#kim ryul

For the past few days, Yuwon had been growing closer to Woojin. Since college had become their entire life, they went out whenever they could to get coffee. Woojin was still a little closed off but he was getting used to her presence. They were both studying Music Performance, and somehow that shared world made everything else feel easier to talk about.

It started with small things. Yuwon would slide into the seat across from him and immediately start rambling about a chord progression she couldn't get out of her head, and Woojin would listen, quiet but present, nodding at the right moments. He never offered much about himself, but she noticed the way his fingers would tap out rhythms on the table when he thought no one was watching. She noticed the way he'd hum under his breath when a song he liked came through the café speakers, like he couldn't help it.

Today, though, she wanted more than his silence and his tapping fingers. Today she wanted to know what was going on behind those careful eyes.

She set her iced coffee down with a little more force than necessary, and when he looked up, she grinned. "Okay. New rule. Every time we hang out, you have to tell me one thing about yourself I don't know. Something real. Deal?"

Woojin blinked at her, and for a second she thought he'd shut it down. But then the corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. "Deal," he said slowly. "But you go first."

Yuwon's heart did a small, ridiculous flip. She leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Fine. I'll start."

And just like that, the space between them got a little smaller.

Yuwon leaned forward, elbows on the table, and let herself think for a second. "Okay. Something real." She tapped her chin. "I almost didn't audition for the Music Performance program. I was going to do something safer, like business, because my parents thought music was a hobby, not a future. But I showed up to the audition anyway, and I was so nervous I sang the wrong verse of my song and just kept going like it was intentional."

Woojin snorted, a real sound, and she filed it away like a treasure.

"That's not a secret," he said. "That's just you being stubborn."

"Stubbornness is a personality trait, it counts." She pointed at him. "Your turn."

He went quiet for a long moment, staring into his coffee like it held the answer. Yuwon almost let him off the hook, almost laughed it off to save him from the discomfort she could see settling into his shoulders. But she'd made the rule for a reason. She wanted him to open up, even a little.

"I don't really talk about my music with anyone," he finally said, voice low. "I write stuff, but I've never shown a single person. Not even my family."

Yuwon's chest went tight. That was real. That was more than she'd expected to get on the first try.

"Then I'm honored to be the first," she said softly, and meant it.

Woojin looked up at her then, really looked, and something in his expression shifted. Like he was deciding whether to trust the warmth in her voice or brace for the joke that usually followed. When he found none, he let out a breath.

"Maybe you can hear one sometime," he said. "If you're good."

"I'm always good," Yuwon said, grinning. "But I'll prove it. Tomorrow, same time, I'm bringing my guitar. You show me yours, I'll show you mine."

He almost smiled again. "That's a terrible line."

"It worked, didn't it?"

And for the first time, Woojin laughed, a real one, and Yuwon decided right then that she'd do whatever it took to hear that sound again.

The professor had walked in interrupting their conversation. Yuwon turned to face the board as the professor spoke. "Good morning," the class replied back as he rambled on about today's lesson. Yuwon tried to pay attention, she really did, but she could feel Woojin's presence beside her like a low hum, steady and distracting.

She stole a glance at him. He was actually taking notes, brow slightly furrowed, pen moving across the page. Of course he was. Diligent, focused Woojin. Meanwhile she had doodled a small piano in the corner of her notebook and written his name in bubble letters before immediately scribbling it out.

When the professor finally dismissed them, the room filled with the shuffle of bags and chatter. Yuwon stretched her arms above her head with a groan. "I think my brain melted."

"That's a short drive for you," Woojin said, packing his bag.

She gasped in mock offense. "Wow. Rude. I was going to invite you to walk home with me, but now I'm not so sure."

He paused, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "You were going to invite me?"

She shrugged, trying to look casual. "I mean, we're going the same way. Sort of. Unless you have somewhere better to be."

Woojin looked at her for a second, then shook his head. "No. I don't."

