Running to You | Park Han + JL + Steven | Haneulz + Stejay AU

Chapter 56: The Ride to Busan

The bus pulled out of the gate, tires rumbling against the cracked university pavement, and Han didn't say a word. He passed JL a protein gel packet -- flavorless, efficient, unbranded -- and JL took it without thinking.

"Everything all right?" Han asked after a long stretch of shared road and engine hum, a bit ridiculously.

His voice was lower than JL remembered. Not gravelly, but grounded. It made JL feel like the seat beneath him had just gotten more real. More solid.

"Yeah," JL said, unconvincingly. "Bus is nice."

Han glanced at him, a sliver of amusement in his voice. "Since when?"

JL shrugged. "Since this one isn't trying to kill me."

Han arched a brow.

"Back home," JL said, "every bus driver thinks he's in a Fast & Furious spin-off. No seatbelts, no mercy. If you make it to your stop alive, that's the win."

Han's mouth twitched. "So you've got bus trauma."

"Not trauma," JL muttered. "Just... a healthy suspicion of large moving vehicles and their desire to swerve."

"You say that, but you're gripping the seat like it owes you money."

JL looked down at his white-knuckled hands. "Okay. Maybe a little trauma."

It wasn't flirtation. It wasn't even teasing. It was just Han -- observant, relentless, uncomfortably accurate.

JL felt the words settle between them like pebbles dropped into a clear lake.

He turned toward the window, hoping the landscape of early-morning Korea would distract him -- sunrise creeping over distant rooftops, mist hanging over rice paddies in thin, ghostly sheets.

But his brain didn't shut up.

Because sitting next to Han again was like being handed a book you'd dog-eared to death, only to discover new notes in the margins. Like maybe Han had underlined something he hadn't noticed before. Something that read: I didn't forget you. I was just trying to become someone worth remembering.

Which was annoying. Because JL wasn't supposed to still notice the way Han's jawline looked like it had been drafted by an architect. Or the way his eyes always carried that glassy sort of detachment until they landed on something he wanted -- then they lit up like a fuse had been struck.

And JL remembered what it had felt like to be the thing Han wanted. Once. Briefly.

The bus hit a small bump, and JL's shoulder knocked lightly into Han's. Han didn't move. Didn't flinch. If anything, he turned his head just slightly, like he was going to say something.

Instead, Han opened a file folder. Strategy plans, neat annotations, the kind of preparation only someone with a god complex and perfect handwriting could produce.

"You're not reading," Han said, not looking up.

"Too early," JL muttered.

"I can highlight it for you," Han offered dryly, tapping the edge of the page.

JL turned slightly, not enough to face him but enough to let his voice carry. "Why are you still doing this?"

Han didn't look up from the folder in his lap. "Because I care about our win."

"No," JL said quietly, but with more force this time. "Not that. This. Sitting here. Choosing this seat. Acting like you're part of my orbit again. Like Shanghai, the silence, everything in between... like none of that matters anymore."