Lately, I stopped counting the days.
Maybe because they all began to blur—in the best kind of way.
Every night after practice, after the chaos of schedules and cameras and lights, he'd knock on my door.
Two taps, a pause, then one more.
It became our code.
I never asked if he did the same for anyone else.
I didn't need to.
I just knew.
Tonight, it was my unit.
Sebastian sat cross-legged on the floor, hair still damp from his post-practice shower, wearing a black hoodie I swore i'd seen him wear a dozen times.
He held the Nintendo Switch controller like he was holding a mic onstage, focused, intense, completely in it.
"No mercy tonight," I warned, clutching my controller.
"Please," he smirked. "You always say that, but i still win."
"That's psychological warfare."
"That's called being good," he teased.
I stuck my tongue out.
He grinned.
I couldn't remember the last time i laughed this much with someone or felt this calm just sitting still.
The TV buzzed softly in front of us.
My leftover ramyeon was on the coffee table.
The window was slightly open, letting in the breeze from the city below.
And yet this small room felt like the only place that existed.
At some point, I lost.
Again.
He raised his arms like a champion, smug but playful, and i threw a pillow at his head.
"Why are you so good at everything?" I groaned.
He caught the pillow and leaned back, arms behind his head. "You've got time to catch up."
"Unfair," I muttered.
Then… it got quiet again.
That kind of silence that wasn't awkward, it was warm.
Like we both knew what was coming next.
His voice dropped just a little. "I like this."
"This?"
"You. Me. Just… this."
My chest tightened.
That familiar flutter came back again.
I looked down at my lap, then back up at him.
"Me too," I said softly. "I like you."
He didn't smile right away.
He just looked at me for a second, like he was trying to memorize it.
Then, he scooted a little closer. Not much. Just enough.
"Are we crazy?" he whispered.
"Probably," I said. "But it feels right."
There wasn't a dramatic kiss.
No loud music.
Just two people looking at each other, a little stunned by how easy and heavy it felt at the same time.
We didn't say the word together.
We didn't need to. Not yet.
Because we knew the stakes.
If anyone found out… his world would erupt. Contracts.
Fans.
Scandals.
They wouldn't just come for him, they'd come for me too.
Again.
And this time, I didn't think i had the energy to fight.
But for now, this little stolen piece of peace was enough.
-
We lay on the floor eventually, side by side, watching the ceiling fan spin slowly.
He reached for my hand, but only for a second.
A touch, not a hold. Just enough to say I'm here without making it permanent.
"You ever think about what it would be like… if things were different?" I asked.
"All the time," he said.
I turned to look at him. "Would you still have liked me?"
He smiled softly. "Margaux, I liked you before i even met you."
I blinked. "What?"
"That campaign shoot with Lueur. I saw the footage before it was released. You had on that off-shoulder white dress, and you said something about becoming your own light."
I remembered that shoot.
It was one of my last before.
Before everything fell apart.
"You were… real," he continued. "Not perfect. Just real. And I couldn't stop watching."
I didn't know what to say to that.
So i didn't say anything.
We stayed that way for hours.
The Switch game untouched, the TV quietly shifting to its idle screen.
At some point, he got up and fetched water for both of us.
I wrapped myself in the blanket on the couch, legs curled under me, watching him move around like he belonged there.
Because somehow, he did.
-
The next night, we were at his place.
He cooked, badly.
Burned the eggs.
Spilled the rice.
But i loved every second of it.
We danced to an old Coldplay song playing from his phone.
No choreography, no perfection.
Just limbs and laughter and bumping into furniture.
He offered me one of his hoodies to wear.
It smelled like his fabric softener. Fresh, clean, familiar.
That night, we didn't talk about the outside world.
We didn't mention the screaming fans, or the idol rules, or the people who would never understand.
We just… existed.
It wasn't always easy.
Sometimes he'd get a call and step out.
Sometimes i'd feel the panic rise again, that fear of losing what i never even expected to have.
But then he'd come back and i'd remember that we were building something soft in a world that didn't always allow softness.
-
A few nights later, we went out again.
Masks on.
Hoods up.
Fingers brushing only when no one was looking.
He reached for mine when we crossed the street, like instinct.
Then let go before the next light.
We passed a small group of girls with light sticks and banners.
They were waiting for someone.
Not him, not now. But still.
I caught my reflection in a shop window—bare face, black hoodie, eyes sharp but tired.
He noticed me watching myself.
"You okay?" he asked.
I nodded. "Do you ever get scared?"
"All the time," he said without hesitation. "But I'd rather be scared with you than safe without you."
That was the moment.
Right there.
That's when i knew.
Even if we could never post a picture together.
Even if i had to cheer for him as just a fan. Even if i had to hide this light we found in the dark…
It would still be worth it.
Because sometimes, the best kind of love is the one no one else sees—
The one that belongs only to the two people brave enough to hold it in secret.