It is winter. The weather is a bit too cold so Chorong pulls her blanket up and hides under it, finding solace and comfort in the warmth it offers her. The air is still and quiet, with only the soft snores of her exhausted roommate and occasional symphony of the night crickets as her companion as she tries to doze off to the dreamland but to no avail. She keeps her stare fixed at the ceiling, her mind wandering away in the darkness, her thoughts and recollections of the past getting the best of her.

She remembers the previous winter ― the coldest and harshest but her happiest. She remembers flutters of her heart, the stolen glimpses and exchanged glances, the tiny little spark that eventually ignited the early buds of their friendship and later bloomed into something more. She remembers the letters tucked underneath their tacky ‘welcome’ mat, the late night phone calls, the escapades and adventures despite the schedules they had later early in the morning. She remembers the secret signals they made just for each other, the knowing smiles they kept plastered on their face when asked about their ideal types. Each and every single moment they share warms her and she gets more lost in the abyss of their memories.

It’s not like he’s dying, or that they’re ending their relationship. He’s just moving away. It is something neither of them can disagree and avoid but it hurts just as much. They still can see each other, on music shows and special events, and there’s also that miraculous invention called technology that connects people continents and time zones away together. They will still be living in the same country, the same state and share the same profession. They are bound to run into each other sooner or later, or even everyday if the heavens allow it.

It is winter. The weather is a bit too cold so Chorong pulls her blanket up but she is just about to hide under it, her phone vibrates. She squints her eyes against the bright screen and reads the message. There is a gasp followed by a smile carved across her lips. She quickly stumbles out of her bed, checks her face and hair in the reflection of the mirror and grabs a random jacket on her way out that is a couple of sizes too big for her petite body. She has shed several pounds in the past months, from all the exercises and diets that she doesn’t really need. She remembers his complaint the last time he saw her about the baby fats in her cheeks that are no longer there, but she had countered back by reminding him of his own chubby cheeks from his early days in this field that he lost.

She checks the mirror once again before opening the door (as quietly as she can so not to wake the others), and there stands him. He has his hands behind his back, crescent eyes curving into slits, his signature grin tugging his lips. Nam Woohyun. Sometimes she still finds herself questioning the man in front of her, in case he is just a part of a hallucination, a recurrent dream that continues to haunt her but will never come true. She has always been observing him, taking note of his progress and sometimes praying for his success. The guy from her province who shares the same dream as her, she had often watched him for afar, never dared to even dream about having a conversation with. She can never be grateful enough for his presence in her life. He has been her rock, the one she seeks for comfort and leans on when she thinks her world is crumbling down. She has been his, too, sharing the same worries and struggles that no one else could understand.

“Earth to Chorong?”

Chorong travels back from her train of thoughts to the present time. She takes another look at him and quickly recognizes the scarf around his neck, the one she has knitted by herself despite her lack of skills, which he had complaint for the holes and inconsistent length, but still wears it around with his head held up high like it is his most prized possession. She smiles at him at last. “Hello.”

“Brought this for you,” he says, revealing a stalk of wild flower he was hiding from her which he obviously plucked from the small garden outside. “It’s late so the shops are close, but I still wanted to give you one. It’s the thought that counts, right?”

She lets out a chuckle. “You should try something else. That phrase is getting old, you know.” But in truth she doesn’t mind anything from him. She doesn’t even want anything from him. Just him by her side, wasting their precious hours when they are supposed to be catching up with the sleep they missed together with their fingers interlaced is more than enough. She takes the flower and slides it behind his ear. “It suits you more,” she tells him with a laugh, and he strikes a pose for her that makes her laugh even more.

“Be quiet. People are sleeping.”

“Oh, it’s my fault now?”

They both continue to laugh for several minutes more, and when it finally dies down, he offers her his hand. She accepts it with a smile before closing the door behind her (as quietly as she can). “Where to, my lady?”

She tilts her head to one side as she considers her options. They have the whole night for themselves, the only time where they can take off their masks and be their ordinary self. Chorong feels the warmth of his hand in hers and glances at him. “I think the sky looks pretty tonight, so, the usual?”

“Good choice you made there,” he responds before leading her to the staircase. They climb and climb together, skipping a few steps here and there, at the same time giggling like two little kids running off in glee to their favourite park. By the time the reach the rooftop, they are breathless and panting, each making fun of the other but never they let go of their hands. Woohyun holds her back when they are approaching the door. “You need to close your eyes at this point.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see.” He covers her eyes with an eye mask that he keeps in his back pocket in advance and guides her steps, opening the door for her and informing her if there’s a bump ahead, their hands still intertwined. Thirteen (too slow and too careful since she doesn’t trust him) steps later, he tells her to take off the mask while he stands in front of her. “Surprise!” he announces, before taking a step away to let her see what the surprise really is.

She gasps at the sight. There is a square checkered mat on the ground, a basket filled with food and drinks, several flower pots nearby that belong to the kind ahjumma who lives in the same floor as him, and candles surrounding it, arranged to be the shape of a heart. She chuckles at that because as expected from Nam Woohyun. “What if I decided to go out instead?”

“Then all my efforts would go to waste,” he simply answers, but then while crossing his arms and a smug grin he adds “I knew you would choose to come here. It’s called the sixth sense, you know. The lover’s instinct.”

Chorong feels like punching him there and then, but she resorts with just kicking his shin before proceeding to sit on the mat. He wants to protest but only lets it slide because he knows both of them will get busier in the future and the distance will only make it harder, so he savours the moment and smiles at her direction.

