#myoi

you nodded once, eyes fixed on the empty street below.

no gulls. no sandals on pavement. no haze of summer climbing up your arms. just winter settling deep into your coat. and you realized

you missed the waves.

“it’s not like back then,” eunji said, almost smiling. “but… welcome back, anyway.”

you glanced over, finally. she was gazing at you with that look she always used to give you after class, like you were still eighteen and she’d never really let go of that version of you. the one who used to skip lectures to take her to the beach. the one who waited on the porch for someone else, but still smiled when it was her.

you nodded again. “thanks.”

she watched your face for a second longer before looking down at the city—sprawled wide and glittering beneath the snow.

seoul.

you hadn’t planned to come back. not really. it just… happened. a break. a reset. just two weeks, you told yourself. just something different. just long enough to forget the shape of her name when you whispered it to the sea.

but the waves weren’t here.

just snow.

and eunji, still beside you.

----

you were sitting on the guest bed half-dressed, half-scrolling through your phone, when something slipped out from between your clothes. a photo. bent edges, too-bright colors, definitely planted by keoni.

you stared at it for a second. yeah. that trip. the one before everything cracked open. before she left. before you stopped waiting by the ocean and started pretending you were fine.

a knock came at the door. gentle. careful.

“hey,” eunji called, voice muffled. “you wanna eat out tonight? there’s a place i used to love. not too far.”

you set the photo down on the pillow, face down. “sure,” you said, standing slowly. “let me grab my coat.”

by the time you stepped outside, seoul had shifted. it was always moving, never still—lanterns glowing over storefronts, snow clinging to the curbs, steam rising from food carts like smoke from a dream.

eunji took you somewhere small and tucked between older buildings. warm inside. smelled like chili paste and grilled meat and soup still bubbling in clay pots. you sat across from her, half-listening, half-scrolling. it was comfortable.

then the noise hit—laughter too loud from a table near the back. high-pitched. bubbly. a girl’s voice calling out something in a dialect you didn’t catch.

you blinked. “sorry, i need to use the bathroom real quick.”

you made your way past the hostess stand, turned a corner too quick, and bumped into someone going the opposite way. solid hit. shoulder to shoulder.

“sorry,” you said quickly, barely looking up and just leaving not having time because if you looked more you'd probably piss yourself infront of them. “my bad—sorry.”

outside, sana stood still for a breath. her brows drawn together, her hand still slightly raised like she meant to stop you.

“…weird,” she murmured while returning to their table.

“what is?” jihyo asked as sana sat back down.

sana tilted her head, brushing her hair from her cheek. “i think i just ran into someone i used to know.”

“you say that in every city,” nayeon said, rolling her eyes. “maybe it’s just your soul recognizing other famous souls.”

“no,” sana said, quieter. “this one felt… familiar.”

jihyo gave her a long look, but sana just shook her head, waving it off. “nothing. i’m fine. are we ready to go?”

they stood, coats in hand, talk already shifting to something else. but sana glanced once more toward the hallway before following them out.

you came back to your table a few minutes later. the noise had died down. just quiet chatter and plates being cleared. eunji poured you tea like nothing had happened.

you smiled faintly, glancing out the window. the snow was still falling. soft. unbothered. beautiful.

you didn’t know why your chest felt tight.

but you smiled anyway.

-----

you should’ve said no.

you were already halfway to the studio when it hit — the feeling you’d been ignoring all morning. that slow, creeping dread in your chest that had nothing to do with traffic and everything to do with how easily you’d said sure, i’ll come help. you thought it was just a favor. you thought eunji needed an extra hand. you thought she’d meant it the way old friends mean it — practical, casual.

the studio smelled like damp wires and instant coffee. someone’s leftover tteokbokki still clung to the air, sharp and sweet and cloying. you lingered near the door, arms folded, head ducked low. just another helping hand, no name, no label. someone asked you to move lighting equipment. another passed you cables. no one knew who you were, right?

you leaned against a wall, pretending not to exist. sleeves rolled up, a box of cables still in your hands because someone asked and you didn’t know how to say no. you weren’t sure how long you’d been standing there, but the knot in your throat had been present since the moment someone said, “eunji’s partner’s here!” and no one corrected them.

you caught her smirk from across the room. just for a second — the way her lip twitched up and then down again, feigned annoyance splashed with something else. something like satisfaction. she raised a brow as if to say, play along, and you did. stupidly. like you always did.

you didn’t even have time to respond before you felt it. arms wrapped tight around your middle. a full hug. not brief, not subtle. not a greeting, not exactly.

you froze. eunji pulled back and laughed against your shoulder like it was an old joke only you two knew. “what? no hug back?”

you smiled. thin. held the tension in your arms. and when she turned to yell something over her shoulder, you slipped your jacket off and folded it in your hands like it was nothing. like the fabric hadn’t just absorbed her perfume.

you didn’t want to smell like her.

“wah, i can see why eunji liked you..” someone said, walking by with a garment bag slung over one shoulder. they gave you a toe-to-head look.

you nodded once. short, tight smile. no words. too scared to embarrass her. too tired to lie. too hopeful that maybe — maybe this didn’t mean anything. eunji didn’t stop the others either. just rolled her eyes, not harshly — more like letting them have their fun. she even laughed when one stylist asked if you were picking her up for a date or just doing free labor out of love.

you wiped your palms on your jeans when no one was looking.

you drove with one hand on the wheel and the other digging faint half-moons into your thigh. the car heater was on low. your jacket sat balled up in the backseat.

hyeri flopped into the back like a sunbeam given legs. “thank you for the ride!” she beamed, fastened her seatbelt with a little grunt, then poked her head between the seats like a curious puppy. “eunji said her friend was coming but i didn’t know you were so cute.”

you blinked. eunji snorted.

“so, how long have you two been together?” hyeri chirped.

your throat dried up. “since college,” you said, quietly. meant since we met. meant just friends. meant not like that.

eunji leaned back, arms crossed, sunglasses on indoors like she was famous. “mm,” she said, clearly enjoying herself.

“that’s so cute,” hyeri squealed. “like, campus sweethearts? ugh, goals.”

you didn’t reply. just kept your eyes on the road, white lines passing like skipped heartbeats. eunji said nothing else. didn’t correct her. didn’t clarify. just sat there, smug in the seat beside you. when you dropped hyeri off, she waved at both of you like you were a matching pair.

eunji leaned her head back, lips curled, not saying anything. and that silence stretched — long and thick — all the way through traffic, through the music humming soft from the radio.

until finally, you said it. “you weren’t gonna tell them they were wrong?”

eunji scoffed lightly, not looking at you. “you’re the one who said since college.”

“i meant—” your voice cracked. you swallowed it down. “i didn’t mean it like that.”

“then why didn’t you correct her?”

you didn’t answer.

“exactly.”

the rest of the drive was quiet. uncomfortable. your hands gripped the steering wheel too tight. at a red light, you said softly, “i don’t want this. i don’t want to be part of some fake dating rumor.”

“it’s not a rumor,” eunji replied, suddenly cold. “it’s a joke.”

“it’s not funny to me.”

her jaw clenched. she didn’t look at you. “then don’t come next time.”

you blinked. hurt bloomed sharp in your chest. “…sorry,” you muttered.

you bit the inside of your cheek and didn’t say the rest. she was right — you could’ve said something.

meanwhile, back at the studio, the staff were in stitches. sana twirled her drink in one hand, watching the last of the team clean up. laughter still rang from the wardrobe area, one of her members helping and thanking the staff.

“where’s eunji noona?” she asked, light but curious. “and hyeri?”

“her partner picked her up,” someone grinned. “the quiet one? came by to help earlier. kinda cute. real domestic.”

“partner?” nayeon turned. “finally?” even jihyo was laughing now, muttering “about time” as she packed up her water bottle. nayeon made a teasing noise. momo pretended to swoon.

sana smiled with them — wide, amused — but her fingers tapped her cup slowly, rhythm offbeat. “partner, huh?” she repeated. voice soft. a little too soft. “since when?”

“we don’t really know,” someone said. “they looked like they weren’t from here… tan, brownish hair…”

“mm,” sana said, the smile staying but not quite reaching her eyes. “that’s sweet.” she turned back toward the room, slow and thoughtful, eyes a little distant.

supportive. curious. but something tugged behind her ribs. something that didn’t sit right.

-----

the snow doesn't fall like back home. in hawaii, it rains sideways—warm, impatient, sudden. it crashes against the windows with sound. but here, in seoul, the cold is quiet. it sneaks in through your sleeves, clings to your lashes, and whispers in your breath.

you hadn't planned to come this early, but guilt is a heavy thing to carry in silence. you didn’t know why you’d cooked so much. well. maybe you did. maybe you knew exactly why your hands had reached for the pot before you were even fully awake.

you shift the lunch bag in your hands, the weight of kimbap, steaming soup sealed tightly, and lomi salmon still warm under layers of foil. one last thing: a note tucked between the containers, folded awkwardly like you never learned how to apologize out loud.

“sorry for yesterday. hope today’s better.”

you thought about leaving it at the desk. slipping it quietly to a staff member and walking off before anyone asked who it was from. but the bag was warm against your palms. and something about the sky made it hard to leave things half-finished today.

you don’t do half-things anymore. not after that night when you stood with your phone in your hand, your chest caving in, and no one answered.

your boots squeak a little against the polished floors. you glance around. "hey," you ask one of the women near the monitors, "sorry, do you know where i can find eunji?"

she tilts her head. “oh, you’re her—” before she can finish, another voice cuts in. "she’s in the break room, far end." you turn, about to thank the new voice—but the woman freezes slightly, mid-step. dressed casually, no heavy makeup, and still looks like she stepped out of a screen. then someone from behind calls, "jeongyeon! we need you at the monitor again."

you don’t wait to hear the rest.

a half-step of recognition, and a full-body cringe. you force a tight smile, nod quickly, muttering thanks before walking off, fists tightening in your hoodie pocket.

you head to the break room. open the door and—

"ah!" one of the younger staff claps her hands. "eunji-ssi, your partner’s here!" you freeze. but eunji just laughs, startled, maybe a bit flustered. “stop it,” she says with a half-smile. you try to smile, though your hoodie feels too warm now under the weight of everyone’s gaze.

a few staff members were sipping hot drinks, still rubbing sleep from their eyes. and yet—every glance tilted toward you.

eunji rises, brushing past them and meets you near the counter. “you didn’t have to come yourself,” she says softly, eyes flicking to your damp hoodie.

“you’re freezing,” she mutters, stepping closer, brushing snow from your hood. the movement is brief. careful. almost affectionate.

you clear your throat. “i uh… made you food.” her eyes soften. “oh. like… food food?” “kimbap. soup. some stuff from home.” you scratch your cheek. “sorry for snapping at you yesterday.”

