take me back to 5:53

✦ • ─── AUGUST 30, 2026. 8 AM

Your phone buzzed against the cardboard boxes beside your bed, rattling your empty glass of water and shocking you awake. At first, you didn’t understand where the noise had come from and stared at your ceiling, disoriented.

You had fallen into such a heavy sleep last night that you hadn’t even heard Violet coming in through the cracked window. Hadn’t texted Yeonjun that she was here.

Shit, you didn’t even know if she was here.

Bleary-eyed, you sat up and squinted through the narrow gap in your bedroom door. The flat was so quiet that it made your stomach knot.

Then something white moved past the leaves of your monstera.

Your tension eased. You grabbed your phone.

REINA [8 AM] you up? coming over in 30 if yes

Without thinking, you typed back:

YOU [8:03 AM] yes ok

Then, before your mind properly caught up, you switched to another chat to inform Yeonjun about Violet and quickly locked your phone again.

There was a faint smell of rain in the flat. You shut the window and went into the kitchen.

Violet meowed the moment she saw you stumbling in, and kept meowing until you realised to open the curtains for her. It was another overcast day, but the faint light still hurt your eyes.

It was only as you splashed cold water over your face that it struck you how bizarre it was for Reina to come over before ten on a Sunday.

By the time the intercom buzzed, you’d already convinced yourself that something awful had happened. You analysed her muffled it’s me, let me in, looking for signs of distress: a trembling voice, perhaps a stifled sob.

Nothing.

You were still confused when you opened the door.

Reina looked the same as always, albeit slightly tired, her long hair damp from the drizzle. Immediately, she began to complain about the trip upstairs.

“Jesus,” she wheezed, shoving a white bakery box into your hands and pulling you into a hug. “How does this building pass inspection? This lift is pre-war. And the stairs have the incline of a fucking ladder.”

You laughed into her shoulder. “You’re just very small.”

“So, that’s discrimination, then. There should be someone we can call about—oh.” You felt her stiffen just before she pulled away. “There’s a cat here.”

You turned.

Violet sat politely on the armrest of the sofa, staring at Reina with wide, cautious eyes.

“Yeah,” you said, setting the bakery box on the kitchen island. “That’s Violet.”

You reached for the cupboard above the sink and pulled down two mugs.

Behind you, Reina stayed silent, eyes locked on the cat. “Yeonjun’s Violet?”

The back of your neck prickled.

“Yes,” you said, keeping your tone even. “She kept showing up here every morning, so we decided to just let her stay.”

Reina frowned as she shrugged off her damp raincoat and draped it over the back of the sofa. Violet leaned in to give it a sniff.

“You decided,” she repeated. You pretended to be deeply engrossed in picking out coffee capsules. “Together?”

“Well, yes,” you said. “It’s his cat.”

“Right. It’s his cat. Spending the day in your flat.” She parted her lips, suddenly amused. “Hey—that rhymed. But also, what the fuck?”

“It—okay, listen.” You shoved a capsule into the machine. “Did something happen? I mean, I love having you here, obviously, but it’s barely nine in the morning.”

“Oh.” She climbed onto a stool at the kitchen island, tucking one leg underneath herself. “Well, how about you tell me what happened? Bin and I left last night and missed all the entertainment, apparently.”

Something bitter twisted in your stomach. “You didn’t miss anything.”

“No?” She grinned. “So, what did you do after we left?”

“I went home.”

“Mhmm. And who did you go with?”

You leaned back against the cupboards, palms pressing into the cold marble on either side of you.

“We live in the same building,” you said.

Reina tapped her fingers rhythmically against the countertop. “Right. And you’re co-parenting a cat.”

“We’re not—okay, we’re not co-parenting. It’s just a cat, Rei.”

“I’ve got nothing against the cat,” she said, though she shot Violet another wary look. Under normal circumstances, Reina adored cats. Under these circumstances, however, she did not trust them. “It’s just that, um—I was joking before, about feeling like we were back in grad school. But are we actually back? Because between the party and this, it’s very—”

“We’re not back,” you said.

Thankfully, the coffee machine clicked off before Reina could say anything else. You handed her the blue mug with a red heart at the bottom, the foam trembling slightly on the surface, then turned back to make your own.

“He lives downstairs,” you said. “And his cat keeps coming up through the fire escape. It made more sense to leave her here instead of texting him every five minutes.”

“Oh,” Reina said lightly. “So, you’re texting, too.”

You winced. “Well, the cat keeps showing up. I can’t exactly throw her out.”

“Mhmm. Just like you can’t throw Yeonjun out, yeah? Funny how that works.”

You pressed your tongue against the inside of your cheek.

“Well,” you said, “he’s not here now, is he?”

“Not yet, I guess,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. It burned down her throat exactly the way she liked it. “Has he been over, then?”

“Only to pick up the cat.”

