Chapter Text
The universe isn’t silent.
Many people assume that because space is mostly a vacuum, there are no sounds at all. This idea unsettles them, making space feel eerie and lonely. But that’s not the truth. There are small clusters of molecules where sound can reverberate, where sound has a medium—it’s just so delicate, so hushed, that we humans wouldn’t hear it. Like a lullaby meant only for the cosmos.
The soft cushion underneath your fingertips was familiar, the way you sank into the well-loved seat, melting into its embrace. Your eyes traced the constellations dancing across the ceiling, their quiet presence comforting, like old friends returning home. Each star was a tiny story, a memory from your childhood, when you’d sit for hours whispering their names under your breath as if they could hear you.
You sighed dreamily, following the twinkling trails with a slow, reverent gaze. Space was infinite, untouchable, yet somehow it felt like home. The vastness should have made you feel small—infinitesimal, even—but instead, it wrapped around you like a blanket. There was something deeply poetic about it. The universe was made of the same stardust that made you. Maybe that meant you belonged to it just as much as it belonged to you.
Your love for space had never been a sudden discovery, but something that had always been there, embedded deep within you like a quiet, ever-present hum. It was impossible to say when it started—perhaps when you first saw your sister’s phosphorescent stars glowing faintly in the dark, their pale green light casting gentle constellations across the ceiling. You had begged to sleep in her room, clinging to the idea that if you lay beneath them long enough, you might actually drift into the sky.
And when you finally got your own set, you traced them with your fingers night after night, whispering their names in the dark as if they could whisper back. Even then, the vastness of space had never felt cold or empty. Instead, it felt like something calling to you, something familiar. Something that belonged to you as much as you belonged to it.
Now, you had the whole planetarium offered on a silver platter. This quiet sanctuary, filled with soft light and celestial wonders, had become your second home. You liked to think the universe had guided you here, nudging you toward this place where you could breathe easily, where you could dream. In truth, it was the only reason you had chosen this college over Ivy League offers. How could you say no to a place that gave you the stars?
This planetarium had once been the most advanced in all of the US, its high-tech projector casting visions of newly discovered nebulae, its telescope stretching toward the infinite unknown. When you were younger, you’d visit every month, staring up in awed silence, watching galaxies swirl and fade. You couldn’t touch them, but they felt close—like whispers meant only for you.
Your eyes fluttered closed as you chuckled softly, lost in the memory. When you got your college acceptance letter, your parents had cried—not just from pride, but from sheer relief. They could finally clear out your ever-growing collection of space memorabilia, which, admittedly, had started to spook them. You’d always laughed at their theatrics, but in fairness, a human-sized black hole dangling from the ceiling wasn’t exactly comforting.
Back then, when—
Your phone vibrates in your pocket, pulling you from the lane of memories you were just about to fall down. You fish it out, squinting at the reminder flashing on the screen: Weekly club meeting.
A quiet sigh escapes you. You didn’t want to leave just yet, but the world outside wouldn’t wait. With a final glance at the dome’s twinkling ceiling, you grab your bag and push yourself up.
Campus stretched out like a small city, a puzzle of buildings and green spaces. The physics department was all the way across from the planetarium, past the ice rink and towering lecture halls. It wasn’t a short walk, but today, the warm midday sun softened the distance. The light wrapped around you, slipping through your sleeves, brushing against your skin like a familiar hand. You let it carry you forward, your steps light, almost cheerful.
The glass-paneled entrance of the physics building shimmered under the sun’s glare, reflecting shards of light in every direction. You squinted against it, stepping inside where the air was cool and buzzing with the murmurs of passing students. Footsteps echoed softly in the long hallways, the occasional burst of laughter threading through the space.
The club room was tucked away on the fifth floor, far from the busier sections of the building. The placement never made much sense to you—wouldn’t it have been better inside the dome itself? But no one had ever bothered to change it.
As you rounded the last corner, the open door came into view, warm voices spilling into the hall. Eunchae’s laughter rang out, bright and familiar, curling a small smile onto your lips. You stepped closer, ready to sink into the comfort of routine—until a single sentence knocked the breath from your lungs.
“—dome’s getting torn down. If you wanna use the planetarium one last time, do it before March.”
Joshua’s voice was casual, almost indifferent, as if he were commenting on the weather. A few murmured acknowledgments passed around the room before the conversation drifted elsewhere, the topic slipping away like dust in the wind.
But you—you—were frozen.
The dome is getting torn down? They’re destroying it? They’re destroying my sanctuary??
