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As promised, Dohwa makes himself scarce after 5pm. He's incredibly quiet sitting at the dining table, and you fight the urge to tiptoe out of your bedroom to see what he's doing.

You hear him rummaging for pots and pans later.

When he calls you out less than an hour afterwards, the aroma already wafting around the apartment tells you that he's cooked a pot of budae jjigae.

'This looks amazing,' you say, mouth watering.

Dohwa admits that he never expected you to have a large appetite since you're always relying on a single triangle kimbap for lunch, but together, you finish the pot.

He also brings out the remaining half of the cookies for dessert. You both had some earlier when they first came out of the microwave, and to your surprise, they weren't half bad 一 just a little lumpier than what you were used to.

As you share the cookies, he pushes over a small pile of polaroids. You realise he wasn't studying, but taking his time to decorate the selfies you'd taken earlier with coloured markers. There are little butterflies and hearts and sparks drawn painstakingly on the frame of the photos, and he's added a neon cat's ears and whiskers filter by hand to a photo of you both grinning at the camera.

There are two near-identical copies of each.

'Oh, Dohwa,' you murmur, 'you're going to make me cry.'

Never once in your life have you ever fallen for someone. But if you'd known that it would feel this good, you wish you could have found him earlier. 

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