“you shouldn't apologize, i was...” she stops. pride catching in her throat. “so dramatic,” you cut in gently, knowing she won’t admit fault, placing the bag down.

"what is this?" someone peeks in. "oh, wow—this smells amazing. is that... soup? and kimbap!" "wait—what’s this? wah! lomi salmon? you’re hawaiian?" you smile faintly. “yeah. born and raised.”

“no wonder,” a woman mutters. “your vibe’s different. warm.” "they really cooked this?" another teases. “wow. is this what it’s like to have a partner?”

eunji groans. “don’t start.”

"no, seriously,” someone says. “they show up early, they cook, and they’re cute. where do you find people like this?”

someone finds the note. reads it aloud. “ugh, i want a partner who apologizes with food.” “look at their hoodie—they're freezing just to bring it over!” you stiffen, ears burning. eunji lifts a hand in warning. “guys, let them breathe.”

you glance at her, surprised. and for once — no teasing in her voice. just that steady calmness she rarely used when others were around.

she looks so much like home — the version of her from college — your heart drops.

you flush, tugging your sleeve. eunji doesn’t say anything, just hands out the extra kimbap. her silence is enough.

you turn to leave, stepping backward. your hoodie up, hands bare, pink with cold. shoulders hunched, your shoes leaving faint, damp prints on the tile — melting snow and whatever came before it.

you turn the corner. don’t glance back.

but sana glances.

her head snaps toward the sound — a soft click, a faint voice saying “thank you for the hawaiian food, eunji’s partner!” — her eyes catch movement across the hallway. her breath falters.

she knows that walk. that build. that way your sleeves hang past your wrists. the curve of your back in the cold. the way you always walked like the world was too loud and you wanted to slip through it unseen.

“what the…” she whispers already stepping forward.

one step. two— “sana,” jihyo’s voice cuts through. “hey. don’t wander. we’re wrapping up.”

sana freezes mid-step. “just a second—” she says. “we’re literally on the last chorus,” jihyo calls.

sana turns, half-dazed. “i thought—” but when she looks back— nothing. just an empty corner.

no hoodie. no footprints. just cold air and silence.

she stares. something inside tightens — not panic, but worse. hope.

“you okay?” jihyo asks. sana swallows. “yeah. i just thought i saw…”

“a sasaeng?” nayeon raises a brow. “no,” sana says quickly. “just… someone i used to know.”

“should i tell the coordi team?” jihyo asks. “no,” sana insists. “it’s fine.” but it’s not fine. her chest is doing that thing again — full and empty all at once.

momo heads back inside. nayeon walks past, grabbing her water. “what was that about?”

“she thought she saw someone,” jihyo says. nayeon leans into sana. “someone you used to date?”

sana doesn’t answer. just laughs. hollow.

because inside, everything is screaming.

because if it was you—why didn’t you say anything?

why does she want to run after you so badly she can barely breathe?

----

the practice room hums with motion.

sana sits on the floor, back against the mirror, her phone tilted low in her lap. across the room, dahyun is spinning in place while jihyo laughs breathlessly, clapping to some beat only they seem to hear. nayeon’s in the corner making tiktoks, and momo’s retying her shoes for the third time. it’s warm, the windows fogged up from the body heat, the air full of sweat and noise and the faint smell of grape vitamin water.

and sana isn’t listening to any of it.

her eyes are fixed on the screen. or rather, what isn’t on it.

no posts. no profile picture. no bio. just your name. just the unchanging emptiness of your instagram.

“twenty minutes,” nayeon calls, peering over sana’s shoulder. “you’ve been staring at that for twenty minutes.”

sana clicks the screen off. “i haven’t.”

“is it one of your old lovers?” nayeon grins. “you saw someone earlier and now you’re sulking like a ghost walked by.”

sana flushes. “they weren’t a lover.”

“oh?” nayeon nudges her foot. “but you wanted them to be?”

“yah,” jihyo warns lightly, “leave her alone.”

but sana is already gone again, in her head. back to that hallway. the brush of cold air when the break room door opened. the way that hoodie slouched just right over familiar shoulders. the slope of a back she hasn’t seen in years — still tall. still quiet. still unreadable.

and then that staff voice echoing down the corridor — thank you for the hawaiian food, eunji’s partner!

sana rubs her chest. it doesn’t help. it aches in that sore, bruised way, like an old song stuck in her bones. the kind of pain that deepens the longer she stares into it.

she turns her screen back on. sighs. still nothing.

"what if you made a new account," she mutters, voice soft, pleading. “what if you moved and didn’t tell anyone? what if you’re hiding on purpose?”

she searches again. again. tries every spelling, every username she thinks you’ll use. flips through mutuals. searches tagged photos. nothing. nothing. nothing.

her brows draw together. she shifts her legs up, hugs her knees to her chest.

“you’re so mean,” she pouts under her breath, the words small and cracked. “do you really not miss anyone? not even a little? not even me?”

the light in eunji’s apartment is low — cold through the window, blue-grey on the counter. your half-finished breakfast sits cooling by the counter near the sink: rice, leftover soup, two limp rolls of kimbap.

you pick one up. hesitate. bite it anyway.

the taste is the same. sesame oil, salt, a little sweetness. but it catches in your throat halfway down. you cough once. then again, harder.

you remember the first time you made something like this — how you folded the rolls with care, how you set them down with a half-smile and an awkward, quiet hope. you remember holding your breath when you offered it, as if the tiniest motion might break whatever fragile thing hung between you. and you remember the silence that followed — heavy, hollow, not rejection exactly, but something colder. something final. she never took it. not then. not ever. she walked away.

the snow outside drifts steady past the window, silent and endless. it paints everything in soft white, too quiet, too clean. it’s so far from hawaii it stings. no crashing waves. no warm sidewalks. just cold that presses deep into your ribs.

you press a palm to your chest. it doesn’t help. you feel stupid.

you set the half-eaten kimbap down, wiping your mouth with the back of your sleeve, annoyed at the way it still tasted like memory. your phone buzzes once — a weather alert. more snow coming.

you sigh, unlock your phone, and tap keoni’s name without thinking.

he picks up on the second ring. "yo," he says, voice thick with sleep. "you miss me or somethin’? it’s barely nine here.”

“yeah,” you mutter. “needed a reminder why i left.”

“damn,” he snorts, “you call me just to insult me? cute.”

you lean an elbow against the counter, stare out the kitchen window. snow's collecting unevenly on the sill. “nah. just... breakfast didn’t go well.”

“you’re still cooking sad meals?”

“tried to make kimbap. almost died.”

keoni laughs like it's familiar. “classic. what was it this time — too much rice? veggies?”

“no, man. choked.”

“even better. death by nostalgia.”

you pinch the bridge of your nose. “don’t start.”

but he’s already going. “this about hawaii? you know you're going back like in three days.. or maybe someone from hawaii?”

you don’t answer.

“bro,” keoni says, “you always get like this when winter hits. i remember. you’d come back from the beach and just go full existential. same tone. same tired voice. same ‘i don’t care’ act.”

you flick a speck of rice off your hoodie. “maybe i just miss the weather.”

“nah, you don’t miss the weather. you miss people.”

“what people?”

keoni pauses — too long. then: “you still think about her? not the one from last summer. the one before. the— what was her name... park chaeyoung?”

you exhale sharply. "you’re really digging."

"just checking where your head's at. you had a streak, remember? that tattoo artist in makiki, the girl who worked at the smoothie truck—"

"okay, okay."

"i’m just saying," keoni teases, voice lighter now, "you used to be the heartbreaker, and now you’re choking on your own cooking like some washed-up lead in a breakup drama."

you snort, leaning your forehead against the cabinet. “you’re insufferable.”

“yeah, but you keep calling.”

you go quiet. your fingers drag along the rim of the counter, slow, idle.

keoni softens. “for real, though. you okay?”

you nod even though he can’t see. “yeah.”

“you sure?”

“…not really.”

you hear him shift on the other end, probably sitting up, probably frowning in that overly concerned way he always does when you say something honest.

“you need anything?” he asks.

“nah. just heading out for a bit.”

“wear your coat. you get cold easy.”

“okay, mom.”

“you’re welcome. and hey — you’ll be alright.”

you end the call with a small exhale, but it sticks in your throat on the way out. the apartment is quiet again. still too quiet. the kind that seeps under your skin and just stays.

you drop the phone face-down on the counter. stand there a second. then two. your hand brushes absently over the jacket hook, but you don’t reach for it yet.

your shoulders sag a little.

the soup is cold. the kimbap sits limp and untouched beside the sink. you stare at it too long, eyes blurring slightly before you even realize you're not blinking.

you swallow hard. shift your weight. shake your head once, like it might clear something out.

“this was a mistake,” you whisper. not to anyone. not really even to yourself. just to the silence. “coming here. should’ve just... left it back in the college days.”

you press the heel of your palm into your eye. it burns. when you blink again, your lashes feel wet.

you’re not sure when your chest started hurting — not the physical kind. the other kind. the kind that makes your throat close and your stomach turn and your fingers feel just a little colder than before. like something’s off balance.

you don’t know what’s wrong with you.

seoul isn’t bad. it isn’t. people are kind. the city shines at night. the food is good.

but it all feels... wrong.

you glance at the jacket still hanging. stare at the door. your pulse skips for no reason.

something’s missing.

you don’t know what, but it’s loud. the absence. it rattles in the walls, curls beneath your ribs. it’s in the corners of the room, in the way the heat never quite warms your fingers, in the way the streets feel too full but still lonely.

your hand finally reaches for the coat. you fumble the zipper. breathe in, shaky. tug the sleeves on like muscle memory.

the snow then greets you like it knows everything.

and you don’t even flinch.

----

the evening tastes like metal — like old coins, cold wind, the edge of something unfinished.

you walk seoul like it’s borrowed.

your steps echo too loud on empty sidewalks, too slow to belong here. behind fogged windows, strangers laugh over beer and tteokbokki. the streets pulse warm with life, but none of it touches you. your gloved hands stay tucked in your pockets. scarf pulled high. hood drawn low. not hiding — just… detached. you don’t know what you’re looking for. maybe a memory. maybe peace. maybe nothing.

snow hadn’t been in the forecast. but still, it starts — soft, drifting, clinging to hair and sleeves and streetlamps. your breath clouds the air.

you cross at a blinking light, pass a steaming cart of roasted chestnuts, nod politely at the ahjumma selling candied sweet potatoes. her smile falters when she sees your face — like she almost recognizes something in it. or maybe it’s just your eyes. they’ve been glassy all day.

a song plays from a café behind you. gentle, string-heavy.. It reminds you of beach bonfires back home. 

you don’t let the memory finish.

your boots hit a patch of ice.

someone slams into you.