It felt unpleasant, knowing that it was technically true, but still skipped over the peach cobbler and the lobby and the argument in the stairwell and the smoking area outside the restaurant.

Shit, you might as well have been back in grad school.

“And,” Reina continued, watching you pick up your red mug, “have you been over to his place?”

You lingered with your back to her for a second longer, fingers curled around the mug even as the ceramic burned your palms.

“I, uh.” You cleared your throat. “Once.”

“Oh, once.” Reina set the mug down on the countertop a touch too hard. “That’s interesting.”

“To help with a fern,” you added, turning around. “That’s it.”

“To—” She frowned. “To help with a what?”

You sat down opposite her and opened the box she’d brought. There were four cupcakes inside, with swirls of chocolate and vanilla frosting on top. The flat filled with the scent of warm sugar.

“He got a plant,” you explained.

“And he needed your help with it?”

“To find where to put it.”

“Where to—oh.” She picked up a vanilla cupcake from the box. “Is he four years old?”

Your lips twitched. “S’just a fern.”

“Right.”

Outside, the rain thickened, pattering against the windows. The whole flat dimmed, as though you’d been plunged underwater.

Violet, bothered by the noise, hopped off the sofa and trotted towards the bathroom. Bless her. She was probably going to inspect your washing machine; it appeared to have started leaking again. Either that, or you’d spilt water there last night after getting home.

You tried not to remember.

“So,” Reina said finally, taking a thoughtful bite, “it’s just a fern. And just a cat. And just a party.”

You spent an unnecessary minute peeling the paper from the base of the chocolate cupcake. “Right.”

“Mhmm.” She swallowed. “Won’t draw parallels to a year ago. But you see, of course, how easy that’d be, yeah? I mean, you said nothing was happening last time, too—”

“I see it.”

“Right.” She ran her tongue over her lower lip, fighting back a smile. “So, what actually happened yesterday? Because he spent the entire night following you around and then famously left with you.”

Your nose scrunched. “Is that really famous?”

“Did you check your phone?”

You took a large bite of your cupcake and tried to remember where you’d left your phone. The chocolate chips were half-melted, soft enough to stick briefly to your teeth.

“Wha’ should I have checked it for?” you asked through the mouthful.

“Doesn’t matter.” She waved dismissively with her mug. “Don’t unmute the group chat.”

“Oh. Brilliant.”

You could only imagine what was happening in the group chat that had otherwise been dead since graduation. Last you’d checked, Beomgyu and Nara had been arguing about which colour shoes went with the gown. She’d rather die, she insisted, than be caught in beige heels (she ended up wearing white).

“Is that why you came over, then?” you asked, lowering your cupcake to the island.

“Yes,” Reina said. “Had to hear everything straight from the source.”

“Not much to hear.”

“Mm. Give me a moment to process what I’ve already heard.”

You sighed and took another bite.

For a while, the two of you focused on eating and drinking.

Reina was mentally calculating how many flights of stairs separated her fists from Yeonjun’s face—just in case.

You, meanwhile, considered the medical likelihood of liquefying and seeping into the kitchen floorboards so you wouldn’t have to answer any of her inevitable questions.

Unfortunately, you remained solid.

“So,” Reina said at last, folding her cupcake wrapper into a perfect square, “should I be asking about the two of you going home together last night?”

You took a sip of coffee. It tasted bitter today. Should’ve added more sugar.

“You shouldn’t,” you said. “We just went home.”

Reina seemed willing to accept that and nodded once. “Okay. What happened leading up to going home, then?”

Your gaze fell to the cracked corner of the marble island. You couldn’t remember if the crack had come with the flat or if you’d somehow caused it yourself.

“I, uh—well, there was a point when I went out for a smoke,” you said slowly. “And he… came out, too.”

“And then what?”

Your eyes flicked briefly back to hers, then away again. “I’d rather not say.”

Reina paused with her mug halfway to her mouth.

“Oh.” She straightened so quickly that the stool creaked beneath her. “That—okay. Is he fucking with your head again?”

“No.”

“Okay. I’ll assume he is anyway.” She took a large sip to soothe the tickling in her throat. “Walk me through the thought process there, then. Come on.”

You clicked your tongue against your teeth. “I don’t think thoughts were involved in that process, to be honest.”

Reina tightened both hands around her coffee in a visible effort to behave maturely.

She did not succeed.

It started with one snort, then another. Then she caught the twitch in your mouth and bent forward against the island, laughing properly.

Despite the reluctant smile pulling at your lips, you gave her a deeply miserable look.

“Sorry,” she wheezed. “Sorry. God.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Okay. Ready to be an adult about this. What, um—what are we thinking now, then, babe? Surely, the thoughts are back now, yeah?”

You looked down into your mug. The foam lingered on the sides in pale rings.