Your fingers twitched at your sides. The words didn’t feel real. They hung in the air like misplaced stars, flickering, warping, refusing to settle into something comprehensible. Your chest tightened, a dull, crushing weight pressing down as if the very atmosphere had thickened. The warmth from earlier—sunlight on your skin, the quiet joy of your walk—was gone. Replaced by something sharp, something cold.
The dome. The one place where you felt safe, where the universe stretched out for you, where the sky never truly ended—gone?
Your breath hitched. The walls of the hallway felt like they were closing in, the sounds of the club room muffled and distant. Your vision blurred for a moment, a wave of something too overwhelming to name crashing over you. Then, a shudder ran down your spine, snapping you back into motion.
“What do you mean the dome’s getting torn down?”
Your voice cut through the air, sharp and unsteady, as you rushed into the room. A few heads turned in surprise—Wonwoo, startled, even toppled off his chair with a dull thud.
Joshua barely blinked. “Oh, hi Y/N.” He sipped at his lukewarm coffee. “You heard about it too? Figured, since you’re there more than anyone.”
Your heart pounded. “When—no, how—why are they tearing it down?”
A pause settled over the room. Someone shifted in their chair. Joshua shared a brief look with the others before sighing.
“I mean, I get it. The dome’s ancient—you’re probably the only one who even knows how to work the projector properly.”
“And there’s no money coming in anymore,” Minghao added, stretching his arms over his head. “They used to hold shows there, but barely anyone goes now. It’s a waste of space.”
A waste of space.
Your stomach twisted violently. “And none of you care?”
Your voice cracked on the last word, the sheer disbelief curling into something raw and desperate. But the others only shrugged. Joshua, looking mildly exasperated, gestured toward the room. “It’s not like we have a say in it.” Then, turning back to the group, he clapped his hands together. “Alright, since almost everyone is here, let’s start the meeting.”
“I-I need to go.”
The words tumbled out before you could stop them, but you didn’t care. You turned on your heel, shoving past the door. Joshua called after you, but his voice barely registered.
Your heart pounded as you strode down the hall, this time with only one destination in mind—the faculty head’s office.
Strong strides, tears threatening to spill, and a deep frown were the first things the secretary noticed as you burst into the office without knocking. Her brows furrowed at the sudden intrusion, lips parting to scold you, but when her eyes took in your frantic state, the tension in her shoulders eased.
You sucked in a shaky breath, chest heaving from your hurried march across campus. “Hello, can I speak to Mr. Song?” Your voice wavered slightly as your fingers fumbled with each other, restless. Your eyes darted past her, locking onto the door as if staring at it long enough would will it open.
She tilted her head, then gestured toward it. “Yes, dear. You can just knock.”
That was all you needed. Without hesitation, you stepped forward and rapped your knuckles against the wood. Moments later, you were standing in front of Mr. Song.
Clad in a simple brown sweater and well-worn jeans, he exuded a warmth that contrasted the authority he carried so naturally. His kind eyes crinkled slightly as he gestured you inside. You had spoken to him a few times before—mostly about scholarships—but even so, being in his presence always made you feel a little small.
“Hello, Mr. Song. I’m here to talk about the dome’s demolition.”
He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Ah, yes. News travels fast.” His tone held a tinge of regret, but it was buried under something firmer. “It’s a shame, really, but the decision has been made.”
Your stomach twisted. “But isn’t it wrong? Minghao said the place doesn’t make enough money anymore, but that doesn’t mean we have to give up on it! I could come up with a plan, a project—something to bring people back. Maybe I could even do it for extra credit?”
“Y/N.” His voice was gentle but firm. “I appreciate your passion, I really do. But this is out of my hands. The planetarium had its time, and now we have to let it go.”
“But, Mr. Song—”
“Y/N.”
His voice was sharper this time, though not unkind. He reached out, placing a steady hand on your shoulder. The warmth seeped through your hoodie, meant to be comforting, but instead, it felt scalding.
“The dome’s time is up,” he said, his gaze steady. “And you have to accept that.”
The words settled over you like a heavy fog, thick and suffocating. Your shoulders slumped, the fight in you wavering—but deep in the back of your mind, a stubborn ember refused to go out.
Stepping out of the office, you inhaled deeply, your eyes drifting past the campus buildings until they found what they were looking for.
There it was. The dome.
Its curved silhouette stood against the sky, a silent guardian of the universe within.
Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “I won’t let them destroy you,” you murmured, the words barely above a whisper, but packed with resolve.