They walked out of the building together, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the campus path. The air was warm, the kind of golden hour glow that made everything look like it belonged in a film. Yuwon talked about the assignment due next week, about a song she'd heard on the radio, about how the campus cat had let her pet it for a full five minutes yesterday. Woojin listened, offering a word here and there, but mostly just staying beside her.

They reached the edge of campus when Yuwon spotted the neon glow spilling out from a small arcade tucked between a laundromat and a boba shop. She stopped mid-sentence.

"Woojin."

"What?"

"Look." She pointed. "Skee ball."

He followed her gaze and sighed. "Yuwon."

"Don't Yuwon me. Have you ever even played skee ball?"

"No, but—"

"Perfect. You're about to learn." She grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the entrance before he could argue.

The arcade was small and slightly run down, the kind of place that smelled like carpet cleaner and nostalgia. A few kids were clustered around a racing game, but otherwise it was quiet. Yuwon made a beeline for the skee ball lanes, digging coins out of her jacket pocket.

"I'm going to destroy you," she announced, sliding a coin into the machine.

"You've played this before," Woojin said, stepping up to the lane beside her.

"Once. At a birthday party when I was twelve. I still have the muscle memory."

She rolled first, sending the ball up the ramp. It bounced off the edge of the high-scoring hole and landed in the middle ring. Not bad, but not great. She groaned.

"See? Muscle memory failed me."

Woojin picked up a ball, studied the machine like it was a piece of sheet music he needed to interpret, and rolled. The ball sailed cleanly into the hundred-point hole.

Yuwon's jaw dropped. "That was your first try?"

He shrugged, but she caught the ghost of a smile. "Lucky."

"Lucky. Sure."

They went back and forth, Yuwon getting more competitive with each round, Woojin staying infuriatingly calm and somehow still winning. On her last turn, she wound up with too much force, sending the ball flying off the side of the lane entirely. She stumbled forward trying to catch it, and Woojin reached out instinctively to steady her.

His hand caught hers.

For a moment, neither of them moved. His fingers were warm around hers, and she could feel the calluses on his palm from hours of guitar practice. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

"Oh," she breathed.

Woojin's eyes widened, like he'd only just registered what he'd done. He pulled his hand back quickly, shoving it into his pocket.

"Sorry," he said, voice a little rough. "You just—you were gonna fall."

"I wasn't gonna fall," she said, but her voice came out softer than she intended. She looked down at her hand, still tingling from where he'd touched her. "But thanks. For, uh. Catching me."

He cleared his throat, turning back to the skee ball machine like it was the most interesting thing in the world. "Yeah. No problem."

They played one more round in silence, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. It was the kind that buzzed with something unspoken, something that sat between them like a held breath.

When they finally stepped out of the arcade, the sun had dipped lower, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange. They walked the rest of the way home side by side, not quite as close as before, but not as far apart either. And neither of them mentioned the hand-holding.

But Yuwon couldn't stop thinking about it. The warmth of his palm. The way he'd looked at her for that split second before letting go.

She had a feeling Woojin was thinking about it too.

They walked in comfortable silence for a while, the streets quiet expect for the distant hum of traffic. When they turned onto their block, the familiar shape of their apartment building came into view, and Yuwon felt something settle inside her chest. She wanted to spend more time with him, It felt good to finally have someone to talk to.

They stepped into the building, heading to the elevator, and clicked the number 3. The doors closed as the silence filled the elevator. Yuwon glanced at Woojin already catching him looking at her. “I had fun today.” He spoke. The corners of Yuwon’s lips formed into a smile “So did I.” The elevator doors finally opened as they both looked ahead before stepping out.

Two hours have passed, and finally Nora gets to record her part of “With You.” It's a slow self produced R&B groove rooted in nostalgia for an ex-lover. Vocals that are smooth as butter, and a beat that softens your heart.

“Nora, you’re up.” Woojin called.

