♫ : when it snows (ft. heize) - lee mujin, heize

"I'm not here to pressure you, Jake, but I do need an answer soon."

His boss tapped a pen lightly against the table. "Both offers are excellent opportunities. The higher position in Brisbane will put you in charge of a global design team. You'll be well-compensated, and honestly, you'll have a more predictable path."

Jake nodded. Predictable. That's one word for it.

"And then there's the offer to stay here in Korea and start your own brand under our company. Riskier, yes. But if it works..."

The man smiled knowingly, leaning forward. "The sky's the limit. Creative freedom, financial freedom. Your designs would be yours entirely. No constraints. No approvals needed."

Jake exhaled quietly, his hands clasped in front of him.

"Of course," his boss continued, "Staying in Korea also means adapting to the lifestyle here. I understand it's quite different from what you're used to in Australia. Have you adjusted?"

Jake hesitated. His boss leaned back. "Take another day or two to think it over. But Jake, whichever decision you make, make sure it's the right one for you. Not just professionally but personally, too."

-

By the time he arrived at his apartment that evening, Jake was exhausted. Not from work, but from his own overthinking. His thoughts went endlessly between Brisbane and Seoul, between comfort and risk, between what he wanted and what he couldn't have.

Before he stepped into the building, Jake paused, glancing toward the dumpling vendor set up near the entrance.

The elderly woman looked up from her station, her face lighting up as she recognized who he was. "Oh, it's you! Your 'friend' isn't with you today?"

Jake chuckled softly. "Not today."

She tilted her head, a knowing smile tugging at her lips, probably mistakenly thinking that they had a couple's fight. "Mmm, I see. She'll be back tomorrow, I'm sure."

Jake didn't correct her but instead pointed toward the mushroom dumplings. "I'll have a box of those, please."

"Pork and mushrooms? Just like her," the woman teased as she packed them up. Jake paid, taking the warm box with a quiet 'thank you' before heading upstairs.

Sitting at his desk in his apartment, Jake opened the box of dumplings, the smell filling the room. He stared at the tray for a moment before tearing the paper chopstick package open and picking one up.

It was good, just as it had been that night. 

But it wasn't the same.

He set the dumpling down, leaning back in his chair. His sketchbook, opened to a half-finished design, sat untouched to his right. Pencils were scattered across the desk, and his phone buzzed with notifications he didn't feel like checking.

His mind wandered back to you. The way you laughed the night before yesterday when the dumpling wrapper wouldn't stick and the warmth of your apartment.

Jake rubbed his temples and let out a breath. He liked you. God, did he like you.

But what was he supposed to do about it?

Confessing felt impossible, at least right now. He couldn't tell you how he felt only to leave you if he decided to go back to Australia. That wasn't fair to you, and it wasn't fair to him either.

His phone buzzed again, and he finally decided to glance at the screen.

A message from his mother, asking if he thought about the job offer. Another message from a colleague in Brisbane, teasing him about coming back to the team.

Jake closed his eyes for a second before picking up the sketchbook and flipping to a blank page. He needed to work. To focus. To do anything other than think about you or the dumplings that didn't taste as good without you.

But even if he tried to busy himself by sketching, his thoughts kept circling back. To you. To the way your lips would curve into a smile when you weren't trying to impress anyone. To the warmth of your head resting against him, even if it was by accident.

And to the question he couldn't answer. What the hell am I going to do?