Two damn weeks.

That’s how long it takes for obsession to settle into bone.

Two weeks of watching Jay from a distance. Of pulling strings. Calling in favors. Staring down the wrong people for the right comic. Now Phantom Blade sits in his hands, glossy and dangerous as a promise.

Jiwon had pulled every string he could, called in favors he’d rather not owe, and even found himself staring down the rival group of gang members to secure this rare copy. He knows it will come back to bite him, and that his father will be furious if he finds out, but none of that matters. He wants to be close to Jay, and he is willing to pay any price. 

He walks into the lunch hall like he’s stepping onto live current, nervous as hell!

The lunch hall is buzzing, sunlight streaming through the high windows, glinting off crystal water glasses and polished silverware. The air is thick with the scent of gourmet food. At the same table near the window, Jay sits with Dae and Hoon. Dae is animated as usual, her laughter ringing out as she recounts some story, while Hoon listens, skeptical but amused. Jay, as always, is quieter, smiling, nodding, but never quite letting himself be swept up in the noise.

Jiwon takes a deep breath, straightens his shoulders, and walks over with purpose. He picked his outfit with care—a sky-blue long-sleeved shirt, cuffs buttoned to hide most of his tattoos, a woolly scarf at the neck to cover the ones peeking from his collar. He read that blue can be calming for people with autism. His bleached hair is styled perfectly, every strand in place. He rubs one sweaty palm against his dark blue jeans.

As he approaches, many eyes turn to look—his charming form, tall stature, and mixed racial features draw attention. A hush falls over the surrounding tables and even Dae’s rambling stalls. He slides in beside Dae, prompting her to scoot over to the wall, and carefully places the Manhwa at the center of the table, the title facing Jay. 

“Hello,” he greets Jay, his voice calm, but his heart is pounding.

The table falls silent. Hoon’s eyes narrow in disbelief, Dae arches an eyebrow as her eyes fall on the book, and Jay freezes, his gaze locking onto Jiwon. His jaw works, lips begin moving in a silent whisper, and then he drops his head, still murmuring to himself, hands fidgeting in his lap - stimming to stay calm.

Hoon breaks the silence, his tone sharp. “Hey, newbie. What makes you think you can sit with us?” Hoon didn't mind being rude when he had to, and right now, he was all bristling protectiveness.

Jiwon keeps his voice even. “Just trying to make friends.”

“Well, look for buddies somewhere else—”

Dae suddenly gasps, subtly diving in to rescue Jiwon, her eyes lighting up. “Oh my God, is that Phantom Blade—the unreleased edition?”

Jay's muttering stops. His head snaps up, eyes wide, he freezes when he sees the book, then he just stares at it - calculating.

That reaction alone makes it all worth it for Jiwon.

“No fucking way,” Hoon mouths, reaching for it, but Jay is faster—his hand shoots out, slamming down on the cover, and he pulls it toward himself, fingers trembling. He stares at the gold lettering, the words shimmering in the light, then slowly opens the cover. The first page is a continuation of the story he’s been so desperate to read. His eyes soften, almost childlike, and he glances up at Jiwon, as if asking for permission.

Jiwon smiles gently. “You like manhwa?” he asks, his voice softer now, the rest of the world fading away. “I guess I could lend it to you for a few days.”

Jay’s eyes drop back to the pages, and he begins to read, shutting out the rest of them. For a moment, it is as if he’s built a wall around himself, the three of them left outside. Hoon huffs, folding his arms, fixing Jiwon with an unfriendly stare.

“What’s your deal, anyway?” Hoon fires, his eyes hard and suspicious.

Jiwon lifts his hands slightly, palms open.
“Look, I’m new here. I don’t know anyone, and I don’t know how things work.” A pause. “I was at the club the other night—great party. You did right by Jay.” His eyes flick briefly to him, then away. “I figured if anyone knows how to survive this place, it’s you three.”

Hoon doesn’t soften.
He leans back, arms crossed. “You expect us to believe you’re lost? With your last name?” His mouth twists. “Your dad can find out anything he wants. And if that doesn’t work, he sends people with guns.”

Jiwon exhales a laugh, sharp but not offended.
“Fair enough.” He nods. “But I’m not here on his business. I’m here on mine.” He reaches into his jacket and slides three gold-embossed cards onto the table. They catch the light. Heavy. Intentional. “Consider it an olive branch for getting off on the wrong foot. Casino. VIP access. No strings.”

Dae arches a brow.
Hoon’s eyes widen before he schools his expression. “You think flashing freebies makes this okay?”

“No,” Jiwon says quickly. “I know I can't buy you guys. I'd never try to do that. I just want in. Slowly. On your terms.”

Silence stretches.

Dae picks up one of the passes. “I’ve never gambled,” she says casually. “Could be fun.”

Hoon sighs, rubbing his jaw. “You’re unbelievable,” he scolds.

She shrugs, sticking out her tongue at him. “Weekend. One time.”

Hoon turns to Jay. His voice softens. “You okay with this?”

Jay doesn’t look up from the manhwa.
But he nods.

That decides it.

Hoon picks up a pass, tapping it once against the table. “Fine. Trial period.” He extends his hand. “I’m Hoon. You already met Dae and Jay.”

Jiwon shakes his hand. Firm. Brief. Respectful.
“Appreciate it.”