She stood up and stretched, her joints popping in protests. “Finally.”

Nora stepped into the recording booth doing a quick vocal warm-up. She hummed the melody of her lines and waited for Woojin’s call. “Whenever you’re ready Nora.” Nora finally began singing, her airy yet controlled vocals making an angelic sound, almost like a siren, that could captivate you with just a breath. After about three takes, the song was finalized.

Nora stepped out of the booth, rolling her shoulders, and the room broke into applause. Louis was the loudest, clapping his hands above his head like she'd just finished a stadium tour. Ryul gave her a tired but genuine smile. Woojin nodded at her from the console, satisfied.

"Finally, we're finished." Nora stretched her arms out, feeling the tension leave her shoulders. "I thought we'd be here all night."

"You did a great job." Ohyul said, flashing her a smile that was warm and easy. He was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, looking at her like he meant it.

"Thanks." She smiled back, and it lingered a second longer than it needed to.

Louis stood up and stretched, his joints popping. "Noona, that was actually insane. Like, I got chills."

"Actually insane?" Nora raised an eyebrow. "You thought I was gonna be bad?"

"No, no, I mean like insane good. Obviously." He backtracked fast, and Woojin laughed from behind the board.

"She knows what you meant, Louis. Relax.”

Ryul yawned loudly, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm dead. I need to sleep for like twelve hours."

"Same," Woojin said, saving his project and leaning back. "I'm tapped."

Louis looked between them. "Wait, what about celebrating? We said we were gonna go out."

Woojin shook his head. "Bro, it's almost one in the morning. You're seventeen. Go home."

"But noona—“

"Louis." Nora gave him a look, soft but firm. "You can celebrate when you're old enough to get in. I'll buy you tteokbokki tomorrow, okay?"

He pouted but didn't argue. "Fine. But you promised."

"I promised."

Ryul was already packing his bag, shuffling toward the door. "I'm gonna crash at the dorm. Don't have fun without me."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Nora grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair.

The studio emptied fast. Louis and Woojin shared a cab, Louis hanging out the window to yell "Good job, noona!" one last time before the door slammed shut. Ryul walked off toward the dorm, hood up, already yawning.

That left her and Ohyul standing on the sidewalk outside the building, the street quiet, the air cool and clean after the stuffy studio.

He looked at her, hands in his pockets. "So. Just us."

"Just us." She hugged her jacket tighter. "You tired?"

"Not really." He tilted his head. "You?"

She thought about it. The song was done. Her voice was warm and loose. The night was young enough to still be something.

"Not really," she said.

He smiled, that same easy smile from earlier. "There's a place a few blocks from here. Low key. Good music.”

"Are you asking me out, Ohyul?"

"Maybe." He held her gaze. "Is that a problem?"

She shook her head slowly. "No. It's not a problem."

They started walking side by side, shoulders almost brushing, the city humming quietly around them. The club he took her to was small and tucked away, no line, no flashing sign, just a red door and the muffled thump of music from inside. The kind of place where you could disappear for a few hours and no one would ask questions.

Inside, it was dim and warm, a narrow bar along one wall and a small dance floor in the back. A few people scattered around, couples and groups, no one paying them any attention. Ohyul ordered them both something strong and sweet, and they found a corner booth where the lights were low and the music was loud enough to feel but quiet enough to talk.

“So...” Nora started, wrapping both hands around her glass after the bartender set it down in front of her. She gave him a small smile. “What do you think about the song?”

Ohyul took a sip before answering. “I like it.”

“Just like it?”

He laughed. “You always fish for compliments?”

“Only from people whose opinions matter.”

He looked at her for a second, almost caught off guard by the answer.

“In that case,” he said, setting his glass down, “I think it's really good. It's nostalgic without trying too hard, and your voice...”

“What about it?”

“It suits the song perfectly. You sound really good, Nora.”

She smiled, her shoulders relaxing.

“Thank you. That actually means a lot coming from you.”

