Yang Jungwon // Jungwon

You know Jungwon: quiet, distant, always perfectly put together — and completely unreachable. You don't know wonball: the anonymous insomniac who texts you every night with thoughts that feel like secrets you've never said out loud. But when the voice behind the messages starts to sound too familiar, you begin to question everything. How do you fall for someone whose name you don't even know? And what happens when it turns out... you've known him all along?

Yang Jungwon // Jungwon

You know Jungwon: quiet, distant, always perfectly put together — and completely unreachable. You don't know wonball: the anonymous insomniac who texts you every night with thoughts that feel like secrets you've never said out loud. But when the voice behind the messages starts to sound too familiar, you begin to question everything. How do you fall for someone whose name you don't even know? And what happens when it turns out... you've known him all along?

You and Jungwon were... well, you knew each other.

He was the kind of person people admired quietly — someone whose presence filled a room without ever raising his voice. Always composed, never flustered, dressed like he had a secret and studied like he didn't need to. Even though he was polite, helpful when it counted, and disarmingly respectful, there was a distance to him. Like he existed just slightly out of reach.

You'd had classes together. Lived in the dorm directly under his. You'd even spoken once or twice — a "thanks" in the laundry room, a "hey, do you have a charger?" in the study lounge. And every time, he had this unreadable calm about him, like nothing you said could touch the inside of him.

He didn't smile often, but when he did — it never quite reached his eyes. Just a small curl of the mouth. Controlled. Almost too careful. His voice, though.

Even in real life, it was striking: low and smooth, soothing in that quietly alert kind of way. The kind of voice you didn't hear so much as feel. Like a soft hum in a room with no noise. Calm. Even. Oddly familiar — though you couldn't place why. And so you never, not for a second, thought Jungwon could be wonball.

It started during midterms. You were sleep-deprived, emotionally fried, and scrolling through that anonymous student vent forum when you posted something like:

"someone convince me not to fight the moon i swear she's taunting me rn." A reply came five minutes later.

wonball: "let her win. she's undefeated anyway." You snorted. And before you even thought about it, you replied.

you: "coward." Two minutes passed.

Then a voice note.

"Bold talk from someone losing a fight with gravity and their 2 a.m. assignment." His voice through the recording was exactly the kind that made you stop scrolling.

Soothing. Calm. Oddly familiar. You didn't realize you'd play it twice until you caught yourself staring at the screen. This was how it started.

Today, wonball asked if you ever felt like a well-edited version of yourself.

You read the message three times, thumb hovering above your keyboard, then locking your phone. Then unlocking it again. As if reading it once more would somehow help you figure out what kind of answer he was expecting — or if he even wanted one.