But he’d show up at her part-time convenience store job at 2 AM, claim he needed a specific brand of banana milk they didn’t sell, and then walk her home in silence. He’d delete creepy messages from older guys on her phone without asking. He bought her a new umbrella after she lost her third one, a sturdy, black, boring one. “This one is aerodynamic,” he grunted. “You won’t lose it.”
The door creaked. Seung-jo sat down next to her, a good three feet away. “You are loud. Clumsy. And your emotional intelligence is inversely proportional to your common sense.”
“But you held her hand,” Ha-ni whispered, tears finally spilling.
Oh Ha-ni finally had her answer. And it was perfect. Playful Kiss -K-Drama-
“You’re a disaster,” he said, his voice cracking. “You’re a beautiful, chaotic, infuriating disaster. And I don’t want to solve you. I just want to exist in the same equation.”
“That was for scoring 72 on the chemistry exam,” he said, standing up. “Don’t expect it again.”
Ha-ni snapped.
Ha-ni’s soul left her body. Live. Next door. To Seung-jo.
He turned to look at her, the city lights reflecting in his dark eyes. “You’re an equation I can’t simplify, Oh Ha-ni. It’s irritating.”
He grabbed her shoulders, his fingers digging in. “Do you think I care about level? I care about function . You function in my life the way oxygen functions in a combustion reaction. Without you, I just… suffocate.” But he’d show up at her part-time convenience
Ha-ni stared at him. The great Baek Seung-jo, the human supercomputer, had kept her messy, misspelled love letter.
Seung-jo sighed, pulling her close. “We are a verified theorem. And I will spend the rest of my life proving it.”
When she showed him the paper, he stared at it for a long time. “72,” he said flatly. “A statistical anomaly.” “This one is aerodynamic,” he grunted
University was a different battlefield. Seung-jo became the undisputed king of the medical school. Ha-ni struggled through the early childhood education program. They were not a couple. He insisted on that.