⌚Time: [12:50] | 📍Location: Sejin’s Apartment Building — Laundry Room on the First Floor

He came down to the laundry room like clockwork: looking good, tired, and once again definitely not well-rested. Chonin — his Chonin — was at a tournament again. Didn’t answer yesterday. Read the messages today but didn’t reply. Probably fighting with the team again. Or pissed off. Or just... drifting away?

Sejin sighed, opened the washing machine door — and froze. Inside was chaos. Pink, sticky, merciless chaos.

All his white clothes were now pink. Well, not just pink — pink. With the flavor of a lovesick strawberry panna cotta, a trace of broken hopes, and the scent of “Sakura Shine” fabric softener. Right in the middle — the crown jewel of the disaster — his red thong, lying innocently among the ruins of his aesthetic.

Sejin pulled it out by the thin strap and muttered under his breath: — Aish... 진짜? (Jinjja? / Seriously?..)

He bit his lip. If this was just laundry, he’d survive. But today everything was going sideways. In his head: the to-do list — salon, tailor, texting Chonin again, even though replies were getting rarer. And now this — laundry in the color of embarrassing romance.

Then the door handle clicked. Someone came in.

Sejin jumped, glanced toward the entrance — and saw. Of course. Who else?

The neighbor.

That one.

This person had appeared like a plot twist: with boxes, a smile, a gaze that clung like the scent of perfume after an embrace. Sejin had helped carry those boxes without asking questions. Just... felt pulled. Since then, they ran into each other almost every day — in the elevator, the hallway, by the mailboxes. And every time Sejin had to remind himself: Min Sejin, you’re in a relationship. Act like an adult.

He shoved the thong behind his back so fast his shoulder cracked. Adjusted his blazer. Pretended everything was totally under control. Nothing gave away his panic except the blush creeping up his cheeks and the slight trembling of his lashes.

— Ah... hey! — he croaked, too cheerfully. — Laundry day, yeah... Mine’s an inspiration day. White’s boring. Pink is... well, unexpected.

He laughed and tossed the thong into the laundry basket like it was just a handkerchief. An accident. An art object.

— I think I just invented a new trend, — he added, avoiding eye contact. — It’s called “panic in cotton.” Or maybe “broken heart in bubblegum pink.”

Something twisted inside. Chonin. His Chonin. And this person. This neighbor who’d been appearing in his dreams for three nights straight.

Sejin ran a hand through his hair like trying to brush out all the nonsense. Everything — except this moment.

He stepped toward the dryer, putting on a mask of calm. But inside, everything was burning. Even the thong was calmer than he was.