He takes a sit next to her and watches her eyes sparkle in delight as she checks the basket. She complains about the lack of her favourites and the abundance of vegetables in the sandwiches (“We still need to watch our diet,” he reasons) but still she eats happily because it’s the thought that counts.

It’s a special place for them ― the rooftop is. It isn’t exactly the place where they met each other for the first time, or even the place where they first spoke to each other, no. It is not the place where sparks fly like grand fireworks that light up the night sky either, but somehow it’s the place where everything began. She was the first person he saw when he got up here for the first time, in her white blouse and pink skirt, greeting in shock and anxiousness because it was too early in the morning and it was not her best hour, but still he thought she was the one who shone the brightest, standing out like a flower that blooms in the middle of a desert. He greeted her later, when the cameras were not rolling and not much attention was paid on them. Besides it had been a while since they last saw each other, so using the timid puppy in her embrace as an excuse, he took the chance to start a quick conversation.

Up here, there are no watching eyes, no observing cameras filming their every move.  She isn’t Chorong and he isn’t Woohyun, but they’re just two people who find happiness in each other. They talk and talk about everything and nothing in particular. What the future holds for the two of them and if their fears will ever get in the way. She envisions him in the next ten years. You’ll be a renowned singer by then, she says, successful and accomplished, and people will know you for your voice and your great talents, not just your looks because by then you would have grown older and your noona fans would have moved on to younger and better looking boys. He laughs at the last part. And when that day arrives you’ll be standing next to me, he adds. She squeezes his hand a little bit harder and struggles to fight back her tears.

“Do you think we’ll still be together by then?”

“I’m sure we will. You can’t run away from me, Park Chorong.”

She laughs and nudges his shoulder. “Don’t be the one to have a change of heart later, Nam Woohyun. I have your word.”

The truth is Chorong is afraid of losing him. Although she always tries to be realistic, that not all relationships last, especially the ones that involves people like them who are not able to express their feelings openly, she’s still scared that someday Woohyun will slip away from her grasp and there is nothing she can do to hold him back. She is only human. And although Woohyun is not perfect, anything but the kind of fairy tale prince of every girl’s dreams, she loves him for that. His flaws make him more human, more real, and they complement each other that way.

It a quarter to four when they both are lying side by side on their backs, eyes catching each and every star out there in the eternal abyss. They wonder aloud if someday they’ll be one of the stars too.

“I’ll be the brightest one,” he says. “They don’t call me Namstar with no reason.” Before she could strike another hit he manages to dodge it with a laugh, but he didn’t foresee the tickle attack that follows. “Okay, okay, I surrender,” he declares at last, and she throws a triumphant fist in the air.

Woohyun gets up on his feet all of a sudden, and Chorong jumps in surprise. He dusts the invisible dirt off his back and fixes his clothes before turning around to face her. His lips form a smile, not the one that he always puts on in public’s eyes like when he’s telling a funny story on variety shows or when he’s at the airport and aware of the clicking cameras. It’s the smile that he only wears when he’s in his private times with his family and close friends like Kibum and his special person. His genuine smile comes with a slight trace of doubts and uncertainties, just like hers, because sometimes they both are too scared to happy in case it won’t last. She can tell the difference now.

“Miss Park Chorong,” he begins as he extends a hand towards her while the other he keeps behind him, lowering his body to a bow like a gentleman. “Will you have the honour of dancing with me?”

Taking his hand, she giggles as he helps her up to her feet. “To no music? That’s so cliché.”

“Who do you think I am?” he raises a brow, his signature grin glowing on his face. Using his other free hand, he fishes something out from his pocket, revealing his music player and a pair of earphones. Chorong can only snort seeing that as he places one of the buds in her ear.

“Suave as always,” she comments while he only shrugs smugly.

“I won’t ever let you forget even for a second the fact that you have the best boyfriend in the world.”

“But you too must not forget that Doojoon oppa is still the nation’s boyfriend.”

“Hey!”

She responds with a smirk and they both giggle with their head thrown back as if it is not four in the morning where the city (at least the neighbourhood) is almost dead, aside from the occasional noises made passing cars or drunkards stumbling back to their own respective nest to call it a day, which is what they are supposed to be doing. A soft song starts to play, drifting through their ears. The two of them sway to melody under the constellations in the sky, his hands linked around her waist as she rests her head on his chest, their bodies pressed together and their shadows overlapping each other.

But at that moment, the sound of their beating hearts is the only thing they hear. By the time the song ends, her vision becomes blurry, his breath gets caught in his throat.

The same morning several hours later, Chorong receives a message when she is at the practice room. Attached is a photo of a big white teddy bear with two paper tears ‘streaming down’ from its eyes on top of luggage and boxes. I don’t want to leave ㅠㅠ, the message says. She only smiles when she reads it because she has cried enough earlier before she drifted off to sleep, and quietly types a reply.

In her (not so) free time, she spends it focusing on obtaining her driving license besides studying more about composition and picking up new skills in playing musical instruments. There are times when she misses the soft knocks on her door in the quiet of the night, but every time she does she distracts herself with more classes and practices or just late night movie sessions with her girls. Woohyun still sends her messages from time to time, or calls every now and then to hear her voice.

It’s not like it’s the end of the world, or even the end of their relationship. He just moved further away than where she is, and she’s okay with that.

(they run into each other again about a month later, this time in a foreign country. his lips pull into a wide smile, stretching over his perfectly aligned white teeth. hers does the same, and they greet each other politely as if nothing ever happened, as if they never made wishes on the stars together, as if they are not two people who are in love with each other who are bound to run into one another sooner or later, as if no invisible red string is linked from his finger to hers.)