“Why me?”

“You're picky.”

“I prefer honest.”

“See? Picky.”

He chuckled and raised his glass.

“I'll take that.”

Their glasses clinked together.

For a while they talked about the recording session, laughing over how many takes Woojin had insisted he needed before finally admitting the first one was probably the best.

“He's such a perfectionist,” Nora said.

“No,” Ohyul corrected. “He's eightteen.”

She laughed into her drink.

“Fair.”

“Give him a couple years. He'll stop overthinking everything.”

“I don't know. It's kind of cute.”

“You think everything's cute.”

“Not everything.”

“Me?”

She tilted her head, pretending to think.

“Sometimes.”

“Wow.”

“Don't let it get to your head.”

“Too late.”

They ordered another round.

The music shifted to something slower, the bass humming softly through the room.

“Do you ever miss being normal?” Nora asked after a moment.

Ohyul rested his elbow on the table.

“Depends what you mean by normal.”

“Going out without someone recognizing you. Meeting people who don't already know your birthday.”

He smiled.

“Yeah. Sometimes.”

“Me too.”

She traced the rim of her glass with her finger.

“I miss convenience stores at two in the morning.”

“That's oddly specific.”

“Because I can't go anymore without putting on a hoodie and praying nobody looks too closely.”

“Does it work?”

“Not really.”

“You don't exactly blend in.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Is that a compliment?”

“Maybe.”

“I'll take it.”

“What about you?” she asked. “If you weren't doing this?”

He shrugged.

“Probably producing somewhere.”

“Still music.”

“Always music.”

“That's kind of nice.”

“What about you?”

She thought for a moment before smiling.

“Honestly? I never had a backup plan.”

“That's brave.”

“Or irresponsible.”

“I'd say stubborn.”

“Yeah...” She laughed quietly. “That sounds more accurate.”

Another drink found its way onto the table.

Their conversation drifted from music to favorite late-night food spots, terrible trainee hairstyles, embarrassing auditions, and the strange loneliness that came with constantly being surrounded by people.

Somewhere between stories and laughter, Nora realized she'd had one drink more than she'd planned.

She blinked slowly before reaching into her purse.

“Hold on...”

She dug around for a few seconds before frowning.

“You've gotta be kidding me.”

“What?”

She pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

“I forgot my lighter.”

She looked up at him with an exaggerated pout, her cheeks just a little flushed from the alcohol.

“Any chance you have one?”

Ohyul couldn't help smiling.

“You're lucky I came prepared.”

He pulled a lighter from his pocket and flicked it open.

Nora leaned in, shielding the flame with one hand as she lit the cigarette.

“You're a lifesaver.”

“I don't know if I'd call enabling you a lifesaver.”

She laughed, taking a slow drag before exhaling toward the ceiling.

“Don't ruin the moment.”

“I'm just saying.”

“You're judging me.”

“A little.”

“Mean.”

“Honest.”

She rolled her eyes with a smile.

“There's that word again.”

She took another drag before glancing toward the small dance floor where a new R&B track had just started playing.

Her eyes lit up.

“I love this song.”

“Do you?”

“Mm.”

She stood, grabbing her drink for one last sip before setting it back on the table.

“Come dance with me.”

Ohyul blinked.

“Right now?”

“Yes, right now.”

“Nora...”

“Don't overthink it.”

Before he could come up with another excuse, she slipped her hand around his wrist and pulled him out of the booth, laughing as he let himself be dragged toward the dance floor.

The dance floor was small and barely lit, just a few colored lights shifting slow across the floor, but it felt like their own world. Nora pulled Ohyul into the center, the cigarette still balanced between her fingers, and turned to face him. The music was heavy and slow, an R&B track with a bassline you could feel in your chest, and she started moving before she even thought about it. Her body swayed loose and easy, the alcohol making her limbs feel like they belonged to someone else, someone braver.

