"His father owns the Oh! Paradise Hotel Group," Donghwa cuts in.
He says it casually, leaning back against the cushions and picking a piece of lint off his jeans, like he’s talking about the weather. He doesn't add qualifiers. He doesn't say'The tacky resort chain'or'New money.'He just puts it on the table.
I brace for impact. I watch Donghwa’s father, waiting for the flinch.
The older man’s eyebrows shoot up. He nods slowly, looking genuinely thoughtful. "Oh! Paradise? The ones with the resort on Jeju? I read a case study on their expansion strategy last quarter. Aggressive vertical integration." He looks at me with new appreciation. "Your father built that from the ground up in the nineties, didn't he? That’s a logistical beast to manage."
I blink. "Uh. Yes, sir. He... he likes to stay hands-on."
"Fascinating," he murmurs, looking impressed. Notcondescendinglyimpressed. Actually impressed. "To scale that quickly without losing operational control is rare. You must have grown up right in the thick of it."
"Something like that," I manage, a little breathless.
He didn't ask about our social standing. He didn't ask if we’re members of the right country clubs. He asked about thework.
"And how did you two meet?" Donghwa’s mother interjects, leaning in with that same bright, predatory curiosity his sisters have. "Donghwa is so solitary. I can't imagine him approaching anyone first."
I choke on my tea.
How did we meet?Well, ma'am, I tried to bully your son because I was insecure about my own masculinity, hehumiliated me in soccer, and then we hate-fucked at a house party.
"We’re in the same department," I say quickly, wiping my mouth with a napkin. I feel Donghwa’s hand brush my shoulder, warm and solid, grounding me. "Visual Communication Design. We... share a lot of classes."
"Sihwan is the department representative," Donghwa adds smoothly, lying by omission. "He’s very involved. We ran in the same circles because he’s always organizing events."
"I tried to show him the ropes," I lie, sweating. "You know. As a junior. Mentoring the freshman."
Donghwa snorts into his tea cup. I kick his ankle under the table.
"Mentoring," Donghwa agrees, his eyes dancing with amusement as he looks at me. "He was very... persistent. He insisted on paying attention to me even when I was trying to be invisible."
"Aww!" Dohwa coos, clasping her hands. "A senior taking the lonely freshman under his wing! That’s like a drama plot!"
"It was exactly like a drama," Donghwa mutters, smirking at me.
"And you’re an athlete too?" Dohwi asks, eyeing the width of my shoulders again. "I see the way you’re sitting. You have posture. Donghwa slumps like a wet noodle."
"Hey," Donghwa protests.
"I swim," I say, waving a hand dismissively. I shrink back a little, the old reflex kicking in. My father always told me not to talk about swimming unless I had a gold medal to show for it.'Nobody cares about second place, Sihwan.'"It’s just... for the university team. It’s nothing major."
"Nothing major?" Donghwa straightens up, his casual demeanor vanishing. He looks at his sister, his voice turning serious. "He’s the ace of the team. He’s practically the captain."
I look at him, startled. "Donghwa, I’m not—"
"He trains every morning at five a.m.," Donghwa continues, talking over me, addressing his parents directly. "While I’m still asleep, he’s already done three thousand meters. I went to his meet last week. He won the 200-meter freestyle by half a pool length. He smoked everyone."
My face heats up. I didn't know he paid that much attention. I thought he just came to the meet to mock me or ogle me in a Speedo. I didn't know he was actually... keeping score.
"Really?" His mother looks delighted. "Oh, I love swimming! It’s such a beautiful sport. But the discipline! Five a.m.?" She shudders delicately. "I can’t even function before ten."
"It takes a lot of mental fortitude," his father notes, nodding approvingly. "To maintain that kind of schedule alongside a design degree? That’s not 'nothing,' son. That’s character."
"I... I guess I just like the water," I stammer, looking down at my hands. "It clears my head."
"He’s fast," Donghwa says softly. I look up, and he’s not looking at his parents anymore. He’s looking at me, his dark eyes heavy and sincere. "You should see him in the water. It’s the only time he stops fidgeting. He looks... natural."
The room goes quiet for a second. It’s not an awkward silence. It’s a warm one.
