𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 | (𝐆)𝐈-𝐃𝐋𝐄

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

The smell of eggs and butter drifted through the apartment, mixing with the soft crackle of oil in the pan. Soyeon focused on folding the omelet just right, but her attention kept drifting to the sound of laughter behind her—familiar, frequent, and coming straight from the living room.

There she was again.

Liz.

Giggling into her phone, cheeks glowing like she was trying to outshine the sun through the window.

Soyeon sighed quietly, flipping the omelet onto a plate and turning off the stove. She had seen this scene play out way too many times lately—Liz curled up in that spot on the couch, whispering, smiling, falling a little deeper every time that unknown person texted her back. Soyeon didn’t need a crystal ball to know what was going on. She’d been there once too.

Still, she didn’t say anything. Not yet.

She carried the plate to the table and sat down, watching her sister from across the room. Liz’s expression was soft, dreamy, her fingers nervously brushing her hair back while she typed something quickly and waited. And then—there it was again—another smile, followed by a quiet laugh that made Soyeon’s gut twist in ways she couldn’t explain.

“Let’s eat now, Liz,” she called out gently.

No response. Liz didn’t even blink.

Soyeon’s brow twitched. She was starting to feel invisible, which was ironic considering she was the one who had just spent twenty minutes making breakfast.

Another soft giggle.

Okay, enough.

“Lizzy Veronica Jeon,” Soyeon said, sharper this time, her voice slicing through the cozy air. “Please. Put the phone down. Just for one meal.”

Liz froze. She turned, eyes wide like she’d just been yanked out of a trance, and quickly placed her phone face-down on the table.

Soyeon gave her a look—one of those classic big sister stares that could silence a room.

“This is your warning. Don’t make me give a second.”

Liz gulped.

Soyeon had always been big on mealtime etiquette. It wasn’t just about manners. It was about respect. Sitting down and sharing a meal meant giving your attention to the person across from you. Not to a glowing screen.

She wasn’t asking for much.

The two of them ate in near silence for a while, the only sound coming from clinks of fork against plate. Liz shifted awkwardly, occasionally sneaking glances at her sister.

“It’s… really good, eonnie,” Liz offered, trying to soften the mood.

Soyeon didn’t respond.

Liz pouted, resting her chin in her hand. “Are you mad at me?”

Soyeon paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. “Not quite,” she said slowly, setting it down. “But I’m getting there.”

She looked at her little sister seriously, eyes narrowing in on that still-blushing face. “I need you to tell me who it is. The person that’s been making you light up like a Christmas tree lately.”

Liz choked a little on her water, caught off guard. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or panic.

She settled for both.

“I—uh…”

Soyeon’s gaze didn’t budge. No smile. No teasing.

Just concern. Just the big sister who had always looked out for her, who always would.