The soft scratching of your pencil against the rough paper of your notebook felt distinct as you scribbled down the next few important astronomical events for the coming weeks. These were the things usually discussed during your club meetings—who’d come stargazing, where it would be, who’d bring equipment, and who’d bring drinks and food. Since you hadn’t been there during the meeting, you’d asked the group to send you a picture so you had the right dates, too.
Next to you, Jake sat slumped over the desk, face buried in his arms, his frame completely defeated. His chocolate brown hair caught the fluorescent light of the canteen, the slight shine pulling your attention for a moment before he let out a loud, guttural groan. Heads turned at the dramatic display, but Jake seemed oblivious as he sat up, looking absolutely done with life.
“I hate differential equations,” he mumbled, rubbing his face. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure this is the first taste of hell.”
“You’re just too lazy to write out all the steps,” you pointed out, knowing full well how much Jake hated the long, tedious process of solving equations that took up entire pages. He always claimed one of the reasons he chose STEM was to avoid too much writing, but reality had quickly humbled him.
“You don’t have to say it like that, Y/N,” he muttered, shooting you a side-eye.
“It’s the truth, mister.” You mirrored his stance, resting your head on your arms. Your voice had lost its usual teasing lilt, and Jake picked up on it immediately.
The weight of the last few days hadn’t lifted. If anything, it had settled into your bones, an ache that wouldn’t go away. The initial shock of the dome’s demolition had faded, but in its place was a gnawing emptiness, a restless frustration that had you scouring the internet for solutions, only to have each one shot down. You’d gone back to Mr. Song more than once, desperate for some loophole, some way to stop it. Each time, you left more disheartened. You had already cried more times than you cared to admit.
Jake shifted, resting his chin on his hand. “Hmm, the demolition’s still bothering you, huh?”
You didn’t answer, staring blankly at your notebook.
“I mean, I get it,” he continued. “You’ve visited this thing, like, a million times since we were kids.”
“It’s not a just thing, Jake.” Your voice came out sharper than intended. “It’s the planetarium. Call it by its name.”
Jake let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re acting like it’s your baby—” He held up a finger before you could argue. “—and I get it. But sometimes you just gotta let go.”
The words stung more than they should have, even though you've heard them more than enough already. You clenched your jaw, feeling the familiar burn behind your eyes. How could he not understand? The planetarium wasn’t just a building to you—it was a piece of you, a sanctuary that had shaped so much of who you were.
Jake slapped his notebook closed and stood with a sigh, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I’ve gotta head to practice. Try not to spiral too much, okay?”
With a wink and a firm slap on your shoulder, he walked off, leaving you staring at your open notebook.
You exhaled shakily and let your head drop back onto your arms. The sudden surge of emotions left your body tense, your mind racing. After a moment, you picked up your pencil again, idly doodling small constellations in the margins to ease the nervous energy buzzing inside you.
It didn’t work. Not really. The whispers from the girls who had been eyeing your table ever since Jake sat down only added to your irritation. Of course, Jake just had to be popular enough to inconvenience you every time you were spotted together. The hockey idiot was too handsome for his—and your—own good.
With a sigh, you decided grocery shopping and heading home would be a much-needed escape. At least it would feel somewhat productive.
The sun was sinking low, casting a warm, peachy glow over the campus. Normally, you’d find beauty in the interplay of light and shadow, but today it was too much. The brightness stung your eyes, and the thrumming noise of students bustling toward the train station only added to the chaos. You hunched your shoulders, tucking your chin down as you weaved through the crowd.
And then it happened.
A sharp, jarring impact hit your shoulder, sending you staggering. Your feet scrambled to catch your balance, but the ground seemed to tilt beneath you, and before you knew it, you were tumbling. Your hand and elbow hit the concrete first, jarring pain shooting up your arm, followed by a dull ache from your hip. The world spun in flashes of light and sound—boots clattering past you, muffled voices, and the distant thud of your bag hitting the ground. For a brief moment, everything seemed muted, as though the universe itself had dimmed the lights.
“Crap! Are you okay?” The voice was deep and hurried, accompanied by strong hands that hooked under your arms and hoisted you back to your feet before you could even process what was happening.
You blinked, clearing the black spots from your vision, and found yourself staring at thick, expressive eyebrows and two moles—one under his eye and another near the bridge of his nose. Familiar features clicked in your mind. Park Sunghoon.
