LA's May Gray.
Los Angeles had its own rhythm—one that didn't quite dance to the same beat as the rest of the world.
While most places welcomed summer with blazing skies and golden warmth, LA wore a strange veil each May—a gray one.
The locals called it "May Gray," a nickname for the season's most distinct weather pattern.
Mornings here were swallowed by a thick marine layer that rolled in from the Pacific like a lazy ghost, spreading its pale fog over palm trees and high-rises alike.
It wasn't rain. It wasn't mist.
The collision of these diametrically opposed forces is what makes LA's May such a unique season—perhaps even the reason behind the term "May Gray."
The clashing of hot inland winds and cool ocean breezes turns the city into a gray space caught between warmth and chill, as if Los Angeles itself were suspended in a quiet battle between heat and cold.
The phenomenon was both strange and poetic—hot and cold coexisting, just as Jihoon and Taeyeon right now this evening.
They walked side by side through the quiet streets of Koreatown, not far from The Line Hotel, where SM Entertainment had booked rooms for their artists.
The night air was both cold and humid, the fog curling between the neon lights of Korean signs that advertised late-night barbecue, karaoke, and convenience stores.
The palm trees stood still in the dim streetlights, their silhouettes fading into the haze.
Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed—a lonely, echoing sound that blended perfectly with the mood of May Gray.
Taeyeon's hands were tucked inside her jacket pockets, her eyes darting from store to store like an excited tourist.
"Jihoon-ah," she said softly, "it's been so long since we walked together like this. LA's night feels… different from Seoul's, doesn't it?"
Jihoon smiled faintly, though his heart didn't quite follow. "Yeah… different," he replied.
His voice was calm, almost detached. "If you guys came here in July, you'd see fireworks for the Fourth. The sky lights up everywhere. It's kind of magical."
Taeyeon nodded eagerly, her eyes bright. "Really? Ah… what a shame. We'll be gone before then."
Her tone softened as she added, "Three more days, and we're flying back to Seoul. Back to rehearsals, back to everything…" She exhaled, a sigh wrapped in exhaustion.
Her voice carried a kind of weariness that Jihoon recognized.
The kind born not of laziness, but of overwork—the sort of fatigue that idols wore behind smiles.
Since their debut, her group SNSD had been working nonstop—music shows, variety appearances, fan meetings, dance practices and that routine stretched through past midnight.
The public saw the glamour: perfect hair, perfect stages, perfect smiles.
But Jihoon had seen the truth before—the long nights, the hunger, the endless cycle of rehearsals that left no room for rest.
SM Entertainment's system was efficient, even ruthless.
Artists were just an investments to them, and every moment of their fame was monetized.
The debt structure worked like this: the company covered training, housing, stylists, food, promotions, and production—but those costs weren't gifts.
They were loans.
Until those were repaid through album sales, endorsements, and appearances, an idol's paycheck was little more than pocket change.
Most rookies—Taeyeon included—couldn't even afford their own meals without company cards.
It was a cruel truth, one that Jihoon had always despised.
But it was also the solid foundation of the K-pop empire, the very system that allowed stars like her to exist in the first place.
As they passed a Korean convenience store glowing with fluorescent light, Taeyeon tilted her head toward the door. "This one looks open. Should we grab the snacks here?"
Jihoon nodded, amused. "Yeah, you girls made me an errand boy again. I should start charging tax for this."
Taeyeon laughed, that familiar dimple flashing. "You're lucky they even trust you to choose snacks. Yoona still hasn't forgiven you for bringing seaweed chips last time."
"That was a good choice!" Jihoon protested as they stepped inside.
The scent of instant noodles and coffee filled the small space.
He grabbed a basket, tossing in a few bags of shrimp crackers and chocolate pies, while Taeyeon wandered toward the drinks section.
She was cheerful—almost too cheerful.
Maybe it was the rare moment of freedom, maybe it was the sugar from dinner, but her energy filled the store like sunlight breaking through the fog.
"Jihoon-ah," she called, holding up a can of soda, "remember when we used to walk around the Han River at night? We'd buy ramen from a convenience store and sit by the water watching the stars."
He paused, the memory flickering in his mind.
The past felt like another lifetime now—a different world, a different Jihoon.
Back then, he'd thought he'd fallen in love at first sight.
Her laughter, her warmth, her sincerity—it had all felt electric.
But somewhere between his months in LA and her rapid rise to work as an idol, that spark had cooled.
He didn't know when it happened.
Maybe when distance stretched their worlds apart.
Maybe when the fog of success began to separate them.
Still, he smiled softly. "Yeah. You were always the one who made me sit there like a fool."
She grinned, popping the soda open with a hiss. "You loved it."
"Maybe."
"Not maybe. You did."
Her tone was playful, but something lingered beneath it—something wistful.
They paid for the snacks and stepped outside.
The night had grown quieter.
A thin layer of fog drifted around the street lamps, making the world feel distant, unreal.
Taeyeon walked a few steps ahead, then turned back, her hands clasped behind her. "You know, Jihoon," she said, her voice gentler now, "you've changed a bit."
Jihoon raised an eyebrow. "Changed? How?"
"You're colder," she said honestly. "You used to tease me all the time. Now you just… talk like someone that I used to know."
He chuckled. "Maybe work turned me into one."
"Work, huh?" She smiled faintly, but her eyes searched his face as if trying to read something deeper. "Or maybe time did."
Her words lingered in the air like the fog—soft, haunting.
They walked for a while in silence, footsteps echoing against the concrete.
The only sounds were the distant hum of traffic and the rhythmic click of Taeyeon's shoes.
Finally, Jihoon spoke. "You'll get used to it, you know. The pace. The fame. Everything."
Taeyeon gave a small laugh, the kind that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You think so? Sometimes it feels like I'm just trying to survive. Wake up, perform, smile, sleep—repeat."
"You're stronger than you think."
"Maybe." She looked up at the foggy sky. "But even strong people get tired, Jihoon-ah."
He didn't reply. He didn't know how to.
Then, as if trying to chase away the heaviness, she suddenly brightened. "Oh! I forgot to tell you something important!"
Jihoon blinked. "What is it?"
"I'm getting married!"
He stopped dead in his tracks. "WHAT?!"
Taeyeon burst into laughter, covering her mouth. The sound was pure mischief.
"Ya! Don't scare me like that!" Jihoon exclaimed, his voice half outrage, half panic.
"Heheheh," she giggled, clearly enjoying his reaction. "Relax, it's for a show. MBC's We Got Married. I'm still waiting for my turn and my couple."
Her laughter softened into a smile, one that carried a hint of melancholy. "You looked so shocked, though. Maybe you do still care, huh?" She said to herself.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The streetlights cast a pale yellow glow over their faces, while the fog drifted between them like a thin, fragile veil.
If this were a drama, this would be the moment the camera slowly pulled back, soft music swelling in the background—the kind of sentimental ballad only a K-drama could pull off.
Two figures stood beneath the hazy Los Angeles night, caught between warmth and cold, laughter and longing—just like a melodrama.
It was as if the season itself had created a gray space just for them—a limbo born from the collision of hot and cold air, mirroring Taeyeon's fluttering heart against Jihoon's quiet indifference.
The "gray" didn't just describe the weather; it also mirrored what lingered between them—an undefined heart, an unforeseeable future, and a tangle of emotions left unresolved, much like their relationship.