I wake up calm.
Not peaceful… not light… but steady in a way that feels unfamiliar.
There's no spiral. No racing thoughts. No rehearsing a hundred possible outcomes in my head. Just a quiet certainty sitting heavy in my chest like something that has finally decided what it is.
Internal monologue:
I'm not asking to be chosen.
I'm asking to be honest.
The realization lands without drama.
Silence has started to hurt more than truth.
I lie there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, listening to the city wake up outside my window. My phone rests on the nightstand within reach, the draft message still saved… waiting.
I read it one last time.
Not a confession.
Not a demand.
Not an apology.
Just a request to speak… privately.
My thumb hovers.
I think about everything I've survived by staying quiet.
Everything I've lost by assuming I didn't get to ask for more.
Then I send it.
The message disappears with a soft whoosh.
And just like that… the waiting changes shape.
Dusk makes the rooftop honest.
Not bright enough to perform in. Not dark enough to hide in. Just that soft blue-gray hour where the city exhales and everything feels like it's standing between two versions of itself.
I step out onto the concrete with my hands tucked into my coat sleeves, the wind cool against my cheeks, the skyline glowing faintly like scattered embers. The door clicks shut behind me and the noise of the building falls away.
Quiet.
Open.
Unprotected.
It feels right.
I pace once. Then stop. Then pace again like my body doesn't know what to do with all this space.
Footsteps echo softly behind me.
I turn.
Jingyi steps onto the rooftop, jacket open, hair stirred by the breeze, his expression immediately softening when he sees me. No idol mask. No charm armor.
Just him.
"You wanted to talk?" he asks gently.
I nod.
For a moment we just stand there, a few feet apart, the city stretching wide behind him, the sky painted in muted gold and blue like a promise that doesn't know how to speak yet.
My heartbeat is loud in my ears.
I draw a slow breath and let it settle in my chest before I speak.
"I've been thinking a lot," I say quietly. "About the last few weeks. About the way things shifted."
He doesn't interrupt.
His attention doesn't drift.
It lands on me fully… like this moment is the only place he exists.
I swallow and continue.
"I don't want our connection to stay undefined."
The words feel heavier out loud… but also cleaner. Like finally setting something down instead of carrying it silently.
His gaze sharpens slightly, not alarmed… just attentive.
"I know everything is complicated right now," I add. "The cameras. The timing. The noise. I understand all of that."
My fingers curl into my sleeve.
"And I'm scared," I admit. "I'm scared of misreading you…"
A breath.
"…but I'm more scared of losing this without asking."
The truth lands like a steady pulse in my chest. Not shaking. Not fragile.
Honest.
I lift my eyes fully to his.
"So I'm asking," I say softly. "If what we're building… if what this feels like to me… is real to you too."
The question hangs between us.
Not desperate.
Not demanding.
Just open.
For a second, the only sound is the wind brushing past the railing and the distant hum of traffic below.
He doesn't speak right away.
He studies me like he's memorizing something… like this version of me matters enough to keep forever.
Then he steps closer.
Not crowding.
Not closing the distance too fast.
Just enough that the air between us changes temperature.
"I was afraid you'd never ask," he says quietly.
My breath catches.
He exhales slowly, like he's letting something heavy fall away.
"I've been careful," he continues. "Too careful. I thought protecting you meant holding myself back. I thought if I stayed gentle enough, quiet enough, you wouldn't get hurt."
His eyes soften… and something deeper surfaces there. Something unguarded.
"But the truth is…" he says, voice lowering slightly, steady and unmasked. "I wasn't just being careful for you."
He meets my gaze fully.
"I was being careful because I was already in too deep."
My chest tightens.
"I'm in love with you," he says.
Not dramatic.
Not theatrical.
Just clear. Grounded. Absolute.
The word lands like a shift in gravity.
The skyline behind him blurs slightly as my eyes burn.
My breath stutters.
A single tear slips free before I can stop it, tracing warm down my cheek like my body betrayed me before my mind could catch up.
He sees it immediately.
Not panic.
Not alarm.
Tender concern.
He lifts his hand slowly, giving me time to pull away if I want to.
I don't.
His fingertips brush the tear away gently, then his palm settles at the back of my head, warm and steady against the curve of my neck.
Not pulling.
Not claiming.
Holding.
Our foreheads touch.
The world narrows to breath and warmth and the quiet hum of two heartbeats learning each other's rhythm.
I close my eyes.
Internal monologue:
He didn't wait for certainty.
He waited for permission.
"I didn't want to scare you," he murmurs against the space between us. "I didn't want to cross a line you weren't ready to step over."
His thumb rests lightly at my hairline.
"But loving you quietly started to feel like lying."
My chest aches in the best possible way.
I lift my hands slowly and rest them against his jacket, feeling the solid reality of him under my palms.
"I didn't ask because I was afraid of being wrong," I whisper. "Of wanting something that wasn't there."
His forehead presses just a fraction closer to mine.
"It was always there," he says softly. "I just didn't know how to say it without breaking something."
My breath shakes.
A laugh almost escapes me… small and breathless and overwhelmed.
"So now what," I whisper.
He smiles slightly… not playful… just real.
"Now we stop pretending this is accidental," he says. "We take it one step at a time… together."
I nod.
My eyes open and meet his again, glassy but steady.
"I didn't ask to be loved," I say quietly. "I asked to be seen."
His gaze warms instantly.
"And I see you," he answers without hesitation. "All of you."
We stay there like that… foreheads touching, his hand warm at the back of my head, the city glowing beneath the falling dusk.
No kiss yet.
No rush.
Just the quiet certainty settling into place like something that has always been waiting.
Internal monologue, soft and full:
I asked for honesty.
And he answered with his whole heart.