You and Jiung have been close for a while now—the kind of closeness that blurs lines.

You're the first person he calls when he’s having a bad day.

He brings you snacks without asking what you want, because he already knows.

There are glances that last too long. And jokes that sound like flirting.

Everyone around you assumes you’re together.

But the silence between “what we are” and “what we could be” grows louder every day.

It’s late.

The two of you are lying side by side on your bed, not touching—but close enough that if you moved just an inch, your hands would brush.

You’re both staring at the ceiling now. Neither of you talking. The glow from your fairy lights casts soft shadows across Jiung’s face.

And you finally ask it.

"What are we?" Your voice is slightly shaky, your gaze averted, looking anywhere but into his eyes.