You tilted your head slightly, the motion instinctive as you tried to make sense of things. Everyone knew Sunghoon—his name echoed through campus hallways and late-night study sessions, always attached to words like "unstoppable" or "future legend." Hockey was everything here, the team practically the university’s beating heart. And yet, you never quite understood the fuss. The sport itself was a blur to you—skates scraping ice, bodies crashing, a puck darting too fast to follow. Still, you could acknowledge what others saw in him. Sunghoon carried himself with the ease of someone used to being watched, sharp-featured and poised in a way that made him seem almost untouchable.
“Hey, are you fine?” he asked again, his gaze darting between you and the ice rink in the distance. “Ugh, I really have to hurry. Sorry about that!” And just like that, he was gone, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease, as if dodging tackles on the ice.
You blinked after him, still dazed, before realizing your bag was lying forlornly on the ground. As you bent to retrieve it, a glint of silver caught your eye. A pair of keys lay on the pavement, attached to a plush clock keychain with the letters “E-N” stitched onto it. Recognition dawned—the plushy was merch from the frat house that housed most of the hockey team, including Sunghoon.
He dropped his keys.
You looked toward the distant ice rink, its modern architecture looming like a frozen wave against the twilight sky. Without much thought, you adjusted your bag and started toward it, grocery plans forgotten.
The rink was surrounded by clusters of students, mostly girls who lingered in hopes of catching a glimpse of the team. You tried to stride inside, but a security guard stopped you with a polite yet firm explanation: no one was allowed in during practice to avoid revealing tactics or distracting the players. Huffing in frustration, you tried to argue, but your words fizzled out when the guard stood his ground. Ultimately, you resigned yourself to waiting outside. You settled on a nearby bench, pulling out an assignment to work on, but as the sun dipped below the horizon and the first stars began to peek through, your focus shifted upward.
Your gaze drifted to the eastern horizon, where Orion was beginning to rise, his belt glinting faintly against the deepening blue. Your eyes lingered on the constellation, and for some reason, the pattern of stars reminded you of that one day on campus—the day Sunghoon had nearly been swallowed whole by an overexcited crowd of fans. The memory was hazy at first, just a blur of movement and noise, but then you recalled the way he’d barely managed to duck into a building before the chaos could reach him, his expression caught between exasperation and amusement.
You exhaled, dismissing the thought as quickly as it came, shifting your attention to the west where Cassiopeia spread her W-shaped throne across the sky. The mythology behind her constellation always made you chuckle; she had been so vain that the gods had literally pinned her to the heavens as a lesson in humility. Somehow, it felt fitting in a way you couldn’t quite place.
Above, Ursa Major stretched out in a grand arc, its handle pointing the way to Polaris, the North Star. You followed the imaginary line to the small but steady glow of Ursa Minor, marveling at how Polaris had guided explorers and dreamers alike for centuries. The thought made you feel connected to something vast and timeless, as though the stars were old friends whispering secrets from across the galaxy.
The rhythmic hum of your melody softened as you let yourself become absorbed in the sky’s quiet symphony.
The night had settled deep and quiet when Sunghoon finally stepped out of the ice rink, his face half-hidden beneath a mask, his cap casting shadows where the streetlights couldn’t reach. His pace was quick, as if eager to disappear into the night, away from you and the keys he didn’t yet know he’d lost.
You stood the moment he passed, fingers tightening around the object in your hands before following after him. It didn’t take long for him to notice.
“Look, I appreciate the support, but I’m not interested,” he said, voice detached, words tossed carelessly over his shoulder as he quickened his steps.
You frowned but kept moving. After waiting all this time, handing back his keys now seemed the only thing that made sense.
He stopped abruptly. “Alright, dude—will a selfie be enough for you to leave me alone?” He turned toward you, tall and unimpressed, the weight of his stare pressing down on you. Instinctively, you shrank back, gaze flickering to the side.
“Selfie?” you echoed, fumbling with the keys. “I don’t want a selfie.”
His brow furrowed. “Huh?”
“I just wanted to give these back to you.” You held out the keys, tilting your head slightly with a small, knowing smile. “Figured you’d need them to get home.”
For a moment, he just blinked. Then, with a sudden urgency, he patted down his pockets, checked his bag, his jacket—realization dawning all at once.
“Oh.”
The tension in his posture shifted as he pulled down his mask, an embarrassed smile softening his features. He reached up to rub the back of his ear, the way people do when they’re caught off guard.
“I—uh—thanks. For finding them. And for bringing them back,” he exhaled, taking the keys from your hand. “And… sorry for assuming you were a stalker.”
He thought I was a stalker?
A soft chuckle escaped you, barely more than a breath, as you pressed your hands together near your face, fingertips brushing your lips. The corners of your mouth curled in a quiet, pleased sort of way. "No worries. I'm just glad I got them to you.”