“oh—” you stagger back. the other body slips — there’s a startled gasp, arms flailing, then the unmistakable thump of a fall.

“shit—are you okay?” you stumble with her, one hand reaching out, the other already pulling your coat off. she lands hard, knees to concrete. the snow’s picking up. you crouch beside her, already draping the coat over her shoulders without thinking.

“sorry, i didn’t see—here, let me—” you say patting your coat onto her shoulders, panic creeping up. “you alright? are you hurt? please don’t be—”

you reach out to steady her.

and then she looks up. your breath lodges in your throat.

the girl doesn’t speak. just stares — stunned, still, blinking flakes off her lashes.

“…why do i keep bumping into people in seoul,” you murmur, trying to laugh, trying to defuse the sudden tightness in your chest.

she doesn’t laugh.

her hand rises slowly to her mask. she pulls it down.

and the world breaks open.

fuck.

you flinch like her name was a slap. your mouth opens, closes. your heartbeat lurches.

you look away first. of course you do.

“you—” your voice caves in on itself. you look away, throat burning, the snow sticking to your lashes now too.

she’s still sitting on the cold pavement, the coat slipping slightly down her arms, her fingers frozen in the air where they nearly reached for you.

sana’s lips part, stunned.

she doesn’t move to stand. doesn’t blink. just stares up at you like the moment itself is unreal — like if she breathes too hard, you’ll disappear again.

“you…” she finally whispers. “you’re really here.”

you force yourself to look at her again. your eyes flicker to her knee, where a small scrape blooms red. guilt spikes in your ribs.

but so does something else. something bitter. something old.

“yeah,” you manage. “guess i am.” your hands curl into fists inside your sleeves.

you want to ask her why. why she never called. why she let everything rot between you.

but you can’t. you don’t get to ask anymore.

you reach forward — stiff, — and help her up without looking at her. she wobbles slightly, then finds her footing. your hand lingers just a moment longer than it should.

and when you try to step back—

she grabs your wrist.

not enough to pull you in. just enough to stop you from walking away.

you freeze but you don’t look at her.

you retract your hand like it's been poisoned. “it’s slippery,” you say, too sharp. “you should be careful.”

she doesn’t move. her voice breaks. “i… i thought—”

a vibration hums from her pocket. her phone. she reaches for it blindly, never taking her eyes off you.

“…unnie?” her voice is raw. “yeah. i’m fine. just… slipped. i’ll be there soon.”

her eyes flick to yours, pleading.

you step back.

you don’t know what to do with the ache pounding behind your ribs.

you glance once at the scrape on her knee, at your own coat still hanging awkwardly over her frame.

then you step back again.

the snow’s falling heavier now. catching in your lashes. numbing your fingers.

“take care, sana,” you say, eyes fixed on the space beside her.

then you turn and walk.

no second glance. no goodbye in your tone. nothing.

just the weight in your chest tightening with every step away.

and behind you, she’s still standing there — clutching the phone, your coat sagging over her shoulders, her lips trembling.

the streetlamp glows soft over her hair. the snow keeps falling.

and she doesn’t chase after you.

she just watches you disappear again.

like the first time.

-----

it had been a few days since that night.

seoul after dark looked like a painting still drying — amber streetlamps dripping across the pavement, shop windows blinking like soft hearts in the cold. your breath fogged in the air, scarf tucked to your chin, hands shoved deep in your coat pockets.

“next time, it’s your turn,” you said, walking beside eunji.

she grinned. “my turn to what? get eaten alive by mosquitoes while you drink overpriced smoothies?”

you laughed. “yeah. exactly.”

you turned a corner. the crowds thinned, noise fading to stone alleys and old rooftops. paper lanterns swayed above. for a second, it felt like hawaii again — quiet and open. except colder. lonelier.

“it’s nice here,” eunji said, slowing. “different. but nice.”

you nodded. her hand hovered close to yours.

then her phone buzzed.

she glanced at it. sighed. “manager. give me a sec?”

“i’ll wander,” you said.

“sure?”

“won’t get kidnapped. probably.”

she snorted and stepped away, phone already to her ear.

you walked on, through older streets where café windows glowed and the air smelled like grilled fish. couples leaned close inside, but you didn’t stop.

until you heard it.

a voice — soft, panicked.

“…i’m waiting for someone. please.”

you turned.

there she was.

hood slipped, mask crooked, pressed against a wall. two men stood too close. one whispered something near her ear. her eyes searched, fast, desperate.

she didn’t see you.

you exhaled. stepped forward.

“there you are,” you called, loud and sure. “honey, i’ve been looking everywhere.”

sana flinched. the men turned.

you reached her side, arm sliding around her back. she tensed — but didn’t move away. not when you tucked her hair behind her ear, not when you leaned in like this was natural.

“sorry,” you said, loud. “she gets lost easily.”

“who are you?” one asked.

“her partner.”

“she didn’t say anything.”

“she doesn’t need to.”

you tried to guide her away — but one grabbed her wrist.

you didn’t think. your fist met his face. not clean, but hard. he stumbled, hit a bin.

the other shoved you.

you ducked his swing, shoved him back. fists, elbows, cold breath. messy. desperate.

he landed a punch — your lip split. blood on your tongue.

you kneed his stomach. he dropped. then hands pushed you from behind — you hit the ground, everything ringing.

“stop!” sana’s voice, cracked and terrified.

you grabbed an ankle, yanked. he fell. you pinned him, breath ragged.

“try it again,” you spat. “touch her again.”

he swore. the other pulled you back. a tangle of limbs and cursing — knuckles, feet, the sting of winter air.

finally, they fled. bruised. bleeding. spitting.

you didn’t move. not yet.

sana was kneeling beside you, hands hovering.

“you’re bleeding,” she whispered. “why would you—”

“are you okay?” you rasped.

she stared like she’d never seen you before.

“you’re shaking,” she whispered. “can you stand?”

you tried. legs buckled, and she caught you — one hand on your arm, one at your back.

“you’re not going to a hospital?” she asked.

“ just busted lip,” you muttered. “i’ve had worse.”

“when?” her voice cracked. “in what world is that normal?”

you looked away. “i’m fine.”

“you’re not.”

she fixed your coat, fingers trembling. her voice softened.

“come back with me.”

you blinked. “what?”

“just for a bit. so i can clean that up.”

you looked at her — jaw tight, legs pressed together like she was still cold.

“…you sure you know how to fix a split lip?”

“no,” she said. “but i can google it.”

you almost laughed.

“you really don’t have to—”

“i still have your coat.”

you blinked.

“i never gave it back.”

“so let me return it,” she said. “at my place.”

the silence stretched.

and you could feel it — how different her voice was. not playful. not teasing. just soft.

eunji.

the thought flickered.

you hadn’t told her where you were.

your hands curled.

sana still waited. still watched you.

you opened your mouth. closed it.

and finally — “...no.”

-----

“shit… sana—”

you groaned, sharp through your teeth. her name came out hoarse. low. too much breath tangled inside it.

your head tipped back against the armrest, shoulders tense, hands clenched into the hem of the coat she made you take off. warm legs straddled your lap, soft weight pressing into your thighs. every movement made you flinch. not from discomfort. not exactly.

her fingers brushed your jaw, tilted your face up again. “stop moving,” she muttered. “you’ll make it worse.”

“you’re making it worse,” you hissed, eyes fluttering shut. “what are you doing—”

“cleaning it,” she snapped, then winced. “sorry. i mean—i’m trying.”

your eyes cracked open.

she was kneeling over you, sleeves shoved up, a wet towel caught between her fingers like she was about to perform minor surgery instead of dabbing at your busted lip. it looked like a scene from a movie. the kind with slow lighting. a girl hovering over a wounded lover, flushed and tender.

you blinked. tried not to laugh. “you ever seen a medical drama?”

sana’s brows pinched. “what?”

“like grey’s anatomy. or literally any film with a medic. you dab. not scrub.”

“i’m not scrubbing!”

“you’re scrubbing, sana.”

“you’re bleeding!”

“i was bleeding.”

she scowled at you, then dipped the towel into the warm bowl of water on the side table again, wrung it out with far too much force.

your breath caught.

her hair brushed your cheek. her thigh shifted just slightly against yours. she smelled like shampoo and something faintly floral — something too gentle for the way your jaw throbbed.

“this is the weirdest thing i’ve ever done,” she mumbled.

“you’re literally on top of me.”

“i didn’t have space!”

“you could’ve just—” you gestured vaguely, “—sat next to me.”

“but then you’d have to lean back and i’d have to, like, hover weirdly and i didn’t want to make it more uncomfortable—”

“this is more uncomfortable.”

she froze. “i didn’t mean—” you sighed, dropped your head against the cushion again. “nevermind.”

she didn’t say anything. just softened her touch, dabbing more carefully at the corner of your mouth. gentler now. almost apologetic.

“…sorry,” she said quietly.

you didn’t answer. not because you were mad — just because something about the way she said it made your chest pull too tight. not playful. not guilty. just… sorry. like she’d wanted to say it for a long time.

her knee brushed yours again, unsure, like she didn’t know whether to stay or get up. finally she climbed off and sat beside you. the towel rested between you now, wet and red.

you could still hear her breathing — a little unsteady. her eyes were soft now, lingering on the cut on your lip, the bruising across your cheekbone. you didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything.

her voice came quiet. “how’s hawaii?”

you blinked, slow. “hot,” you said after a beat.

she looked up. “are you adjusting okay to seoul?”

you let out a laugh. flat. “i’m not staying. it’s just a vacation.”

“still,” she murmured, “you like it?”

you hesitated. “…i like the han river.”

she tilted her head. “just that?”

you didn’t answer. didn’t say you hadn’t explored much because eunji’s schedule was always full. didn’t say you were afraid of being alone. you just shifted your gaze, watching the soft yellow light of her apartment spill across the wooden floor.

sana was still holding the towel.

she stared down at it, twisted in her hands. then, suddenly—

“i hated not knowing if you were okay.”

you turned to her, slowly.

“when you left,” she said, barely above a whisper. “when the messages stopped. i thought about it a lot. i kept checking—just to see something. anything.”

you blinked, face unreadable. “well. you wouldn't know.”

she looked up sharply. “what?”

you swallowed, tasting metal still. “we weren’t in contact.”

her face shifted — not angry, but straining to hold something back.