Hoon’s grip tightens slightly before he lets go. “One rule.”

Jiwon meets his gaze. “Name it.”

“Don’t touch him,” Hoon says flatly, gesturing at Jay. “Don’t push. Don’t crowd. You cross that line, and we’re done. He does not like being touched!”

Jiwon nods, mischievous smile in place. “So I’ve heard.”

Throughout lunch, Jiwon finds his attention always drifting back to Jay. He watches him, fascinated, as Jay’s eyes flit across the comic book pages, a soft smile playing on his lips. It is a private smile, meant for the story unfolding in his mind. A warmth blooms in Jiwon’s chest. He feels a connection, a sense that he’s finally chipped away at Jay’s reserve, even if only a little.

Throughout lunch, Jiwon moves with practiced ease.
He reads the table well.

“Jay, another shake?” he says lightly. “You’re going to need fuel if you plan to survive that comic.”

He signals the waiter without looking, gets everyone another round of drinks, then fills the gaps in conversation without forcing them. Stories slip out easily—long summers in Sweden where the sun barely set, afternoons stretched thin and bright. Boarding schools. Cold lakes. Learning to be independent early. Studying at ETH Zurich, where no one cared who his father was, and everyone cared how fast you could think.

Dae and Hoon drill him like sergeants, as if trying to learn everything about him in one afternoon.

“Favorite place?” he says, leaning back. “Stockholm in July. The city feels soft then. People slow down. You can walk along the water at midnight, and it still feels like day.”
He pauses, then adds, quieter, “Seoul at night is different. Loud. Fast. Like it’s daring you to keep up.”

Music comes next. He shrugs.
“Depends. When I miss my mum, it’s ABBA. She used to play it too loud on Sunday mornings.” A beat. “When I’m angry? Old-school hip hop. Something with teeth.”

“Favorite movie?”
He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“New World. My dad calls it a classic. Says it’s almost accurate.”

When Korea comes up, his tone shifts. Not defensive. Just careful.
“I like it here,” he says slowly. “The food. The way people show up for each other. Even the chaos.” He stirs his drink. “But it’s strange coming home to a place that doesn’t feel like it’s yours. I speak the language, but not always the right way. I know the rules, but nuances evade me -I'm learning.”

Then the question of race lands, heavy and unavoidable.
His jaw tightens.

“In Sweden, I was the Asian kid. Here, I’m foreign.” He exhales through his nose. “People stare. Ask questions they think are harmless. My mum taught me not to shrink myself. To stand tall.” His eyes flicker, sharp now. “And if someone crosses a line, I know how to make it stop.”

Jay doesn’t look up from his book.
But he hears everything.

The cadence.
The pauses.
The spaces where Jiwon doesn’t say things out loud.

He files it all away, precise and careful, the way he always does.
The feeling of being between worlds.
Too much of one thing. Not enough of another.

It mirrors something familiar.

Something Jay has never had words for.

As they all head out after Lunch, Jiwon makes his move.

“So… when do I get my comic back?” His voice is light and teasing, cuts through the comfortable silence that had settled around us. His question is framed casually, but there's an undercurrent to it that makes my shoulders tense, my senses sharpening—he is plotting something.

I blink, forcing myself to meet his gaze, to sound normal. “I’ve got two hundred and fifty-five pages left.”

Jiwon’s eyes widen. Was he impressed? Weirded out?

“Err… so how long do you need?” He probes, scratching his neck, lips twitching to hold back a smile.

I look away, my heart and mind both racing, fighting the sudden jolt of heat that rushes through me, heady and intoxicating, while calculating the time I need to finish the book—reading speed, study blocks, hours I can realistically carve out without disturbing my routine.

“Three days,” I respond finally, adding one extra day as a safety net.

Jiwon nods, his expression unreadable. “Cool. Can I get your Line?”

My chest tightens, a familiar knot of anxiety forming in my stomach. I flick questioning eyes toward Hoon, but he doesn’t even look up—he's hunched over his phone, his brow furrowed, coaxing someone on the other end of Line like it's a matter of life or death. No doubt, laundering yet another rare family painting through the back door. I glance at Dae uncertainly, and she offers a small encouraging smile. 

“You'll need my number to return it when you're done?” Jiwon reasons, his voice steady—too steady. He is watching me too closely, those green eyes intense and unwavering.

I hesitate, my usual script for avoiding personal info exchange failing, like a glitch in my system. 

What would I do if he started calling me endlessly, expecting conversation? Or worse still, what if he never called! Still, I open the Connect app on my phone and touch it to his to exchange numbers, the spark feels real enough to burn.

“Great! Now we’re really friends.” He grins, his eyes locking on mine, holding my gaze for far too long - lingering, probing, as if he is trying to see inside me, to understand something I don’t even understand myself. It is too much. I look down, breaking the connection, heart pounding, a dull burn in the pit of my stomach. 

I turn and walk away without saying goodbye or “catch you later...”, something a normal person would do.

“I’ll buzz you later, Jay ah!” he calls after me, his happy voice echoing in the open air.

As Jay walks away without saying goodbye, the air feels charged. Too tight. Too close.

Something sharp coils low in Jiwon’s chest. Not anger. Not rejection.

Anticipation. 

He watches Jay disappear into the crowd.

Smiles despite himself.

Currents don’t fade. They wait.