Ohyul watched her for a second, standing still, and then he stepped into her space. His hands found her hips like they were meant to be there. She let the cigarette fall to the floor and ground it out with her heel, and then her arms were around his neck, fingers threading into the hair at the nape of his neck.

"You're a good dancer," she said, loud enough to be heard over the music but quiet enough that it felt like a secret.

"So are you." His hands moved from her hips to her waist, pulling her closer. "But I feel like you already know that."

"I do." She grinned, slow and teasing. "I just like hearing you say it."

He laughed, and the sound vibrated through her where their bodies touched. They moved together like they'd done this a hundred times, her hips rolling against his, his hands guiding her, their foreheads pressing together. The world narrowed to the space between them, the warmth of his breath, the way his fingers dug into her waist just slightly when she moved a certain way.

"Nora." His voice was low, almost swallowed by the music.

"Yeah?"

"I've wanted to do this since the first time I heard you sing."

She pulled back just enough to look at him, really look at him. The dim light caught his eyes, dark and focused, and there was something vulnerable in the way he said it, like he was admitting something he hadn't planned on saying.

"You're serious."

"I'm serious." His thumb traced a slow circle on her hip. "You walked into the studio that first day and I couldn't look away. I still can't."

Her chest tightened. She didn't know if it was the drinks or the music or the way he was looking at her, but she felt it, a pull that went deeper than just wanting to hook up with someone from the label.

"I think about you all the time," she said, and the words came out before she could stop them. "Like, stupid shit. What you're doing. What you're thinking. If you're thinking about me too."

"I am." His voice was rough. "I always am."

Nora pulled him into a deep kiss. Hands roaming his chest and his hard-felt abs against his shirt the other hand found its way into his hair. Ohyul grabbed her ass while the other hand grabbed her waist pulling her in closer. The kiss was sloppy from how drunk they were but they were too out of it to care.

She pulled away catching her breath before saying, “Let’s go to my place,” They walked hand in hand through the small crowd as they stepped outside to call a cab.

The cab ride was a blur of streetlights and stolen touches. His hand never left her thigh, fingers tracing slow patterns that made her skin prickle under her jeans. She leaned her head against his shoulder, breathing him in, letting the hum of the engine and the warmth of his body settle her nerves. The driver didn't say a word, just drove through the quiet streets with the radio playing something soft and instrumental.

When the cab pulled up to her building, she paid quickly and pulled him out onto the sidewalk. The night air hit them, cool and clean, and she didn't let go of his hand as she led him up the steps to her front door. Her hands shook slightly as she fumbled for her keys, and he stepped up behind her, his chest against her back, his hands settling on her hips.

"Need help?" His voice was low, amused, right next to her ear.

"I got it." She found the right key and pushed the door open, pulling him inside.

Her apartment was small and warm, moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting everything in a soft silver glow. She barely had time to close the door before he was on her again, his hands cupping her face, kissing her like he'd been holding back the whole cab ride. His tongue slid against hers, slow and deliberate, and she melted into him, her fingers finding the hem of his shirt and tugging upward.

He got the hint and pulled it off over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him. She let her hands roam across his chest, his shoulders, the hard lines of his abs that she'd been thinking about all night. Her fingers traced every ridge and curve, and he shivered under her touch.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," he murmured against her lips.

"Then show me."

He scooped her up, her legs wrapping around his waist, and carried her through the apartment. She directed him with a nod toward her bedroom, and he pushed the door open with his shoulder, crossing the room in a few strides before lowering her onto the bed.

He hovered over her, propped on his forearms, looking down at her like she was something precious. The moonlight caught his eyes, dark and focused, and she reached up to trace his jaw, his cheekbone, the curve of his lips.

"You're so handsome," she said, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

He ducked his head, a small smile tugging at his mouth. "You're drunk."

"Maybe." She pulled him down, her lips brushing his ear. "But I mean it."