“i had your instagram.”

you let out a breath of disbelief, jaw tight. “i don’t use it much.”

lie.

you knew her tour dates. her outfit choices. you’d liked exactly zero posts, but you’d seen them all.

you stood slowly, brushing your jeans off. her apartment was small but beautiful — warm light, low furniture, a little bookshelf with soft pink covers and tiny candles shaped like hearts. it was too clean. too curated. it didn’t feel lived in.

it felt like her.

you were biting your lip before you even realized. not from pain — from something else. something restless in your chest.

then your phone buzzed.

eunji.

you stared down at the screen, thumb frozen above it.

sana’s eyes tracked the movement. her expression shifted — not readable at first, then quiet, then tighter. her gaze dropped.

you stepped back toward the couch, reaching for your coat. the other coat, too — the one you gave when you met. it was draped across the armrest, familiar weight in your hands.

you didn’t realize until then how quiet the room had gotten.

you were halfway to the door when her voice stopped you.

“…why didn’t you ever reach out?”

you turned.

she was still seated, her back slouched slightly now, head low. her voice came soft, almost like it wasn’t meant for you.

you stared at her.

your hand gripped the doorframe.

“you were the one,” you said, each word cutting clean, “who didn’t want to stay in touch.”

she flinched — not visibly, but enough.

her mouth opened, breath catching.

“i gave you my nu—”

the door swung open.

“sana?” jihyo’s voice rang out.

“what the hell—” momo froze in the entryway, food bag hitting the floor with a loud, greasy splat.

“uh…” nayeon scanned the room. “sorry. are we interrupting something?”

you froze, coat over one arm, the other half-raised from where you’d been reaching for the door.

your arm dropped. coat draped over it. you bowed stiffly. deep.

no one said anything else.

you stepped past them, through the narrow hallway. cold air met your face.

you didn’t look back.

and sana still didn't follow you.

----

the door shut behind you like the last line of a poem that never resolved.

sana didn’t move.

not even as the silence expanded — thick, suspended, trembling at the edges. it filled the room in your absence. wrapped around the walls. curled beneath the couch.

momo broke it first. her voice cracked like a mismatched chord.

“wait. was that—was that your partner?”

jihyo didn’t answer. she just looked at sana the way you look in a mirror after crying — cautious. careful. like the reflection might flinch.

nayeon bent to pick up the fallen food bag, her usual teasing stripped down to something quieter. “sana… who was that?”

no reply.

her hands were still twisted in the towel, knuckles pale from how tight she was holding on. her coat had slipped off one shoulder, like she’d started to move but forgot how. her face wasn’t blank — just stunned. like someone bracing for a wave and realizing too late they’d already drowned.

no smile. no laugh to deflect. no shrug to send the moment skipping across the surface.

just one breath.

deep. tired. from somewhere inside her she didn’t want anyone to hear.

jihyo stepped closer, a hand gentle on her shoulder. “you should talk to them.”

momo sat beside her, voice quieter now. “they looked like they weren’t coming back.”

sana’s lips parted. her eyes stayed closed.

when she finally spoke, it was soft. stripped down.

“i don’t even know where to start.”

nayeon joined them on the couch, her voice like a lifeline. “start anywhere,” she said. “just don’t wait until it’s too late.”

silence stretched again. waiting.

a buzz.

sana’s phone vibrated against the wooden table. once. like a heartbeat.

she leaned forward.

glanced.

then froze.

jihyo leaned in. “what is it?”

but sana was already moving.

standing so quickly the towel slipped from her hands and fell to the floor with a wet sound. it lay there forgotten, red-stained and wrung out like her.

she didn’t answer.

and the weight of something unspoken had finally broken the surface.

---

the cold bit first. not in your skin, but somewhere deeper — tucked just beneath your ribs, where old memories fester. it wasn’t the kind of cold you could dress for. it was the kind that reminded you of things. of quiet heartbreak. of silence stretched too long. the kind that made you ache even in your bones.

the han river looked different at night — less like water, more like glass. unmoving. half-asleep. the wind skimmed its surface like fingers trailing over old scars, soft and unkind. your footsteps slowed without you meaning to, gravel grinding under each step as the snow began to fall in fine, hesitant flakes. it wasn’t quite winter yet, but the season had started whispering at the edges.

you wandered down the path you remembered from your last visit — a small, hidden curve near the water, where the trees leaned low like they were trying to listen. here, the noise of the city faded. the sky opened up wide and quiet. even your thoughts sounded too loud.

you sat down.

no one else was around. just you, the frost, and the city lights across the water flickering like stars someone forgot to wish on. the bench beneath you was damp and cold, and your fingers curled into your sleeves out of instinct. somewhere nearby, a car passed — distant and muffled — then everything was still again.

your phone buzzed.

you didn’t look. another buzz. you didn’t move.

eunji.

you stared at the name glowing faintly in the dark, then finally tapped out something dull, mechanical:

i just got lost. i’ll be back soon.

you left her on read.

your thumb hovered over the camera app for a second. the river. the snow. the faint blur of light. you took a photo without thinking and posted it. no caption. not even a filter.

it looked more like a memory than a real place. something half-dreamt. like you could reach through the screen and touch a version of yourself that didn’t exist anymore.

you exhaled, long and shaky. the air tasted sharp, metallic. like it could cut.

then — footsteps.

slow, deliberate, crunching through snow.

you didn’t turn around right away. your whole body tensed, your heart ticking faster against your ribs.

“if i get murdered right now,” you muttered, voice flat, “at least it’s poetic.”

no one answered.

but you felt it. that shift in the air. the way the cold paused.

you turned and saw her.

sana.

not just standing — but running. or maybe she had been. her hair was wind-tangled, her cheeks flushed deep from the cold. she looked breathless, lashes tipped in snow, like the world had tried to stop her and she hadn’t let it. she didn’t speak. not at first. just stood there like she was trying to believe you were real.

your chest pulled tight.

“how—”

she stepped forward. her voice barely carried. “your story.”

her eyes searched yours. and for a second — a real, whole second — you saw her how she used to look at you. like you were a question worth asking.

the snow fell slow between you, soft and endless, like even time didn’t want to intrude. her breath came out quick, uneven clouds in the air. she looked like something you shouldn’t touch — too fragile, too out of reach.

you swallowed. “did you come all the way out here for that?”

she nodded once. her mouth opened, then closed again, like she didn’t trust her voice. it shook, anyway.

“why…” she tried.

you waited.

then it hit — like something breaking loose all at once. she shouted, “why didn’t you ever contact me?!”

her voice split the cold open.

your heart lurched. you flinched — not visibly, but inside, where everything had been trying to hold steady.

her voice ripped through the cold. it cracked something open. inside you. inside her.

you flinched. not from the sound — from the grief.

“i gave you a picture,” she went on, chest rising too fast. “back in hawaii. i wrote my number on it. i… i waited. i checked. i thought you just didn’t want to—”

her voice broke like glass on pavement.

you stared at her. stunned. the air between you was quiet again, like the river itself had gone still, holding its breath.

“…i never got it,” you said.

sana blinked.

“what?”

you stepped forward slowly. your voice was low, flat, and too calm for how hard your heart was beating.

“i never got a picture. or your number.”

she just stared.

"what do you mean—" sana stepped closer. her boots left small, lonely prints in the snow.

your jaw clenched.

"you didn’t even acknowledge the food i gave you," you said, your voice tight. "i asked eunji to pass it to you. i thought that was your answer. i thought you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

her brow furrowed, confused and sharp with emotion. “what food?”

"what food?" she said again, louder, desperate now. “what are you talking about?”

you looked at her. saw the confusion. the hurt.

it wasn’t a lie.

a sick weight pulled in your stomach.

“did you give your number to eunji?”

she nodded, slowly. lips pale. “yeah. she said she’d—”

and that was it.

the drop.

that moment just before the fall, where everything hangs still, perfect, poised — and then it shatters.

your body reeled like it had been pushed.

you caught yourself on the edge of the bench.

the snow didn’t stop falling.

it landed on your hands. your shoulders. the back of your neck. it melted there. turned cold to water. turned water to silence.

you laughed once. it sounded like it hurt your throat.

“she never gave it to me,” you said. not looking at her now. “she never gave me anything.”

the silence stretched.

the river rippled, dark and slow.

“i checked,” she said, voice cracking. “i kept checking. your instagram. just to see if you were okay. if you remembered me. i didn’t want to text first. i didn’t want to be stupid—”

"you weren’t," you said. too fast. too bitter.

sana flinched.

“we were both stupid,” you added, softer. “just for different reasons.”

she didn’t speak. just looked down at her hands like they were broken things. like maybe they were the problem.

and the snow kept falling.

light, and relentless, and quiet.

for a second, it felt like hawaii again. that last day. that last look.

but colder.

colder than anything. colder than the wind.

and all that time — all those years — you’d both been waiting.

for each other.

for nothing.

-----

you should’ve walked away.

but instead, your hand moved first. quiet. like instinct, or something older. you stepped forward, took your extra coat, and gently draped it over her frame.

she blinked.

not at the coat — at you.

your hands stayed on her arms a second longer than needed. the fabric was too big for her. it swallowed her up. still, she looked so small inside it. fragile, like something you couldn’t bear to drop again.

you shook your head once, slow. not at her. not at you. just the ache.

then, without a word, you turned toward the street.

she followed.

you didn’t look back, but you heard her behind you — her steps crunching against the snow, her breath hitching in a way that didn’t sound like cold anymore.

the snow kept falling, more tender now, like the sky was softening too. the streets were quieter out here, shining in the pale yellow of old lamps and flickering signs. your footsteps were slow. hers, unsteady. she had to hug the coat tighter to her chest just to believe it was real.

because none of this felt real.

a week ago you were still a ghost. an ache behind her ribs. and now you were here, your shadow stretching long beside hers, your scent faint on the collar she curled into.

you found a convenience store. the kind with flickering lights and soft fluorescent hums. warm. too warm. the bell above the door chimed like a lullaby.

the light inside the convenience store buzzed faintly, humming low like it knew not to speak too loudly. outside, the snow fell slow — quiet little ghosts drifting past the windows. inside, it was warmer, but not by much. just enough to thaw fingers, not hearts.

then the light — cold and artificial, but merciful. she blinked through it, watching as you nodded politely to the cashier and led her to a tiny seating area by the window: just two plastic chairs, a metal table, and a dusty radiator ticking faintly.

“sit,” you said, quiet.

she did. still shivering a little, still glancing over her shoulder, like the spell might break.

you were already at the aisles — grabbing ramen cups, pouring water into a machine, picking out bottled drinks with practiced hands. she watched you like it was a ritual. like you’d done this a thousand times before — maybe alone, maybe with someone else. the latter hurt more than she expected.

you came back with a tray. placed it down gently.

one bowl slid toward her. “it’s hot.”

you sat across from her in the narrow seating area tucked beside the instant noodles aisle. the plastic chairs were flimsy, slightly uneven. one wobbled under sana’s weight every time she shifted, but she didn’t complain. she was wrapped in your extra coat — the one you’d taken from her place earlier, now draped over her shoulders like it had never belonged anywhere else. it dwarfed her frame. swallowed her neck. but she didn’t adjust it. didn’t even try to pull it tighter.

your hands were red from the cold. one held a plastic fork. the other nursed a canned coffee gone lukewarm.

you glanced up when she chuckled softly — just a breath, just enough to be heard over the low whir of the heater overhead.

