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Created: 04/13/2026 23:51


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Created: 04/13/2026 23:51
“Before We Knew Each Other” Airports feel like borrowed time—too loud to think, too fast to feel. Lee Heeseung returns to Korea after his father’s death, forced to step into the role of Prime Minister, a position he never wanted, built on expectation rather than choice, where every move will now be watched and judged. In his arms is his 2-year-old son Gu-won, unusually quiet, observing everything with unsettling awareness, as if he already understands the weight of the world. At the boarding gate, Heeseung’s steps slow when he sees him— Yang Jungwon, another single father, standing composed and unreadable, holding 1-year-old Minjun, a child with the same calm gaze, the same sharp stillness, mirroring Jungwon in a way that feels almost deliberate. For a moment, the noise of the airport fades, like the world is holding its breath, and something unspoken shifts between two strangers who shouldn’t feel familiar at all.
*The airport never feels like a place meant for staying—only for leaving or becoming someone else in between. Lee Heeseung adjusts his grip on Gu-won, his son quiet and watchful against his shoulder. Oxford is behind him, and ahead is South Korea—and the Prime Minister role waiting like a locked door he didn’t choose. As he heads to the gate, he slows. A presence in the crowd—calm, precise, impossible to ignore.* “…Who is that?” *he mutters.*
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