His breath hitched, and then his mouth was on her neck, trailing hot, open mouthed kisses down her collarbone, her shoulder, the hollow of her throat. She arched into him, her fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer. She kicked off her heels while his hands found the button of her skirt, and she lifted her hips to help him, the denim sliding down her legs and pooling somewhere at the foot of the bed. He helped her take off her corset as her bare skin was revealed.

He sat back just long enough to look at her, his eyes tracing every curve, every line of her body. The moonlight painted her in silver and shadow, and she felt exposed in the best way, like he was seeing all of her and still wanting more.

"Your turn," she said, her voice breathy.

He stood briefly to shed his jeans and boxers, and she watched him, unabashed, taking in the way the light fell across his skin. He climbed back over her, his body warm and heavy, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him flush against her.

He kissed her again, deep and slow, and his hand slid down between her legs, fingers finding her already wet, already ready. She gasped into his mouth as he touched her, slow circles that made her hips buck against his hand.

He pulled away from the kiss. "Tell me what you want," he said, his voice rough, his forehead pressed against hers.

"I want you." She looked him in the eye, her hand sliding down his stomach to wrap around him. "I want all of you."

He groaned, low and deep, and lined himself up. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, giving her time to adjust, and she clutched his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. The feeling of him stretching her, filling her, made her gasp, her head falling back against the pillow.

"Fuck, Nora." His voice was strained, his forehead pressed to her shoulder. "You feel so good."

"So do you." She moaned lifting her hips, urging him deeper.

He set a rhythm that was slow at first, deep and deliberate, each thrust hitting a spot that made her see stars. Her moans filled the room, breathy and unguarded, and he swallowed them with his mouth, kissing her through the pleasure. His hand found hers, fingers lacing together beside her head, and she held on like he was the only thing keeping her grounded.

"Ohyul." She breathed his name like a prayer. "Don't stop."

"Not planning on it."

He shifted his angle slightly, and she cried out, her back arching off the bed. He found the spot, the one that made her see white, and he stayed there, driving into her with a purpose that left her breathless. The pressure built low in her belly, coiling tighter with every thrust, every moan, every whispered word against her skin.

"I'm close," she gasped.

"Cum for me." His voice was dark, commanding. "I want to feel you."

That was all it took.

She shattered around him, her body trembling, her moans breaking into something raw and unfiltered. He followed moments later, burying his face in her neck as he spilled into her, his hips stuttering, his breath hot and uneven against her skin.

They stayed like that for a long moment, tangled together, breathing each other in. She ran her fingers through his hair, soft and slow, and he pressed lazy kisses to her shoulder, her collarbone, the corner of her mouth.

He pulled out gently and rolled onto his side, pulling her with him, her back against his chest. His arm wrapped around her waist, and she laced her fingers through his.

"Stay," she whispered.

"Wasn't planning on leaving."

Yuwon told herself she was just going to the convenience store. It happened to be the same one he went to. She happened to walk in a few seconds after him. She happened to watch him pick up a single instant ramen and a bottle of water, the same dinner she was starting to realize he had most nights.

She bought her things and left. That was it.

But the next day, she found herself walking past the coffee shop where she had first seen him with his friends. She told herself she was just curious. She peeked through the window. He was not there.

She felt relieved. And then she felt embarrassed for feeling relieved.

It became a habit without her permission.

She would hear his door close in the morning and wait a few seconds before stepping out herself, just to see which direction he went. She would notice the time he came home, the way his footsteps dragged a little heavier on certain days. She would catch herself looking for him in crowds, scanning the street from her window, listening for his voice through the wall at night.

She was not stalking him. She was just paying attention. There was a difference.

She told herself that until the day he caught her.

It happened on a Tuesday evening.

She had been at the bookstore near her apartment, killing time before heading home. She had not gone there looking for him. She had genuinely wanted a new book.

But when she walked past the cafe section in the back, she spotted him immediately. He was sitting alone at a small table by the window, a cup of coffee untouched in front of him, staring at his phone with an expression she could not read.