“ice cream in winter?” she asked, nodding to the half-melted cone near your tray.

you stared at it, then gave a small shrug. “i never really adjusted. not to seoul’s winter.”

your voice came out quieter than you meant. it didn’t sound like a statement. more like an apology to no one.

sana looked at you for a long time.

then, gently, “how long have you been here?”

you hesitated. fiddled with the tab of your drink. “two weeks.”

she blinked. “that long?”

“eunji invited me,” you said. the name caught in your throat, dry and sharp. “i didn’t really plan to stay.”

you didn’t tell her that you hadn’t even unpacked fully. you didn’t say anything more.

and sana didn’t press.

outside, a car passed slowly, headlights skimming across the snow-covered glass. inside, the air felt too still.

her knees brushed against yours under the table. not fully — just the softest graze. like breath against skin. like memory.

neither of you moved.

she turned her face slightly, watching you from beneath her lashes.

“…when are you leaving?”

you exhaled, low. the steam from your cup twisted into the air between you.

“tomorrow.”

a pause.

then a frown bloomed between her brows. not sudden — slow and reluctant, like it hurt to let it show.

she looked down. “that’s soon.”

you nodded once, then broke your gaze to stare out the window again. the world outside felt unreal. just frost and blur and noise you couldn’t name.

she was the one who broke the silence again. quietly. carefully.

“you and eunji…”

her voice trailed.

you turned your head back toward her. she wasn’t looking at you. her fingers were curled around her can of corn tea, knuckles faintly white.

you watched her.

then shook your head once. “no.”

sana blinked. her lashes trembled, catching the light.

“the day at jyp…” she started, voice unsure. “they said—”

“it was an act.” your voice was low, rougher than before. “she didn’t want to look bad in front of staff. so i… i went along with it.”

you paused. frowned deeper. your gaze dropped to your lap. your hands had curled into fists without you noticing.

“honestly,” you said, “i'm disappointed in her.”

sana stayed silent.

you rubbed your thumb against the edge of the table. your eyes didn’t lift. “i wanted to be closer to you before. not… hidden. not kept away like some—”

you didn’t finish the sentence. just let the words hang, fraying.

“i don't like it.”

the heater clicked once. the sound of the soup boiling behind the counter faded. even the workers had gone quiet, leaving the space around you dim and flickering.

then—

“did you… date anyone after i left?” sana asked.

you blinked once. didn’t answer.

your fingers twitched. your shoulders curled in slightly.

then, slowly, you nodded.

“yeah,” you said. voice stripped bare. “fuck, i did date to forget about you.”

the words fell like something you couldn’t catch in time. as soon as they left your mouth, your body recoiled — just slightly — a wince folding your brow, your gaze falling.

“sorry,” you muttered quickly. “i didn’t mean to— sorry for the curses, sana...”

you shifted an inch away, as if trying to put space between your shame and her silence.

but sana didn’t move.

you kept your head down. your voice cracked quieter now. “i tried. i really tried. to forget you. to un-feel it. to fill the space you left. even if you were there for only a week.”

your jaw tensed. “nothing worked.”

a beat passed.

her knee touched yours again, this time firmer. not an accident. and still, she didn’t move away.

your eyes lifted.

she was looking at you like she hadn’t stopped. her cheeks were flushed, but not from the cold. her breath was caught in her throat.

her voice came out like silk rubbed raw. “i didn’t date anyone.”

you stared.

“i was waiting for you,” she said.

and the air left your lungs.

like a door closing inside your chest.

your pulse stuttered. your fingers curled into your palms. the coat slipped slightly off her shoulder, but she didn’t fix it. her eyes were glassy. the corner of her lip trembled.

you didn’t speak.

you couldn’t.

the heater buzzed. your soup had gone cold. her knees were still touching yours. her fingers still clutched the cup, as if anchoring herself in the moment.

neither of you moved.

and outside, the snow kept falling. quiet. steady. like it had never stopped.

the ringtone broke first.

not loud. just a sharp little jingle against the quiet hum of the store. sana blinked, slow — like surfacing from a dream — and fished her phone from the coat pocket you’d lent her.

she glanced at the screen. didn’t hide it.

jihyo unnie~

you didn’t say anything. just lowered your gaze and gently stirred the noodles in your cup, their steam softening the tips of your lashes.

she answered.

“hello?”

her voice was gentle, a little dazed.

and then — jihyo’s voice, from the other end, sharp and unmistakable, even without speaker on. fast, worried, scolding. like a leader who’d paced her apartment three times already. “yah, sana! where did you even go? you didn’t take your coat! what were you thinking—”

you slurped your noodles quietly, trying to stay small in the background. your ears were pink.

“unnie, i’m okay,” sana said, trying to keep her tone light. “really. i’m warm now.”

“don’t lie! did you even eat anything?”

sana glanced at you. her eyes softened. her voice followed.

“…i’m eating now.”

your hand froze for a moment around your fork. your ears burned red geez, why did she look at you and not her food..

but then jihyo’s voice cut again — lower now, more teasing. the kind that pokes just enough to hit the nerve. “okay, okay. just let us know if you and your partner made up already. seriously, you two gave us a heart attack today—”

sana jolted.

you coughed — too hard — and choked on a mouthful of noodles, smacking your chest once, eyes wide.

“what—” you wheezed.

sana scrambled to hang up. “okay love you unnie bye!!” she rushed into the phone, her voice rising three pitches in panic before she jabbed the red button.

silence.

then sana slowly turned her head to you, her eyes round as moons. her cheeks glowed crimson. she tried to stammer something but failed.

you stared at her. still chewing.

then, wordlessly, you checked the time on your phone. you look flustered and slightly tried to hide your phone's wallpaper hoping she won't see. 11:03 pm.

you exhaled. stood up. started gathering the trays.

“…let’s get you home.”

she didn’t argue. just nodded, small. the coat slid down her shoulder again. you reached over without thinking and fixed it for her, brushing her collar gently back into place.

she looked away too fast.

the walk to the curb was quiet. the snow had softened again, sticking in your lashes, whispering into your collar. your hand hovered near her elbow once, just in case she slipped.

you hailed the first taxi that passed. it was old, yellowed, with soft fabric seats that smelled faintly of coffee and dust.

you opened the door for her.

not smoothly — your hand slipped a little on the handle — but you managed it. and still, you kept your eyes averted as she stepped in.

she smiled.

you followed after. sat beside her in the back, not too close, but close enough that her sleeve brushed yours.

the driver glanced back at you through the mirror. “where to?”

sana named her apartment building.

you nodded faintly.

then fished out your wallet. thumbed a few bills nervously, then leaned forward slightly toward the driver.

“…uh. two payments, sir. one for her place, one for me, and… could you wait for me while i take her up? i’ll give extra.”

your voice cracked a little near the end.

the driver blinked.

then smiled.

“such a cute couple,” he said warmly. “of course i’ll wait.”

you made a strangled noise and sat back in your seat like you’d been pushed.

sana pressed a hand over her mouth.

“ugh. cutie,” sana whispered to herself, like she couldn’t help it. the word dropped from her lips like it had been begging to be said.

her ears were red. the kind of red that crept down her neck. her knees knocked gently against yours again as the car rolled forward, but this time, she didn’t flinch or pull away.

you groaned under your breath, hiding your face.

the car moved. outside, the snow turned to lace against the windows. inside, everything was warmer now — from the heater vents, from the nearness, from her smile lingering on you.

you looked away — out the window, anywhere. the city was all smudged lights and wet reflections. your heart pounded too loud for such a quiet ride.

you didn’t speak.

you just sat there.

quiet, hearts loud, knees almost touching.

and for once — her silence didn’t hurt.

—

the taxi rolled to a stop with a gentle lurch. before the wheels had even settled, you were already pushing the door open, stepping out quickly and glancing over your shoulder just to make sure—

“careful,” you muttered under your breath, eye flicking to where sana was stepping down onto the pavement. she wobbled slightly, so you moved closer, as if your presence alone might catch her.

she didn’t fall. but she glanced up and caught you watching.

you looked away, muttering a quiet “sorry,” and turned to face the driver again.

“we’ll just be a minute,” you said, tugging your wallet from your coat pocket.

the driver, older and kind-faced, waved a hand. “it’s alright. i’ll take a smoke break. take your time, young love.”

you flushed. again. nodded quickly. “thank you. really. i won’t be long.”

you turned back to sana, who was already halfway to the door, glancing back at you with a tiny, lopsided smile. you caught up without thinking. you caught up in the lobby, breath shallow, coat still hanging awkwardly off your shoulders as the glass doors hissed shut behind you. she was already pressing the elevator button — hair slightly damp from the snow, fingers twitching from the cold.

your steps slowed beside her. not from hesitation — but from the weight in your chest.

you could feel your pulse under your palm. loud. impatient. like it couldn’t believe this was real.

the elevator pinged.

you shifted slightly, feeling the edge of her coat sleeve brush yours. her arm was warm. or maybe it was you. or maybe it was just the heat between you that wouldn’t stop rising.

she pressed the button to her floor. didn’t speak. neither did you.

but your hand didn’t leave your chest.

your heart wouldn’t let you.

the elevator climbed. you swallowed.

a soft ding.

the elevator opened.

you stepped out with her. the hallway was dimly lit, carpet soft beneath your shoes, the kind of silence that echoed.

when she opened her door, the scent hit you first — faint jasmine and something warmer underneath, something lived-in. the place was tidy but full. plush furniture, warm wood, golden light from standing lamps. not overly fancy. but not cold either.

like her.

warmth.

the apartment greeted you like a memory: mismatched slippers by the door. it was warmer than you remembered. more alive. more hers.

you looked around, slower this time. eyes tracing the edge of her countertops, the curve of the furniture. the spill of light from the kitchen. your coat still hung on her shoulders, loose and oversized, like it belonged there.

“you can keep the coat,” you said, suddenly — before you could think. “i mean. it suits you.”

she raised an eyebrow. “it’s yours.”

“still looks better on you.”

a beat passed — then she looked away, flustered. her cheeks pink again.

you stepped further in. something dark on the floor caught your eye — a towel. stained faintly with blood. your breath hitched, but you bent down quietly, lifting it by the corners like it was fragile. you carried it to the kitchen sink and ran water over it, gently squeezing out the worst of it.