Sunghoon huffed, barely there, like he was still embarrassed by the situation, shaking his head at your reaction. “Where did you find them, anyway?”
You tilted your head, mirroring his movement. The glow of the streetlights caught the curve of his cheek, the sharp line of his jaw. Your eyes traced the soft constellations of moles across his skin.
Like a tiny universe all his own…
“You bumped into me earlier today,” you said, snapping back to the moment. “Dropped them then. I was lucky to notice.”
“That was you?” His eyes widened, and for the first time, his composure wavered. He leaned back, hands covering his face. “God. I’m so sorry. That must’ve hurt, right?”
You shook your head with a quiet giggle, raising your hands. “See? No scratches, no bruises. I’m fine.”
Relief softened his features. “I’m glad.”
A quiet settled between you, weightless yet full—like the hush of the world just before the first stars flickered to life. The night air curled around you, cool against your skin, and for a brief moment, everything else seemed to still. There was no rush, no lingering weight of the day—just this fleeting pause, a breath shared in the dim glow of the streetlights.
You weren’t sure what it was exactly, but something about the moment felt different. The way Sunghoon’s gaze lingered, the way neither of you spoke but somehow understood the quiet.
“I should get going,” you murmured, something pulling you back. You glanced at your phone to check the time. “Oh shit, I really should get going. I’ll see you around, Sunghoon!”. The grocery stores are about to close!
Sunghoon quickly extended his hand. “Wait!”
But you were already turning, the moment slipping through his fingers as you disappeared into the night.
The lab smelled sharp—like stardust burned to ash, a ghost of something volatile lingering in the air. The fluorescent lights above flickered in their artificial brilliance, casting a pale, sterile glow over the countertops cluttered with glassware and equations scribbled in half-faded ink. The hum of the ventilation system droned on, a mechanical whisper against the silence of focused work.
You adjusted your grip on the pipette, steadying your hands as if they were satellites navigating through gravitational pull. Next to you, Jake worked quietly, scrawling calculations onto his notebook, lost in his own thoughts. The beaker in your hands felt heavier than it should have—perhaps the weight of everything else had settled into it, unnoticed, until now.
Then, it slipped.
Glass met counter in a precarious dance, teetering before giving in to gravity’s will. A sharp clink echoed through the lab, and liquid spilled in slow, creeping tendrils, reflecting the sterile light above in warped, shifting patterns. You watched, unmoving, as if it were a supernova collapsing in on itself—beautiful, inevitable.
Jake didn’t tease. He didn’t even sigh. He just grabbed a roll of paper towels and started cleaning, his movements easy, effortless, as if this was nothing more than another moment in the vast expanse of your shared silence.
“Sorry,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
“It’s fine,” he said simply, a quiet planet in your orbit. “We’ll redo it.”
He knew. Somehow, without words, he always knew.
You weren’t upset—at least, not the way you used to be. The demolition wasn’t a battle to fight anymore, but that didn’t mean it had stopped hurting. Acceptance didn’t arrive like a switch being flipped; it seeped in slowly, like the dimming of distant stars. The frustration had settled into something quieter, something tired, but every now and then, a flicker of defiance burned through—only to extinguish before it could catch flame.
You picked up another test tube, more careful this time. Jake passed you the pipette again without a word, and together, you reset the experiment as if nothing had happened.
While Jake seemed a bit worried, stealing glances every now and then, you continued to work. Fortunately, this was a fairly easy experiment and you were quick to finish it, just in time before the lab closed. Together, you moved swiftly to tidy the space, putting back the chemicals and pipette where it belonged. It was quiet, more so because you didn’t have it in you to talk. Then, a sigh rippled through your chest as you looked over to your vibrating phone. Friday afternoon, physics tutoring, it reminded you. I don’t have the energy…
“Seems like we’re done here”, Jake states, and you nod, “Well then, you have tutoring, right? I’ll be off, see you next week”. You nod again, as you exit the lab and walk down the opposite way as Jake did, to the changing rooms for women.
You slipped out of your lab coat, replacing it with your jacket, shouldering your bag before stepping out into the cool twilight air. The campus pathways were bathed in the soft glow of antique lamplights, casting elongated shadows against the cobblestone paths. The library stood tall against the dimming sky, an almost cathedral-like presence in the evening hush.
Your college had a well-structured tutoring system, run through a self-sustaining website where students sought help from their peers. It was a convenient way to earn money, and for you, it was also a step toward your dream of becoming a professor of astrophysics. Teaching, explaining, guiding—it all felt natural. Today, however, you had a new student, though you had forgotten who it was.