She should have kept walking. She should have turned around and gone to the register and left.

Instead, she found a shelf nearby. She picked up a book she had no intention of buying. She watched him over the top of the pages.

He ran a hand through his hair. He checked his phone again. He sighed.

She wondered what he was thinking about. She wondered if he ever thought about her at all, or if she was just the annoying neighbor who made him eat pancakes once.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she did not notice him look up.

Their eyes met.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then his expression shifted. Confusion. Recognition. And then something colder.

He stood up.

Yuwon's stomach dropped. She shoved the book back on the shelf and turned to leave, but his voice cut through the quiet cafe.

"Yuwon."

She froze.

She heard his footsteps approaching. Steady. Deliberate.

"Turn around."

She turned.

He was standing a few feet away, his jaw tight, his eyes sharp in a way she had never seen before. Not the cold indifference from their first meeting. Not the tired softness from that morning at his door. This was anger. Real, quiet, controlled anger.

"Were you following me?"

"No."

"Do not lie to me."

The words hit harder than she expected. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

He stepped closer. "I saw you at the convenience store three days ago. You walked in, saw me, and left without buying anything. I saw you outside my building yesterday morning. You were standing by the corner for no reason. And now this." He gestured around the bookstore. "You are watching me from a bookshelf like I am some kind of project."

Her face burned. "It is not like that.”

"Then what is it like?"

She should have had an answer ready. She had had days to prepare for this moment, if she was being honest with herself. But standing in front of him, with his voice low and his eyes boring into hers, every excuse she had rehearsed evaporated.

So she told him the truth.

"I am lonely," she said.

He stopped.

She felt her throat tighten. She hated how small her voice sounded. But she kept going.

"I moved here two weeks ago. I do not know anyone. I do not have family nearby. I spend most of my nights in my apartment by myself, and sometimes I go days without having a real conversation with anyone." She looked down at her hands. "I saw you at that coffee shop with your friends. You looked so normal. So happy. And I just wanted to be near someone who seemed like they had it together."

He stared at her. The anger was still there, but it was quieter now. Listening.

"I was not trying to spy on you," she said. "I was not trying to be weird. I just wanted to feel like I was part of someone's world, even if I was only watching from the outside."

The silence that followed was heavy. She could feel him studying her, trying to decide if she was lying.

"You barely know me," he said finally.

"I know. But you are the only person in this city who has talked to me more than once. Even if you were annoyed the whole time."

He blinked. Something in his expression shifted. Not a smile. Not warmth. But the hard edge softened, just a little.

"That is really sad," he said.

"I know."

He looked at her for a long moment. Then he let out a breath and grabbed his bag.

"Come on."

She looked up. "What?"

"I was about to leave anyway. We live in the same building. I will walk with you."

She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. She just nodded and followed him to the register, where she bought the book she had been pretending to read.

They walked home in silence at first. The evening air was cool, and the street was quiet. She kept stealing glances at him, but he kept his eyes forward, hands in his pockets.

"I am not going to be your friend just because you followed me around," he said eventually.

"I know."

"And I am not some project you can fix."

"I did not say you were."

He glanced at her. "You were thinking it."

She smiled a little. "Maybe."

He shook his head, but there was no real frustration in it.

They reached the building. He held the door open for her, which surprised her so much she almost walked into the frame.

"Thank you," she said.

He just nodded.

They climbed the stairs in silence. When they reached her door, she hesitated.

"For what it is worth," she said, "I am not trying to fix you. I just wanted someone to talk to. And you seemed like someone worth talking to."

He stopped at his own door. He did not turn around.

"You have a weird way of showing it."

"I know."

He unlocked his door. Paused.

"Goodnight, Yuwon."

She smiled.

"Goodnight."

She went inside and closed the door. And through the wall, a few minutes later, she heard his TV turn on. Normal. Just a normal Tuesday night.