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Iseul and Sunghoon burst into the quiet warmth of his apartment, their laughter echoing through the empty halls like a pair of carefree teenagers. Their clothes were damp from the unexpected downpour, clinging to their skin as they stumbled over each other, giggling uncontrollably. Sunghoon quickly flicked on the lights, casting a soft glow across the cozy living space.

"You look ridiculous," Iseul teased, pointing at Sunghoon's hair, which was sticking up in every direction from the rain. She couldn't help but laugh, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Sunghoon shook his head, sending droplets flying everywhere. "Says the one who's dripping all over my floor. Don't move, or you'll ruin the rug."

Before she could protest, Sunghoon grabbed a towel from the bathroom and tossed it over her head. "Dry off before you catch a cold."

"I'm perfectly fine," she countered, though she obediently began patting her hair with the towel.

Sunghoon disappeared for a moment and returned with a fresh change of clothes, his own hair still damp. He handed her a sweatshirt that was far too big for her and a pair of sweatpants. "Here, it'll be more comfortable than staying in those soaked clothes."

She hesitated, glancing at the clothes, then back at him. "Are you sure? These look...expensive."

He rolled his eyes playfully. "You think I'd let you walk around my apartment dripping like a rain-soaked stray? Go change."

Iseul, who was now wearing his clothes, stood by the dryer, her delicate fingers brushing over the damp fabric of her dress. The hum of the machine was the only sound between them, a soft backdrop to the tension that lingered in the air. Her hair clung to her face, strands still damp from the rain, and she tucked them behind her ears with nervous precision.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Sunghoon step into the room, now clad in fresh clothes. His loose sweater and tousled hair made him seem softer somehow, yet no less striking. In his hands were two steaming cups, the faint aroma of tea wafting through the room.

"I made tea," he said, his voice steady but low, almost testing the waters.

She looked up at him, her heart skipping at the quiet intensity in his gaze. Accepting the cup he offered, her fingers brushed his, sending a faint spark down her spine. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

They stood in silence for a moment, sipping their tea, the space between them charged with unspoken words.

"I should go," Iseul finally said, setting her cup down. Her eyes avoided his, darting instead to the now-dry dress. "The rain's stopped. My mom... she'll be worried."

Sunghoon set his cup aside, the sound of porcelain meeting wood breaking the stillness. He took a step closer, his dark eyes searching hers. "Stay the night, Iseul."

Her breath caught at his words, her heart warring with her head. "I can't..." she began, her voice trembling slightly.

"Why not?" he pressed, his tone soft but filled with determination. Another step brought him so close that she could feel the faint warmth radiating from him. "Are you going to deny what happened?"

"I can't do that either," she admitted, her voice breaking under the weight of her emotions. She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "But you have to give me some time to think. This... it's all too much right now."

Sunghoon's jaw tightened, his emotions flickering across his face—hurt, understanding, and something deeper. "Time," he repeated, almost as if testing the word.

Before she could lose her nerve, Iseul stepped forward and stood on her toes, her lips brushing against his in a fleeting kiss. It was tender and hesitant, but it held all the words she couldn't bring herself to say.

When she pulled away, her breath mingling with his, she whispered, "Goodnight, Sunghoon."

She turned before he could stop her, her steps quick and deliberate as she walked away.

Sunghoon stood frozen, his fingers hovering over his lips as if to hold onto the ghost of her kiss. The door clicked shut behind her, and the silence that followed was deafening.

His chest tightened as he ran a hand through his hair, frustration and longing blending into a bittersweet ache. He glanced at the tea she'd left untouched, the warmth of it fading, much like the presence she'd just taken with her.

As Iseul stepped outside, the cool night air wrapped around her, still carrying the faint scent of rain. Her heart was racing, her cheeks warm despite the breeze. She couldn't help but giggle softly to herself, the giddiness bubbling up as she replayed the moment she'd just shared with Sunghoon. Her fingers brushed her lips, remembering the kiss—brief, yet it lingered like a flame she couldn't extinguish.

Her steps quickened as she reached her family's restaurant, the warm lights glowing softly through the windows. Peering in, she saw her mother sitting alone, wiping down a table with slow, deliberate movements. The sight tugged at Iseul's heart.

Pushing the door open, the familiar chime echoed softly. Her mother looked up, surprised, and then smiled. "You're back. The rain must have let up."

"It did," Iseul said, stepping inside. She hesitated for a moment before walking over to her mother and sitting across from her. The restaurant was quiet, the hum of the refrigerator and the faint scent of spices the only reminders of its bustling hours earlier.

Her mother set the cloth down and studied her daughter for a moment, her eyes softening. "You look... different. Happy."

Iseul's cheeks flushed, and she quickly looked away, fiddling with her damp sleeves. "Do I?"

Her mother chuckled softly. "Yes. And it's good to see." She leaned back, her expression turning thoughtful. "Iseul, I raised you harshly, didn't I?"

"What? No, you just wanted what was best for me."

Her mother sighed, shaking her head. "Maybe I was too focused on making you strong. I thought if I taught you to rely on logic, on reason, you'd never get hurt. But... I should have told you that listening to your heart isn't a weakness. Love is... it's good. It's messy, it's scary, but it's good."

Iseul's lips parted slightly, the weight of her mother's words settling over her like a gentle embrace. "Mom..."

Her mother reached across the table, taking Iseul's hand in hers. "You don't have to make every decision with your head. Sometimes, your heart knows what you need, even when your mind refuses to admit it."

Iseul nodded, her heart feeling lighter and heavier all at once. "Okay."

For a moment, they sat in silence, the bond between them stronger than it had been in years. Iseul's mind was still racing, but her mother's words lingered, soothing the storm of uncertainty that had been brewing.

