for the past few weeks, you’ve been spending almost every night in the same hospital waiting room. and somehow, so has he. kim jongseob is quiet, exhausted, and strangely difficult to read. always sitting in the corner chair with a hoodie pulled over his head and untouched coffee growing cold in his hands. at first, the two of you barely speak. just occasional glances across the room. shared silences at 2am. small conversations between vending machine hums and flickering hospital lights. but the more nights pass, the more familiar he becomes. the seat beside you starts feeling less empty when he’s there. and somewhere between sleepless nights, awkward conversations, and the exhaustion neither of you know how to talk about, the line between strangers and something else slowly begins to blur.