The night air greeted you like the deep void of space—cool, vast, quiet. The campus pathways stretched out before you in a constellation of antique lamplights, their golden glow pooling onto cobblestone paths. Above, the sky unfurled in a cosmic sprawl, the first few stars blinking into existence against the inky black.
You adjusted your bag and made your way toward the library, its towering silhouette rising against the night like an ancient observatory. Inside, the atmosphere shifted—soft murmurs of students, the rustling of pages, the low hum of knowledge being passed between minds like the slow drift of celestial bodies.
The tutoring booths were tucked away in the library’s farthest corner, sealed off in their own little gravity wells of solitude. When you reached the designated door, you pulled it open without much thought.
And then stopped.
Sunghoon was already there, seated with the kind of effortless composure that made him look like he belonged in a Renaissance painting—except instead of oil paint and golden hues, he was dressed in dark blue jeans and a black hoodie, his hair slightly tousled as if he’d been running his hands through it. Thick-framed glasses rested on his nose, lending him an air of quiet intellect that was somehow both out of place and perfectly fitting.
“Oh,” you breathed.
His head snapped up, and for a moment, he just stared. “Oh—wait, you’re Y/N?”
“The one and only.”, you joked, though your voice sounded dry.
Something flickered in his eyes as he took in your expression, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, curiosity evident. “I wouldn’t have guessed you were a physics person.”
“Well, astrophysics, technically,” you corrected, slipping into your chair. The weight in your chest was still there, but it felt a little more distant now, like a distant moon you no longer had to carry alone. “And what about you? What’s your major?”
“Architecture,” he said, leaning back with a sigh. “But every time I look at these physics worksheets, I seriously consider dropping out.”
You huffed a quiet laugh, something close to amusement tugging at your lips. “Let’s not be dramatic.”
“Too late.”
Shaking your head, you pulled out your notebook, readying a pen. “Alright, let’s start the way I usually do—tell me what you’ve covered so far, and what’s giving you the most trouble.”
He listed off topics, his voice weaving through mechanics, structural stability, material science. But when he reached fluid mechanics and hydraulics, his words slowed, like a satellite drifting out of signal range.
“Ah,” you mused. “That’s where we’ll focus, then.”
Physics wasn’t just numbers and formulas—it was a language, a rhythm, a way of understanding the universe. And tutoring wasn’t just about teaching. It was about guiding, about knowing when to push and when to let someone find their own way through the vastness.
This week’s worksheet was all about fluid mechanics and hydraulics. You asked Sunghoon to walk you through how he would tackle a problem, and it didn’t take long before you noticed a few cracks in his approach.
“Do you know how to calculate the gauge pressure?” you asked, with a gentle curiosity.
He scrunched his eyebrows, his face adopting a furrowed, pouting expression. “Uhh… not really,” he admitted, sounding a bit like a lost boy in a maze.
“What’s confusing you?” you coaxed gently, leaning closer. His dark eyes found yours, and a soft pout formed on his lips. The sight was a mix of endearing and comical, like a cloud in an otherwise clear sky.
“Well,” he started, “The formula for pressure is force divided by area, but I don’t have force or area. And I’m not even sure this is the right equation, since it’s asking for gauge pressure, not just pressure. This sucks,” he finished, his pout deepening, as if the problem itself was giving him an emotional wedgie.
You smiled, though, the warmth of the moment a strange contrast to the technical air. “Alright, let’s think this through,” you said, trying to ease the tension. “This is about water pressure in a plumbing system. We’ve got the height of the building, the density of water, and the gravitational acceleration. Do you remember any other formulas related to pressure?”
Sunghoon flipped open his laptop, eyes scanning the notes. “Isn’t it…” He started, a glimmer of recognition in his voice, “I can calculate it with density, height, and acceleration, right? Like… P = hgρ?”
“Exactly!” you clapped softly, a burst of excitement that fizzled out almost as quickly as it rose. “Let’s apply that.”
“Okay, so the pressure is…” Sunghoon muttered to himself, scribbling a little more urgently, before grabbing his calculator. “147.15 kPa, right?”
“Right!” you cheered, “Nice work. Let’s move on.”
“Next up…” Sunghoon hummed to himself, scanning the next question, his brow knitting again in concentration. Meanwhile, you gazed out the window, your thoughts drifting to the sky beyond. The darkness outside seemed to pull at you, a heavy veil settling over the room as the clouds thickened. From here, you could see the planetarium, its silhouette against the evening sky. The thought hit you like an unexpected gust of wind. I’m sorry I couldn’t find a way to stop the demolition…
“../N? Y/N?” Sunghoon’s voice cut through, soft but clear, as he gently tapped your forearm.
