define 𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗵 -
⋆⭒˚.⋆. 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 (𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦) 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺
| 𝗶𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵
two childhood best friends find their way back to each other, healing old wounds and falling in love - again.
enhypen lee...
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Unsent Words
———
The SOFT HUM of the air conditioner was the only sound in the room. Afternoon had stretched lazily into early evening, and golden sunlight slanted through the blinds of Heeseung's bedroom, casting quiet shadows across the hardwood floor. The day had been warm, but not overly so — the kind of mellow weather that made everything feel like it moved just a little slower.
Haneul lay on his bed, idly flipping through a book she hadn't really been reading. Heeseung had gone downstairs to grab snacks, promising to be back in five minutes with popcorn and chocolate — a very serious movie night combination, according to him.
His room smelled faintly of him — cedarwood cologne, warm laundry, and a note of something herbal, like the shampoo he used. She glanced around, her eyes landing on the details of his space. It was lived-in but clean, a few things out of place in a charming, comfortable way. Books stacked on his desk, some opened with highlighters sticking out. A worn leather jacket hung from a chair. Polaroids and pinned-up postcards dotted a corkboard near his bookshelf — moments captured, mostly of people she recognized. Some with her in them too.
A small smile tugged at her lips.
Standing up, she wandered toward the bookshelf. That's when she noticed a nondescript, slightly dusty wooden box tucked behind a row of thick paperbacks. Curiosity piqued, she pulled it out and sat back down, brushing off the lid. It creaked faintly as she opened it.
Inside were little relics of the past — scraps of paper, faded photos, old ticket stubs from concerts and sports games. A thin chain bracelet. A doodled-on napkin from a burger joint they used to frequent when they were kids. Each item felt like a small time capsule, frozen pieces of memories tucked away and nearly forgotten.
And then... she saw it.
An envelope, yellowed slightly with time, carefully tucked at the bottom beneath everything else. Her name was written on the front.
Haneul.
Her breath caught. The handwriting was unmistakably his — those familiar curves and angles, the slight rightward slant.
She stared at it for a moment. Her fingers trembled slightly as she picked it up, flipping it over to see if there was a date. There wasn't. Just her name — simple, untouched, waiting.
With slow, reverent fingers, she broke the seal and unfolded the letter inside. The paper crackled softly. The ink was slightly faded but legible — and the first line hit her with all the force of years gone unspoken.