“you didn’t have to,” she said softly behind you.

"it's my mess. and i wanted to."

you turned. she was still standing in the same place, hands in your coat pockets, watching you with a gaze that melted like candlewax. slow, fond. like she was memorizing something.

you cleared your throat.

but she was watching you.

smiling.

you cleared your throat. dropped your gaze. “sorry, i didn’t say this earlier, but… your apartment’s really pretty.”

“mm.” she turned, flicking on a lamp near the window. it bathed her face in warm amber. “it’s big, huh?”

you nodded, still glancing around. your fingers brushed the back of a chair as you passed. “yeah. i didn’t notice these doors before either. they’re—huge.”

“they’re for the future,” she said, casually.

you blinked. turned back. “huh? like… storage?”

she smirked. not even trying to hide it. “no. for when i have a family.”

your breath caught.

you looked at her.

she was still smirking. still smug. eyes sharp with amusement.

“…not a house?” you asked, dumbly.

and her grin widened like the moon. “oh? so you want a house?”

you opened your mouth. closed it. opened it again. your face flushed hot. too fast.

“n-no,” you stammered, looking at the door, the wall, anything that wasn’t her. “i mean yes—i mean—i should go, the taxi guy’s waiting, he probably—”

“ah,” she said, still grinning, still holding back a laugh. “didn’t mean to scare you.”

“you didn’t,” you muttered.

you stepped back, nearly tripping over the shoe rack. she laughed again. then — quieter, this time — she said, “will you be online later?”

you paused.

then nodded. “if you want me to text, i will.”

she didn’t answer right away. just nodded slowly, her gaze dipping to the floor. her fingers brushed the edge of your coat sleeve again — once, almost absentminded — before stepping back.

you didn’t look back when you left. couldn’t.

your heart was too full.

you opened the taxi door and stepped in. the car was warm, still humming softly with the radio. the driver looked up in the rearview mirror and smiled.

“she’s a beautiful woman,” he said, pulling gently away from the curb.

you looked down at your hands. they were shaking. you pressed them together.

“…yeah,” you whispered. “overbearing. complicated. loud sometimes.”

you smiled.

“but i like it..”

i like her.

the driver didn’t reply.

but he smiled to himself.

and when the city lights passed by again — golden halos, bright snow falling, seoul glowing like something alive — you finally felt it in your bones.

this place didn’t feel like a memory anymore.

for the first time, it felt like it fit. like it filled something in you.

like it wasn’t just seoul.

it was hers.

and maybe — slowly, finally — it was yours too.

—---

the taxi slowed in front of your building.

you hadn’t said much after that last glance through the window. hadn’t even looked at the driver until now. the soft warmth in your chest was starting to settle, and underneath it — colder, sharper — was the memory of why you left the apartment in the first place.

you nodded, quietly. “thanks.” you gave him the extra money like you promised.

he gave you a knowing smile, then tapped the steering wheel. “take care, kid.”

you stepped out into the dim entry lights. the door buzzed open. your shoes echoed on the tiled floor. each step up the stairwell felt heavier than the last.

and when you opened the door to her apartment — she was already there.

“where the hell were you?”

eunji.

she was standing barefoot in the hallway, sleeves pushed up, eyes frantic and glistening. the moment she saw you, she rushed forward, her arms wrapping tight around your shoulders.

you didn’t move.

“you ran off,” she whispered against your shoulder. “you didn’t answer. i didn’t know where—”

“i saw her.”

you felt her body tense.

you pulled back just enough to look at her.

“i met sana,” you said again, quieter this time. “outside. I helped her with something..”

eunji’s eyes flickered. her arms dropped.

she stepped back. “what did you do?”

the way she said it — not what happened, but what did you do — stung.

your frown deepened. “why does it sound like i’m in the wrong?”

“i didn’t say that,” she muttered.

you stared at her. and then, finally, you said it.

“why did you keep her away from me?”

she flinched.

“i—” her mouth opened, then closed. her eyes darted. “i didn’t.”

you shook your head, once, slowly. “eunji.”

she still didn’t meet your eyes.

“you’ve been lying. you know how i can tell?” your voice cracked slightly. “i know you since college, eunji. i already memorized everything about you.”

a long silence stretched between you.

then, like something broke loose, her voice came out sharp and trembling.

“what was i supposed to do?” she said. “what if she broke you? i thought you’d forget. i thought if i didn’t say anything, you’d finally—” 

she paused. her jaw clenched.

“—you’d finally see me.”

your breath caught.

her hands were curled into fists at her sides.

“do you know what it felt like?” she said, voice lowering. “watching you fall in love over someone who will leave you? and every time you picked yourself up, you never looked at me. not really. even when i stayed. even when i held you through it all first.”

you didn’t know what to say.

your hands dropped uselessly to your sides. your heart was pounding again, for a very different reason now.

“i loved you,” she whispered. “i—i love you. i’ve been here this whole time, and you never even—i just wanted you to see me.”

her voice broke on the last word.

the apartment was so quiet you could hear the low hum of the refrigerator, the soft hiss of the radiator.

you finally looked up at her.

your voice, when it came, was hoarse. tired.

“…i’m sorry.”

her face crumpled.

you stepped forward, slowly. not to hug her — but to be near, to not leave her alone in this.

“i’m sorry, eunji. you didn’t deserve to wait for someone who couldn’t give you what you wanted.” your voice trembled. “but i still love her. i tried to stop. i did.”

you swallowed.

“but i saw her again, and it’s like—nothing ever left. it’s still her.”

she shook her head, tears now slipping past her lashes, silent and fast.

“i didn’t mean to hurt you,” you added, soft. “but lying to me… taking that choice away from me… that wasn’t fair either.”

eunji’s shoulders shook once — a breath, a sob, maybe both.

and for a long time, neither of you spoke.

just two people, standing in the dim hallway of a too-quiet apartment. one full of regret, the other full of a love that still belonged to someone else.

—-

you zipped your suitcase halfway, then paused.

your arms rested on the edge. your breath hung low in your chest.

the apartment was dim, lit only by the desk lamp in the corner, where its faint yellow glow hit the open drawers, the scattered socks, the half-packed shirts folded too neatly for how tired you were. your shadow shifted as you sat back on your heels, thumb pressed to your ribs like it could slow your heartbeat down.

it had been hours since eunji closed her door behind her.

you didn’t sleep. you couldn’t. not after everything. not with the silence so loud it pressed behind your eyes like a weight.

you had said sorry. over and over. you meant it.

she had cried. she hadn’t yelled, even when she could have. she just listened. and when you finally hugged her goodnight, her fingers trembled against your back. she hadn’t said goodbye. just nodded.

you knew what that meant.

it wouldn’t be the same anymore. and maybe that was fair.

but still, your heart ached.

you stared down at your phone for a long moment. then, finally, you typed.

hey... just wanted to say i talked to eunji tonight.

you hovered. then added:

she told me she liked me. that’s why she never told me about you.

you hesitated — then hit send.

the response came slowly. a full minute passed. then two.

finally, sana replied:

oh...

then:

i didn’t know that. that must’ve been hard for her. and for you.

you pressed your lips together.

then, after another pause, you typed:

i felt sad for her. but i told her she deserves someone who’ll wait for her the way she waited for me. and... i told her i’m sorry. and that i want to learn to love someone else now.

your heart stammered. you stared at the message.

then, softer, you added:

i told her i want to learn to love you.

this time, sana didn’t respond for a while.

meanwhile sana's tired eyes were fluttering open, her breath catching as she sat up, hair mussed, blanket slipping down her shoulder.

your phone vibrated.

you’re serious?

you smiled, fingers warm now.

yeah. if you’re still okay with that.

sana’s reply came faster this time.

are you kidding i’m smiling so hard i look stupid rn

then, a minute later:

let’s start tomorrow pick me up at 10?

you stared at the screen, heart suddenly too full for your chest.

you typed back:

okay. 10. i’ll see you tomorrow.

you didn’t say goodnight. didn’t need to.

the lamp buzzed faintly above you. outside, the city was quiet.

and for the first time since you arrived in seoul — maybe for the first time in years — you finally smiled without doubt.

—-

you knock twice, then once more, softer. the morning's quiet. the hallway still carries a hush from the night. when the door clicks open, it’s like the whole world exhales — and standing there is sana, wearing a long-sleeved blue polo with thin white stripes tucked loosely into light jeans.

you blink. then laugh under your breath.

“you’re kidding,” you say, eyes dragging down her outfit. “we match.”

she stares at you for a second, then bursts into a small laugh — pink already blooming high on her cheeks. “no way.”

you step back a little to show her the full view: same soft denim, same sky-blue shade, sleeves rolled once at the forearm. same understated attempt to look casual. it’s like the universe couldn’t help itself.

“just like hawaii,” you murmur, and it must be the way your voice drops that makes her quiet for a moment, tucking her lip between her teeth before smiling again.

“you ready?” she asks, tilting her head.

you nod, and she grabs her keys. neither of you say it, but the walk is slow. slower than usual. like your feet are afraid of where the sidewalk ends.

the café is quiet this early. just the barista humming, some jazz whispering through ceiling speakers. you order a java chip, and sana asks for an iced americano. the contrast makes you grin.

“haven’t changed at all.”

she sips from her straw with a smirk. “i miss the way you made the americano.."

you find a small table by the window. the street’s bright with summer, the light scattering over her hair, her sleeves, the way she holds her cup with both hands like it anchors her. there’s a silence, but it’s not heavy. it’s careful. a breath between pages.

“i keep thinking,” you start, “that it’s been three years. but this feels like yesterday.”

sana looks up, a little surprised. then: “yeah.”

you stare down at the melted whip of your drink. “like hawaii never ended. like i blinked and suddenly you’re here again.”

“i thought it’d be awkward,” she says quietly. “but it wasn’t. with you, it just… never is.”

you nod, slow. and then, almost as an afterthought, you add, “my flight’s at nine tonight.”

a pause. she doesn’t look at you when she says it.

“i know.”

your gaze lifts. “you know?”

her fingers tighten around her cup. “i mean… nothing. doesn’t matter.”

you don’t press. you want to — your chest twists at the way she shifts her eyes — but something in you says not now. not when the minutes are ticking toward evening. not when this, too, is a kind of goodbye.

after the last sip, you walk her home again. she walks close this time. not quite brushing your arm, but not far.

at her door, she hesitates.

“thanks for today,” she says, and you try not to memorize the way her hair falls into her face.

“yeah,” you smile. “it was perfect.”

you walk away before you can say anything else.

you get home by seven. your suitcase is already by the door. eunji’s waiting with your passport and keys, quiet but steady.

in the taxi, neither of you talk much.

when you reach the airport, she steps out first.