You blinked, startled back to the present, and his worried glance found yours. “Hm?” you murmured, focusing on the next problem as Sunghoon studied you, concern flickering in his eyes.
“So this question is about the flow rate in a pipe, right? Usually, flow rate is area times velocity, but I only have the diameter. Can I just halve the diameter and square it to get the area?”
You looked at his notes, the neatness of his logic a contrast to the slightly off-kilter equation he was pondering. “Ah, you’ve got the right idea,” you nodded, “But remember, it’s a pipe. So the area is circular, not square. You need to use πr^2 for the area, and then apply that to the flow rate formula. But overall, you're thinking in the right direction!” You gave him a friendly pat on the back. “See? You’ve got it. Just a little unsure of yourself.”
Sunghoon’s smile flared up at the compliment, and you could feel a soft warmth bubble up inside. There was something effortlessly bright about the way he smiled, like sunlight breaking through morning fog. It made your chest feel lighter.
The rest of the worksheet unfolded in similar rhythm, with you guiding Sunghoon through each question, gently correcting him when needed, and helping him untangle the web of steps. The lesson flew by, as the numbers and formulas blurred into the soft hum of shared focus.
As the final minutes ticked down, you both decided to end the lesson and pack up to go home. You had finished all the questions, leaving no reason to linger, no common topic to fill the silence. It wasn’t tense, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable either. Just… there. The shuffling of feet, the soft rustling of fabric, your quiet sighs, and the steady rhythm of Sunghoon’s breathing filled the space. Your fingers brushed against the fabric of your backpack as you zipped it closed, thumb catching on the little moon trinket hanging from the zipper.
A gift from your parents.
You hesitated, tracing its smooth edges for a second before pulling away, slinging your bag over your shoulder, and following Sunghoon out of the booth. You walked together down the stairs, neither of you speaking, until the cold air greeted you outside.
This was where you’d part ways.
You turned to him. “Then… I’ll see you next week?”
Sunghoon met your gaze, his expression unreadable. “Do you have time on Wednesday? I don’t have any classes in the morning and was hoping to fill the time a bit more productively. Friday evening is a bit too cramped for me.” His voice was lower now, softer, as if he didn’t want to disturb the quiet between you.
“Umm… sure! is ten in the morning alright with you?”
“Yes. Should we just move the sessions to Wednesday mornings, then?”. He smiled—a small, content curve of his lips. It was dazzling in a way that felt almost boyish despite his sharp features.
You mirrored it, though yours felt a little weaker. “Yeah, that’s fine. Then… see you Wednesday.”
You turned on your heel, ready to hurry back home. But before you could take more than a few steps, warmth wrapped around your bicep. Firm, steady.
Sunghoon’s hand.
You paused, looking at him in surprise. His grip wasn’t tight, but there was something solid about it. Something grounding. A warmth you didn’t realize you had been craving.
He blinked, as if he had only just realized what he had done, and quickly let go, his hand retreating awkwardly to his side. “Uh—I was thinking about you bringing me back my keys, and I wanted to thank you,” he said, his other hand lifting to fumble with his earlobe. A nervous habit, maybe.
You tilted your head slightly. “It wasn’t a big deal—”
“And,” he cut in, his voice a little rushed now, “I was thinking… I could walk you home?”
You blinked.
“I—I mean, it’s late at night, and it’d be really ungentlemanly of me to let a young, beautiful lady walk home alone.”
Young, beautiful lady?
The words hung in the air, their weight slow to sink in. Sunghoon seemed to realize what he had said at the same time you did, his eyes widening slightly. He stammered out a string of soft never mind’s and forget it’s, and I think this is the reason I’ll start therapy jesus, his ears turning the slightest shade of red under the dim glow of the streetlights.
For a moment, you considered letting him off the hook. Saying it’s fine, I’ll be okay.
But something about his presence—his quiet, considerate character—made you pause. The ache in your chest was still there, still dull and persistent, but for the first time in a while, it didn’t feel unbearable.
Maybe, just maybe, you could let yourself lean on him. Just a little.
“…Okay,” you said. “Walk me home.”
Sunghoon blinked, as if he hadn’t actually expected you to agree. But then he nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets, and fell into step beside you.
