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AFTER FOUR GRUELING HOURS, the car finally pulled into the parking lot at the foot of Jirisan National Park. Morning sunlight bathed the rugged landscape, the towering mountains looming like silent sentinels over the sleepy group. Inside the vehicle, a sense of tranquility had followed the initial anarchy.
Y/n had succumbed to sleep somewhere along the winding mountain roads, her soft snores audible over the ever-persistent war audiobook. Her head had found its way to Yoon's shoulder, and she stirred occasionally, mumbling incoherently. Yoon, ever the zen soul, remained unfazed, continuing his meditation as if her proximity didn't exist. His AirPods played gentle mantras now, a stark contrast to the aggressive narration still blaring from the car's speakers.
In front, Park and Lee had turned what started as a love letter into a bizarre, overly dramatic piece of romantic fiction. Park's hushed voice dictated lines like, "... and then y/n gazed into his charcoal orbs that glistened with the ghosts of his past, her heart aflutter with the reckless abandon of forbidden love," while Lee scribbled furiously, nodding in agreement. "Jae-sung... she whispered, her voice all breathy and mellow, like a k-drama heroine. His tongue—yes, his tongue—grazed hers, tasting her honey-sweet lips that honestly could make bees jealous. This wasn't just a kiss—it was a cinematic event."
"This is gold," Lee muttered, "pure gold." They were entirely oblivious to the mounting tension in the back row.
Kwon leaned against the window, his jaw tight and fists clenched, glancing down at his phone every so often. He had smuggled it aboard despite the strict no-phone rule, refreshing his texts anxiously. No new messages. His grandmother's condition weighed heavily on his mind, the helplessness gnawing at him like a persistent ache. The fight with his father earlier that morning hadn't helped—his jaw still throbbed faintly from the blow, the bruise hidden beneath the spot where y/n had struck him with a cane just days before. It was ironic and infuriating all at once.
As if his thoughts weren't turbulent enough, every time y/n shifted, her head dipping slightly further into Yoon's shoulder, a strange wave of anger boiled in his chest. He tried to rationalize it: maybe it was annoyance, maybe it was just the exhaustion from everything piling up. But deep down, he knew it wasn't. If he had sat in the middle, it would be him she was leaning against. That thought made his stomach churn, and he quickly shoved it aside, glaring daggers at the unsuspecting duo instead.
Why should he care? She was nothing but a nuisance, someone who always seemed to push his buttons. Yet the sight of her so unguarded, her face buried in Yoon's shoulder, brought a pang of something else—something uncomfortable. He hated it. He hated himself for even thinking it.