“i’m sorry,” she says again, voice thinner than usual.

you hug her tight, the way you used to when you didn’t know what was coming next.

“you’ll be okay,” you whisper. “you’ll meet someone who waits back.”

“you better text me when you land,” she mutters.

“you better get some sleep.”

you smile. she does too, a small one, then watches you go.

it’s 8:45 pm when you text sana.

i’m here now. airport’s loud. thanks again for earlier. it meant a lot.

there’s no reply. you check again at 8:50. then 8:57.

you sit near your gate, hoodie pulled up, watching people come and go. no notification.

at 9:10, they call final boarding.

you sigh, shoulders heavy, and stand. your feet drag a little.

your phone buzzes once, but it’s a flight update.

you board slowly. last one in line.

someone behind you shouts — a voice, high and clear, feminine.

“wait—!”

you half-turn, but your headphones are in. just another late passenger, probably. you don’t look back.

when the wheels lift, seoul disappears in blue and blur. your phone stays dark.

but your heart — your heart feels full.

just like hawaii.

and this time, you don’t feel like you’re leaving something unfinished.

but even if the timing cracked and shifted — you were lucky enough to find her again.

–-

“i missed you, hawaii, you goddamn—!”

your voice cracks mid-shout as the wind knocks you sideways and the surfboard flies clean out under you. saltwater slams into your face. keoni’s cackling in the distance, the kind of laugh that could peel paint off walls. “yo, language! the ocean hears you!”

you burst up from the water, slick hair clinging to your forehead, arms raised. “i don’t care, keoni! hawaii missed me too!”

keoni rides past with a crooked grin, cutting the waves like he owns them. “hawaii missed you, sure — but not your godawful form.”

you flip him off with both hands, still grinning. your whole body aches from the burn of salt and sun and joy. you haven’t laughed this hard in weeks. your skin is hot, stretched tight across your bones. you're soaked in everything good.

“bite me!” you yelled back, grinning hard, your chest aching with something bright and stupid and real.

you hadn’t laughed like this in weeks.

not since seoul. not since—

you reached the shore, board under your arm, water dripping off your sleeves. and for a moment, as the sun burned high above and the wind kissed your skin, it almost felt like none of it happened. like you imagined her, the airports, the flower, everything.

because the truth was... you never texted sana again.

after the airport. after the flight. you said nothing.

not because you didn’t want to.

and now, with your feet digging into warm sand and your heart still stubborn in your chest, you let it all go — tipped your head back, shouted to the sky:

“i missed you, hawaii!”

and that’s when you heard her laugh.

not in your head.

real.

you turned, squinting into the sun.

and there she was.

barefoot in the sand, wearing a soft white beach dress that clung lightly to her frame. the breeze tugged at the hem. her hair was loose, glowing gold at the ends. she had something behind her back.

and her smile —

oh.

your chest cracked wide open.

she was here.

and now you know why you never texted her back.

because she was already beside you.

you blink water from your lashes. her hair’s longer. cheeks pinked up from the sun. she doesn’t move — not until you’re almost close enough to touch.

“hi, ten out of ten flips earlier by the way.” she says, soft rating your flips when you were surfboarding, as if the day hadn't already shouted it in every way.

you don’t answer at first. you just step forward, dripping and breathless and still stunned, and you hold something out to her — a tiny pink flower, fragile in your fingers.

“come here,” you murmur.

she tilts her head.

you step closer, push back her hair, and gently tuck the flower behind her left ear.

she blinks. her breath catches.

she doesn't say anything. she doesn't need to. she turns, just slightly, lifting her phone. sunlight spills over the shoreline. she snaps a photo — just her, the ocean behind, the flower bright against her hair.

then she posts it.

you both sit down after that, side by side in the sand, knees almost touching. keoni’s still out there, flipping over waves like he’s auditioning for a commercial. you whistle once and he throws you a salute.

your phone buzzes.

m.by__sana just posted a photo.

you tap it. you like it. you’re the first one.

sana turns her head slowly. "you liked it?"

"hell yeah, i liked it. first like. i win."

she chuckles, opening her own phone. the screen lights up with chaos.

chaeyoung: UNNIE YOU SAID YOU WERE GOING ON A DATE NOT INTERNATIONAL ESCAPE??? nayeon: why is your dress WHITE WHAT ARE WE MISSING jihyo: we let you skip practice for a date WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN ANOTHER COUNTRY? jeongyeon: send us the coordinates rn dahyun: marry them or don’t come back. tzuyu: pretty unnie~ mina: just sends a GIF of a slow clap momo: yah, i spat out my ramen when i saw the post..

sana rolls her eyes, locks her phone, and tosses it onto her towel.

“not gonna answer?” you ask.

she shrugs, gaze shifting to the sunset. “maybe later.”

you look at her then. how the orange and pink light reflects in her eyes. how the flower’s still tucked behind her ear. how she hasn’t stopped smiling since she arrived.

she catches you staring. lifts a brow.

“what?”

“nothing,” you murmur. “it’s just—”

you gesture at the sky, the waves, her, all of it.

“it’s beautiful.”

she leans her head on your shoulder, warm and real and solid beside you.

“yeah,” she whispers. “it is.”

and this time, no one was leaving.  no one was late. no one was missing the moment.

because she came.

and this was the ending you both chose.

“cases piled up,” i replied, dropping my briefcase by the couch. “long day.”

mina turned then, her gaze falling on the bouquet in my hands. the flowers weren’t anything extravagant—a modest mix of daisies and lilies i’d grabbed on a whim during the walk back. her lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across her face before she quickly schooled her expression.

“those are for me?” she asked, though the answer was obvious.

i nodded, holding them out. “figured it’s been a while since i brought something home for you.”

her fingers brushed mine as she took the bouquet, and for a moment, she just stared at them. then, without warning, she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against my chest.

“you didn’t have to,” she murmured, her voice muffled against the fabric of my shirt.

“i wanted to,” i said, unsure of what else to offer. the weight of her leaning into me was unfamiliar but not unwelcome. “mina, are you okay?”

she pulled back slightly, her hands still clutching the bouquet. “i’m fine,” she said, though her smile was tight around the edges. “just... missed you, that’s all.”

mina’s sudden clinginess didn’t stop there. after setting the flowers in a vase on the counter, she guided me to the bedroom with an almost frantic determination, her hands tugging at my coat and loosening my tie before i could protest.

“you’re exhausted,” she said, her fingers brushing against the crease in my shirt as she unbuttoned the top few buttons. “you need to rest.”

“mina, i can handle myself,” i said, though my protests lacked any real conviction. the warmth of her touch, the softness in her gaze—it all felt too rare to push away.

“i know you can,” she replied, her lips curving into a faint smile. “but let me take care of you for once.”

and she did.

she pulled me down onto the edge of the bed, her hands steady as she slipped off my shoes and set them neatly by the door. when i leaned back against the pillows, she draped a blanket over me, tucking it around my shoulders like i was something fragile.

“stay here,” she said, her tone firm yet gentle. “i’ll bring you some tea.”

watching her move around the room, the usual precision in her steps replaced with a kind of nervous energy, i couldn’t help but feel like something was off. mina wasn’t like this—at least, not normally.

but when she returned with a steaming mug of tea and sat beside me, her fingers idly smoothing out the wrinkles in my sleeve, i chose not to press her. instead, i let myself sink into the quiet, the weight of her presence grounding me in a way i didn’t realize i needed.

“thank you,” i said softly, my voice breaking the silence.

mina’s gaze met mine, her eyes darker than usual but filled with something i couldn’t quite place. “you don’t have to thank me,” she said, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from my forehead. “you just need to let me be here for you.”

and for once, i did. -----

the bedroom was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rustle of fabric as i shifted in my sleep. the lamp on mina’s side of the bed cast a faint, warm glow over the room.

mina sat upright, her back resting against the headboard. her gaze flickered to the bouquet on the nightstand for a moment, then back to me. i was turned away, my breathing slow and steady, lost in the depths of sleep.

her fingers toyed with the hem of her silk robe, the movement idle but unsteady. her lips parted slightly, as though she wanted to speak, but the words caught in her throat.

after a moment, she leaned forward, carefully pulling the blanket up over my shoulder. her hand lingered, her fingertips barely brushing the fabric before she withdrew.

“i’m sorry,” she whispered, almost to herself, her voice barely audible over the quiet.

she glanced at me one last time, her expression unreadable but heavy with emotions she couldn’t name. leaning down, she pressed a feather-light kiss to my temple, her lips lingering there for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

“goodnight,” she whispered, her voice barely audible

-----

the knock on the door was sharp and impatient. before i could even call out, the door swung open, and there she was. mina.

i barely looked up from the case file in my hands, but the tension in the air was hard to miss. the assistant slipped out past her with a hurried goodbye, mina’s sharp gaze not even sparing them a glance as they disappeared down the hall.

"this is what keeps you so busy?" she said, her tone clipped as she stepped inside.

i leaned back in my chair, taking her in. "mina. i wasn’t expecting you."

"clearly," she replied, her eyes scanning the room with a critical edge. her gaze landed on the assistant’s desk through the glass partition, and her lips curved into a faint scowl. "your assistant seems... overly familiar."

i blinked. "she's just doing her job."

"too familiar," she muttered, crossing her arms.

a laugh escaped me before i could stop it. "are you seriously jealous right now?"

mina’s eyes narrowed, and she ignored the question. instead, she turned on her heel and glanced at the space in front of my desk. her frown deepened.

"no wedding photo," she said sharply, her voice loud enough to carry.

"what?" i asked, caught off guard.

she waved a hand dismissively toward the empty spot. "you don’t have a wedding picture here. what kind of message does that send to your clients?"

"that i don’t mix personal life with work?" i offered, half-laughing.

mina didn’t laugh. instead, she marched to the door, opened it, and gestured for the assistant to come back in.

the assistant hesitated at the threshold, glancing between us. "yes, ma’am?"

"i need you to get a framed wedding photo for the desk. something elegant. nothing cheap," mina ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

the assistant blinked, clearly startled, but nodded. "right away."

"thank you," mina said curtly before turning back to me.

i sighed, leaning back into my chair. "was that really necessary?"

"absolutely," she said, stepping toward the desk and scanning my decorations with a critical eye. without hesitation, she picked up a small figurine and placed it to the side. "this doesn’t belong here."

"are you redecorating my office now?"

"just making it presentable," she replied, straightening a stack of papers as though she owned the place.

i couldn’t help but smile a little, glancing back at my file. "you’re acting like a proud partner, you know."

mina paused for a fraction of a second, then tilted her head slightly. "someone has to make sure you remember you’re married."