What first seemed like another quiet, uneventful evening took a turn when Sunghoon picked up on your somber mood. You could feel his gaze flickering toward you—curious but careful, like someone hesitantly reaching out to pet a grumpy cat. You chose to let him figure it out on his own, not particularly in the mood to extend more friendliness than necessary.
“Are you—are you okay?” he asked, voice laced with something softer than usual. Genuine concern. You weren’t expecting that.
You swallowed, caught off guard, and the unexpected kindness made your throat tighten. “Yeah, I’m fine.” It was a flimsy lie, betrayed instantly by the tremble in your voice. Sunghoon didn’t miss it. He leaned forward slightly, bending just enough to catch a glimpse of your face. Under the glow of the streetlights, you knew your eyes were glistening, barely holding back the tears.
He let out a quiet, almost amused sound—a gentle coo, like he’d just seen a baby animal. It was mortifying.
“You wanna talk about it?” he offered, his voice just above a whisper. It was too careful, too considerate, and you had to blink rapidly to keep the tears from spilling over.
With a sniffle, you wiped at your eyes, annoyed at yourself. “It’s just… do you know the dome?”
Sunghoon’s hand hovered awkwardly for a second before finally resting on your shoulder, giving it a tentative pat. “Uh, you mean the planetarium?”
“Yeah.”
"Sure! I remember I had a date with a cute girl over there. We sat inside the planetarium and watched the show, but the sudden movement from the milky way to the andromeda galaxy was too quick and she got dizzy, so she leaned over and threw up on me. To this day, I still don't know why she had to lean over me, though".
You cleared your throat, composing yourself, after this weirdly personal story. “Uh, okay, yeah. That place. It’s my favorite place. I mean, I only picked this college because of it. If it wasn’t for that, I could’ve gone to an Ivy League school and gotten my degree there.”
Sunghoon’s eyes widened. “Holy shit, you’re that smart?”
“That’s not the point,” you huffed, voice cracking slightly. “The point is that the dome is getting torn down because it doesn’t bring in enough money. Those stupid, money-hungry board members…”
You trailed off, cursing under your breath while Sunghoon nodded along, his hand still patting your back—a steady, grounding presence. He seemed deep in thought, eyebrows furrowed.
“I get why you love it,” he said after a pause, voice steady, measured. “But… I also kinda get why the school wants to tear it down.”
You turned to him, incredulous. “Huh?”
“Well—” he hesitated, then committed, drawing a deep breath. “The dome’s layout is a mess. I mean, yeah, the planetarium itself is cool, but the projector is ancient and way too complicated to use. Some of the chairs are broken, and the rest? Way too old, way too stiff.”
His hand left your shoulder as he began to gesture dramatically, words picking up speed. “And then there’s that narrow-ass hallway around the planetarium. It’s all dark and cramped, lined with those information boards that are way too complicated for normal people to understand. And don’t even get me started on that stupid coffee shop! Who the hell thought it was a good idea to slap it right between two connected displays? How is anyone supposed to read them?”
You found yourself following the animated movements of his hands, the little huffs between sentences. His eyebrows knitted together in concentration, lips pursing slightly as he ranted. You almost—almost—smiled.
“And don’t forget the so-called ‘lecture halls’—” he made air quotes, his frustration mounting. “Who was high when they designed those underground, half-circle, dungeon-looking rooms? They look like they were built for human sacrifices, not lectures!”
You sniffled, watching as he nodded solemnly to himself, as if mourning the dome’s terrible architecture.
“The telescope setup, though? That’s actually pretty solid,” he admitted. “They did a decent job making it accessible. And the lounge area? That’s nice.”
You sat with his words for a moment, letting them settle in. You had never seen the planetarium that way before, had never looked past your love for it to notice its flaws. But now? Now you couldn’t unsee them.
Sunghoon must’ve caught himself rambling, because he stopped abruptly and turned back to you, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh. Sorry, I didn’t mean to go off like that.”
“No, don’t be,” you shook your head, blinking away the last of your tears. “You’re actually making a lot of sense. I’ve always seen the planetarium as my baby, so I never looked at it objectively. But still… it kinda sucks that no one else seems to care. Feels like I’m the only one.”
He glanced up, eyes scanning the sky, lips pressing together in thought. For a moment, the world felt still again. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face—goofy, smug, almost mischievous.
“You know,” he drawled, rubbing his nose, like he was about to say something ridiculous, “if they just advertised the planetarium as a hot date spot, or made it, like, a couple’s thing, I bet it’d get the attention you want.”
You stared at him. Blinked. Processed. And then—
“Sunghoon. You’re a genius.”
He blinked back, stunned. “I am?”