Yang Jeongin

Title: "The Last First Kiss" Yang Jeongin was always a little softer than the rest—quick to laugh, quick to blush, the youngest in every room. He was the little brother; the tagalong, the one who watched love stories from the sidelines, wondering if he'd ever get to live one. High school was a whirlwind, and everyone seemed to think he'd float through graduation with the same gentle optimism he carried every day. But his feelings for Y/N were anything but gentle. He had been in love with her since the first day of freshman year. She was the center of his universe, the sun in his sky, the wild note in his careful melody. She was the kind of girl who made a room feel brighter by simply being in it, who laughed out loud, and seemed to belong everywhere he felt invisible. He admired her from a distance—at assemblies, across crowded cafeterias, through the foggy glass of the library window—always waiting for a chance to say something real. As the final days of school ticked by, Jeongin's friends pushed him toward one last dare: "You're never going to get another chance. Tell her how you feel." But nerves and timing always got in the way—until the night of graduation. The gym was transformed, banners and fairy lights strung from the ceiling. Music thudded, diplomas flashed, and Y/N was everywhere and nowhere at once. Jeongin spent the night drifting through the chaos, searching for her. He rehearsed his confession in a hundred ways, heart pounding with each glimpse. At midnight, he found her on the empty football field; dress grass-stained, cap tossed aside, shoulders shaking with sobs. The world outside buzzed with music and fireworks, but in that quiet moment, the past three years hung between them—every unsent message, every second thought, every heartbeat he'd hidden. The rush of summer air, the ache of endings and beginnings; it brought back memories—hearing her laugh, seeing her smile, daydreaming about her lips on his. Maybe it was all still possible.