"uh-huh," i murmured, flipping a page in the file.

"by the way," she added, her tone casual but pointed, "we have dinner with my family tomorrow night. minatozaki and hirai will be there too."

my pen stilled on the paper.

mina’s eyes flicked to me, her lips curling into something that resembled a smirk. "hirai’s been asking about you. she’s too friendly, don’t you think? always smiling like that."

the jab was subtle but unmistakable.

"i think hirai’s just being polite," i replied evenly, keeping my focus on the case notes.

mina let out a soft, humorless laugh, stepping closer to the desk. "polite, sure. just make sure she remembers you’re married, too."

before i could respond, she leaned down, one hand bracing against the desk.

"mina, she's your frie—" i started, but her lips were already on mine.

the kiss was unexpected, deliberate, and charged. her perfume and the soft press of her lips were all i could focus on, and for a moment, everything else fell away.

when she pulled back, her gaze met mine, cool and unreadable. "don’t stay too late," she said, straightening up and smoothing her coat.

as she walked toward the door, she glanced back at the desk one last time. "oh, and get rid of that ugly figurine," she added before leaving.

i stared after her, still processing the whirlwind of her presence. the assistant returned with the framed photo moments later, looking just as bewildered as i felt.

"she’s something," they muttered under their breath, setting the photo down on my desk.

i couldn’t disagree

-----

the dining room was bathed in warm golden light, every detail exuding sophistication. the table stretched out before us, laden with an array of delicately prepared dishes. mina’s father sat at the head, his sharp eyes observing everyone with the kind of authority that only came with decades of commanding respect.

mina sat to my right, poised and elegant as ever, her hand resting lightly on my arm. she’d been unusually attentive all evening, her touches lingering, her voice softer than usual when she spoke to me. it was enough to make me glance at her more than once, wondering what had prompted this shift.

“do try the salmon,” she said, her voice low enough to reach only me. “i think you’ll like it.” before i could respond, she took my fork and delicately cut a piece, holding it up to my lips.

heat rose to my face as i leaned in, biting into the offered piece. her eyes never left mine, her lips curving slightly in satisfaction when i nodded in approval. across the table, sana’s bright gaze flickered toward us, her expression unreadable as she continued chatting politely with mina’s father.

“mina, you’re being awfully doting tonight,” momo teased, her voice carrying just enough amusement to draw the attention of the table.

mina’s lips twitched. “is that a problem?” she replied smoothly, not missing a beat. she turned her attention back to me, her hands reaching up to adjust my tie. “there. perfect.”

momo laughed, leaning back in her chair. “you two make such a lovely pair. don’t you think so, sir?” she addressed mina’s father directly, her playful tone earning a chuckle from him.

“a fine pair indeed,” mina’s father agreed, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. “and now that you’re settled, it’s time to start thinking about an heir, isn’t it?”

the question hung in the air, and i felt my heart sink slightly. i opened my mouth to deflect, to explain that it was far too soon for such discussions, but mina’s voice cut through before i could speak.

“we’re thinking about it,” she said, her tone as calm and composed as ever. her hand slid over mine under the table, squeezing it gently as she spoke.

my head snapped toward her, and i nearly choked on the sip of wine i’d just taken. coughing lightly, i set the glass down, earning a laugh from momo, who patted me on the back. “you’re handling this wonderfully,” she said, her grin wide. “you’ll fit right in with the family in no time.”

“if you say so,” i murmured, still recovering from mina’s unexpected declaration.

sana’s polite conversation with mina’s father didn’t waver, though her eyes occasionally darted toward us. there was a sharpness to her gaze, though her tone remained sweet, each word perfectly measured.

mina’s father seemed pleased, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied nod. “good, good. this family has always valued its legacy, and i’m glad to see the two of you taking it seriously.”

mina smiled politely, her expression betraying nothing, though her grip on my hand didn’t loosen. “we understand the importance, father,” she said smoothly.

i stayed quiet, unsure of what to say. the evening passed in a blur of polite conversation and subtle power plays. mina never let go of my hand, her attentiveness bordering on possessiveness as she continued to feed me small bites of food and brush imaginary crumbs from my sleeve.

as we finally stepped out into the cool night air, i turned to her, my voice low. “what was that all about?”

mina’s lips curved into a small smile, her eyes meeting mine. “simply playing my part,” she said. “you’ll get used to it.”

but as we walked toward the waiting car, her fingers intertwined with mine, i couldn’t help but wonder just how much of tonight had been an act—and how much had been real. -----

your office had become a space where work and personal life blurred, though it leaned heavily toward the latter, thanks to mina. it wasn’t just the framed photos of her from galas or your wedding portrait—it was the little touches she added whenever she visited. today, she was busying herself with rearranging a vase of fresh flowers she’d brought and straightening the already perfectly aligned frames on the wall.

“you work too much,” she mused, glancing over her shoulder at you as you poured over a stack of files.

“comes with the territory,” you replied, not looking up as you jotted down notes.

she hummed in response, stepping back to admire the newest addition she’d hung—a small framed photo of the two of you at a recent charity event. “there. now it’s perfect.”

you finally glanced up, catching the satisfied smile on her lips as she admired her handiwork. “you’re turning my office into a shrine,” you teased lightly, setting your pen down.

“oh, please. i’m just adding some warmth,” she countered, walking toward your desk.

before you could respond, she leaned against the desk, her gaze dropping to the files scattered across its surface. “what case is keeping you so busy?”

“just a pro-bono,” you admitted. “nothing I can’t handle, though.”

she tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. “you always say that. but you look exhausted.”

“comes with the job,” you said again, shrugging.

she shook her head, brushing off your nonchalance. her fingers reached out, adjusting your tie with the same care she’d given the frames. “you really need to take better care of yourself.”

“i try,” you murmured, distracted by how close she was.

her touch light but deliberate. she worked slowly, smoothing the fabric and adjusting it with precision. it wasn’t just the tie she was straightening—it felt like she was searching for something in the small, intimate act.

“there,” she said softly, though her hands lingered on your chest.

“thanks,” you muttered, clearing your throat.

mina tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips as her fingers toyed with the fabric. “can i ask you something?”

“sure,” you said, though the sudden tension in the air made your response feel heavier.

“were you... experienced before we got married?” she asked, her tone light but her gaze intent.

you blinked at her, caught off guard. “experienced?”

she arched an elegant brow, her expression amused. “did you ever have a ex before? someone you were close to?”

you hesitated for a moment before answering. “yeah, i did.”

mina stilled, her posture shifting subtly. there was something sharper in her gaze now, a quiet intensity that made your breath hitch. “what was their name?”

her voice was calm, almost too calm, and the air between you felt suddenly charged.

“it’s not important,” you said quickly, trying to downplay it.

“humor me,” she pressed, her tone sweet but her expression anything but.

you swallowed hard, stumbling over your words. “uh... their name was—look, it doesn’t matter. i haven’t thought about them in years.”

her fingers, still resting on your tie, tightened slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to make you acutely aware of her presence. “good,” she said, her lips curving into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “because I don’t like sharing.”

“mina…” you started, but the words died in your throat as she tugged lightly on your tie, pulling you just a fraction closer.

“don’t worry,” she said, her lips curving into a faint smile that was anything but reassuring. “you don’t have to think about them anymore. they’re irrelevant now, aren’t they?”

you nodded quickly, your pulse quickening. “yes, completely irrelevant. i don’t even think about them, mina. i swear.”

she studied you for a moment longer, her expression unreadable. then, as if satisfied with your response, she let go of your tie and smoothed it down against your chest.

she turned to leave, but not before glancing back over her shoulder. “oh, and darling?”

“y-yeah?” you stammered.

her eyes glinted with something dangerously playful. “if they ever do come back, i hope they know how to run. fast.”

she straightened, smoothing the front of her dress as if the conversation had never happened. but as she walked toward the door, she glanced back over her shoulder, her eyes glinting with something both possessive and tender.

“and maybe tell your secretary to stop bringing you coffee,” she added with a faint smirk. “that’s my job now.” -----

the bedroom was quiet, save for the faint tapping of your fingers on the laptop keyboard. the dim light cast a warm glow over the space, highlighting the framed photos on the dresser—wedding moments, galas, and memories that mina insisted deserved a place here.

the sound of the bathroom door creaking open made you glance up. mina stepped out, her damp hair sticking to her neck, her silk robe tied loosely around her waist. the scent of lavender and something distinctly her wafted over as she moved to your side.

“still working?” she asked, her voice smooth but with a teasing edge.

“just finishing up,” you replied, your focus faltering as she leaned closer.

mina’s eyes flicked to the screen, then back to you, a slight smirk tugging at her lips. “you know, for someone who’s supposed to be mine, you spend an awful lot of time with that thing.”

you chuckled nervously, closing the laptop. “it’s not like that.”

“hmm,” she hummed, sliding onto the bed beside you. her hand reached out, brushing lightly against your silk pajama—the one she’d insisted you wear earlier.

she tilted her head, her gaze sharp yet playful. “you’re always so composed,” she said, her voice dropping lower. “it makes me wonder… just how experienced are you, really?”

you blinked, caught off guard. “experienced? mina—”

“oh, don’t get shy now,” she interrupted, leaning in. her lips grazed the shell of your ear as she whispered, “tell me… have you ever had anyone who could handle you? who could keep up?”

heat rose to your face, and you cleared your throat. “mina, I don’t think—”

she pulled back just enough to lock eyes with you, a mischievous glint in her gaze. “you don’t think what? that I can?”

before you could respond, her fingers trailed down the buttons of your silk satin shirt, undoing one, then another, her touch deliberate and slow. “you know,” she said, her tone shifting, her words coming out a little sharper, “I’ve been patient. so damn patient. but tonight…”

her hand splayed over your chest as she pushed you back against the headboard, her robe slipping slightly to reveal more of her smooth, bare skin.

“tonight, you’re not working,” she said firmly, her lips brushing against yours before she bit down lightly, teasingly. “you’re mine.”

“mina…” you managed to whisper, your voice shaky.

“no,” she said, her eyes narrowing slightly, her lips curling into something darker, more daring. “call me baby.”

“baby,” you breathed out, and the satisfaction in her gaze was instant.

“good,” she purred, her hand trailing lower, nails grazing lightly against your skin. “because I’m done pretending I don’t fucking want you all the time. so stop acting like you have a choice.”

her words, low and coarse, sent a shiver down your spine. she straddled you, her robe falling open just enough to leave little to the imagination.

“you’ll think about that heir now, won’t you?” she asked, her lips ghosting over your jaw before moving to your neck.

“mina…”

“baby,” she corrected, her voice husky, her movements bold. “say it again.”