They climbed the stairs together, their hands intertwined. The warm glow of the hallway light spilled into the stairwell, and Iseul felt a rare sense of comfort, like she belonged. Her mother's presence was steady, a silent reassurance that love didn't have to be as complicated as she'd feared.

But that calm was shattered the moment they stepped into the living room.

There stood Sohee, shirtless, his face scrunched in concentration as he hefted a makeshift barbell—a metal rod with two large water bottles strapped to either side. He grunted dramatically, lifting it above his head with exaggerated effort.

"What in the world?" Iseul blurted out, her brows shooting up.

Her mother froze, blinking in disbelief before her voice rose sharply. "Have you lost your mind, Sohee?"

Sohee, unfazed, lowered the barbell with a proud grin. "Chaeryoung told me Yeji's hanging out with some buff guy. Apparently, he's all she can see now. I can't let her out-buff me!" He flexed dramatically, patting his non-existent biceps.

Iseul burst into laughter, leaning against the wall for support. "So you've decided to turn our living room into a gym? What's next, protein shakes in the fridge?"

Sohee shot her a mock glare. "Laugh all you want, but I'm getting ripped. Just wait."

Their mother pinched the bridge of her nose, exasperated. "Ripped? You'll end up ripping my patience! Put some clothes on before you catch a cold, you fool."

Ignoring the scolding, Sohee added confidently, "Chaeryoung says consistency is key. Today, it's water bottles. Tomorrow, who knows? Maybe I'll be bench-pressing refrigerators."

Iseul collapsed onto the couch, her sides aching from laughter. She glanced at Sohee and, in a dreamy tone, murmured, "You'll never achieve Sunghoon's abs, though..."

She hadn't even realized she'd spoken aloud until the room fell silent.

Sohee's smirk turned into a mischievous grin, while her mother's head whipped toward her with wide eyes. "What did you just say? How do you know what his abs look like?"

Iseul's face flushed crimson as she shot upright. "I-I meant through his shirt, of course! He doesn't buy shirts his size. The man's allergic to proper fit!"

Her mother crossed her arms, a suspicious glint in her eye. "Hmm, is that so?"

"I swear!" Iseul stammered, backing toward her room. "He's a weird guy! That's all!" Without waiting for a response, she darted down the hallway, slamming the door behind her.

Somewhere else, Rena sat on her bed, knees drawn to her chest as tears streamed down her face. The light from her bedside lamp cast long shadows across the room, illuminating the untouched dinner tray on her desk.

In her trembling hand, she held a small bottle of pills, its label blurred by the moisture in her eyes. She stared at it for a long moment, her mind clouded by despair.

Her chest ached, not just from the tears but from the image burned into her memory—Sunghoon and Iseul, their lips meeting like something out of a dream. Only it wasn't her dream; it was her nightmare.

The door creaked open, and Rena hastily wiped at her face, trying to hide the evidence of her breakdown.

"Rena," Sungchan's voice called softly, his tone laced with worry. He stepped inside, his sharp eyes narrowing as they landed on the pill bottle in her hand. He moved quickly, snatching it away and placing it on the desk out of reach.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice sterner now.

Rena looked down, her shoulders trembling. "I wasn't going to... It's just... it's too much, Sungchan. He doesn't see me. He'll never see me."

Sungchan let out a heavy sigh, pulling a chair close to the bed. "Rena, you can't let yourself spiral like this again," he said, his voice softening. "I know it hurts, but this isn't the way to handle it."

She let out a bitter laugh, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "You don't understand. It's not just about him not loving me. It's like I don't exist to him. Like I'm invisible, Sungchan. No matter how much I try, he's always looking somewhere else... at someone else."

Sungchan's jaw tightened, and he leaned forward, clasping his hands together. "Maybe that's the problem," he said after a pause.

Rena frowned, glancing at him.

He met her gaze, his voice cold and calculated. "You've spent your entire life trying to be the good girl, the perfect one who's always kind, patient, and selfless. But look where that's gotten you. You're sitting here, crying over someone who doesn't even know your worth. If you want something, Rena, you have to take it. Stop waiting for people to notice you. Make them notice."

Rena blinked, his words sinking in slowly. "Are you saying I should... stop being myself?"

"I'm saying you should stop being the version of yourself that lets people walk all over you," Sungchan replied firmly. "You want Sunghoon? Then fight for him. Show him you're not someone he can ignore. And if you have to step on a few toes to get there, so be it."

Rena's trembling stopped, and she looked at her brother with a newfound resolve. Sungchan reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"You're right," she whispered. "I'm done being invisible."

As Sungchan left the room, Rena turned to her mirror, staring at her reflection. The tears, the vulnerability—they were gone. Rena leaned forward, staring at her reflection with fiery determination. She grabbed her foundation and began applying it in hurried, aggressive strokes. The brush scraped against her skin, layers of beige covering her flushed face as if she could paint over the humiliation and heartbreak.

But as she worked, her movements slowed. The foundation caked unevenly, smudging and cracking, and her reflection distorted into something she barely recognized. Her chest tightened, and her hand stilled, the brush falling onto the vanity with a soft thud.

The red lipstick still lingered on her lips, defiant and mocking. She reached up with trembling fingers, wiping it away. The bold pigment smeared across her cheeks, staining them like streaks of war paint.

She looked up again, catching her reflection in the mirror. Her face was a chaotic mess, the red streaks on her cheeks mingling with the patchy foundation. She let out a bitter, humorless laugh, the sound echoing hollowly in the room.

The good girl was gone. And Rena was ready to become someone Sunghoon—and the world—couldn't ignore.

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