books stretching endlessly, the soft patter of rain against the windows.

I claimed a small table in the literature section, spreading out notes on Romantic poetry we'd touched on last time. Keats, Shelley—poems about longing and fleeting beauty.

Fitting, somehow.Taemin showed up right on time, his brown curtain mullet tousled from the wind, a few raindrops clinging to his jacket. He carried a compact umbrella, which he folded and tucked under his arm as he sat down.

"Made it without melting," he said, that cocky smirk flashing as he wiped a drop from his forehead.

"You look like you could use one next time."I laughed, rubbing at my damp hair self-consciously. "Hey, I thought it'd hold off. Blame the weather app."

We dove into the poetry almost seamlessly, picking up on a line from Keats' "Ode to a Nightingale" about the weariness of the world. "It's that sense of escape, right?" I said, leaning forward. "The nightingale's song as this pure, unattainable joy amid all the human mess."

He nodded, his calm eyes scanning the page. "Yeah, but it's bittersweet. The escape's temporary—back to reality eventually."

His voice was steady, but there was a thoughtful pause, like he was applying it to something personal. We traded interpretations, my enthusiasm meeting his grounded insights.

He pointed out how the imagery tied into modern stress, like cramming for exams, and I countered with emotional parallels, drawing from our coffee shop talk without naming it. The rain outside picked up, drumming steadily, creating a cocoon around our table.Halfway through, I realized I'd forgotten my notebook at the dorm—

stupid mistake. "Shoot," I muttered, checking my bag. "No worries, we can share mine," Taemin offered, sliding his over without hesitation.

Our shoulders brushed as we huddled over the single notebook, his handwriting filling the margins with quick annotations. It was intimate in a quiet way—the shared space, the rain blurring the world outside.

I caught myself glancing at him more than the page, noting the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the subtle scent of rain and his cologne mixing in the air.As we wrapped up the discussion, the storm showed no signs of letting up.

I peered out the window, the campus paths slick and empty. "Looks like we're stuck here a bit longer," I said, half-joking.

"Unless you want to make a run for it."He glanced outside, then back at me, his expression unreadable for a second. "Nah. Got the umbrella.

We can share on the way out." The offer hung there, simple but loaded. My heart skipped—sharing an umbrella? It sounded so cliché, straight out of one of the romances I devoured in secret.

But with Taemin, it felt natural, not forced.

Choi Taemin's POV

The rain started as a nuisance on my walk to the library, but by the time I spotted Woonyeong at our table, it was a full downpour.

His hair was a mess—those brown highlights darkened by the damp—and it made him look softer, more approachable than his usual polished self. I teased him about the umbrella, but inside, I was glad for the change.

The library's hush suited deeper talks, away from the coffee shop's chatter.We jumped into Keats, and damn if he didn't make poetry feel alive. His take on the nightingale's escape hit close—temporary joy in a weary world.

I added my bit about reality crashing back, thinking of my own guarded life, how these sessions with him were starting to feel like that fleeting song. Worth chasing, even if it ended. Sharing his vulnerability last time had cracked something in me; now, watching him gesture animatedly, I felt the pull stronger.

Open-minded as I tried to be, this was uncharted.When he forgot his notebook, I pushed mine over without thinking. Our proximity under the table lamp was close—too close?

—his arm grazing mine as we pointed to lines. I focused on the words, but awareness prickled: his warmth, the way his eyes lit up at a good insight.

The rain sealed us in, turning the session into something more like a hangout. As it eased into a discussion on longing in poetry, I found myself sharing a snippet from my own reading—a line about quiet affections blooming in storms.

Cheesy? Maybe. But his nod, appreciative, made it worth it.Storm still raging outside, I suggested the umbrella. "We can share," I said, keeping it casual. His eyes widened slightly, a flush creeping up, but he agreed with a grin.

"Lead the way, common sense hero."We gathered our things, the library emptying as the evening deepened. Stepping out, I popped the umbrella open, holding it high enough for both of us.

The rain sheeted down, but under the canopy, it was just us—shoulders touching to stay dry, the path ahead blurred. "Not bad, right?" I murmured, glancing sideways. He was close, his damp hair brushing my arm, laughter bubbling as a gust nearly turned the umbrella inside out.

"Not bad at all," he replied, his voice soft over the downpour. The walk to the dorms felt shorter than it should have, charged with unspoken ease.

Dropping him off first, I watched him dash inside, turning back with a wave. "Thanks for the shelter," he called."Anytime," I shot back, meaning it more than the rain.

As I continued alone, umbrella dripping, I smirked into the wet night. Slow, yeah. But the warmth lingered, rain or no rain.

Jang Woonyeong's POV

Back in my dorm, towel-drying my hair, I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. The umbrella walk—

Taemin's steady presence beside me, the shared laughter amid the storm—felt like a scene from one of those soft BL stories I secretly binge-read.

His arm against mine, protective under the rain, had sent my pulse racing, but it wasn't overwhelming. It was gentle, building like the poetry we'd discussed.I texted him a quick

"Safe and dry—great session!" and his reply pinged back: "You too. Next time, bring your own umbrella. 😉"

The emoji made me chuckle, warmth spreading. This connection, whatever it was becoming, felt right. Slowburn, but undeniably sweet.

As the rain tapped against my window, I drifted off imagining more rainy days, more shared spaces. With Taemin, even the storms didn't feel so lonely.

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