Last night, you’d deliberately avoided thinking. Just returned home, washed your face, brushed your teeth, and gone to bed. But now, sitting here with Reina, your mind seemed to crack open, and every memory flooded in backwards: from the scarf Violet had dragged out of your box, to the dark basement corridor with the grey sofas on your first day of classes.

“I—” Your voice caught. You cleared your throat. “Remember that game we had? About which of us would be the last to find a campus crush?”

Reina didn’t understand where this was going, but her expression soured instantly at the memory.

“Yeah,” she said. “Still annoyed I lost my own game.”

You smiled faintly and took another sip from your mug.

“Well, at one point,” you said, “I texted you saying I’d lost. And then, about a minute later, I changed my mind. Don’t know if you remember tha—”

“Oh. I remember,” she said, pointing her cupcake wrapper at you. “First day of classes. Don’t think you ever told me who your crush was.”

It startled you that she recalled the exact date. Then again, over the entire course of the game, you’d only told her you’d lost once.

“Yeah,” you said with a long exhale. “Well. That was Yeonjun.”

“That wa—” Her expression turned blank.

You nodded, already bracing yourself.

Reina stared at you for three whole seconds before blinking.

“The puzzle pieces,” she said, “continue to fall into place.”

You snorted, lifting your mug before the instinct to minimise everything could kick in.

You remembered, still against your will, telling Yeonjun about this: on the sofa in his living room, while he’d had his cheeks stuffed full of grapes. He’d been euphoric. You tried not to linger on the memory.

“Right,” you said, swallowing the coffee. “So what I’m thinking now is… he probably shouldn’t have caught me off-guard back in grad school. I obviously must’ve liked him a little. I don’t know.”

Reina nodded carefully. She was trying to mirror your vocabulary, so she wouldn’t force conclusions onto you that you hadn’t yet reached yourself.

“Okay,” she said. This was her buffer word. “That—you’ve admitted that. That’s very good.”

A small smile appeared on your lips. “Oh, gentle parenting. Cheers.”

She let out a quiet snicker and nudged the cupcake box towards you.

You picked the one topped with chocolate sprinkles. The brown frosting had smudged slightly against the lid.

“The thing is, though,” you said, peeling back the wrapper, “he told me I’d won right after I accepted that—oh, hey, this doesn’t feel like a bet anymore. And I don’t want it to be. That—that’s when he said s’over. Fuck you and your feelings, basically.”

Reina reached for the last cupcake in the box. There was a stripe of chocolate smeared across the white icing.

“And,” you continued, “because everything between us was so brief, it feels like I haven’t even earned the right to feel this fucked up about it. Hurt, angry. Whatever. S’like it’s embarrassing. There’s this voice in my head constantly going, get a grip, it was only two weeks.”

The kitchen fell quiet once you finished speaking; the rain had softened back to a drizzle outside. At some point, Violet had returned to inspect the windows of the living room again.

Reina stared silently at the crack in the countertop.

Never—not once—in the year and a half since things ended with Yeonjun, had you openly admitted the bet had hurt you.

She’d seen that it had, of course. Seen the exhaustion, the irritability. She’d walked in on you sitting motionless at your desk, both hands over your face. You’d found an excuse every time your eyes met: stress, your thesis, New York. You were just tired. Just hadn’t slept enough.

Reina had even joked about him a few times, always gauging your reaction. You were consistent then, too: oh, I don’t care, he can get fucked.

This, right now, was very new.

“That was fucked up, ending the bet,” Reina said finally, setting her cupcake back down on the island. “Do you think I should’ve knocked him out when—”

Her focus drifted when Violet padded across the floor and came to a stop beside her stool.

“Oh, hi, baby,” she murmured, bending slightly towards the cat. “Came to help us figure out what your dad’s problem is? Think he’s just deeply unwell? Non compos mentis?”

You snorted. The majority of Reina’s co-workers at her NGO were former lawyers. She’d never trusted lawyers and had taken up studying Latin to make sure they knew what they were doing (they did not).

Violet, who did not speak Latin, sprang onto the island.

“Oh—hey!” Reina snatched her cupcake away just as Violet leaned in for a sniff and perhaps a little lick. “I haven’t agreed to share.”

The cat sat down in the middle of the countertop and turned her head towards you with a keen meow.

Snickering, you climbed off your stool.

Yeonjun had brought over a small plastic bag of treats the last time he dropped off her food. It sat beside the coffee machine now, clipped shut with one of your hairpins.

You shook out a cube of tuna into your palm.

“Here,” you said, lowering your hand towards her. “How’s this for you, little one?”

Violet accepted the treat immediately and leapt off the counter, carrying it back to her spot by the window. The rain had stopped altogether now, though the clouds still hung low outside.

Reina watched her with a faint smile.

“You’ve got snacks for her and all,” she said gently.

You lowered yourself back onto the stool and didn’t reply.

“Alright, then,” she said, taking a bite of her cupcake and turning back to you. “Where were we—ah, yes.” She swallowed. “Me beating up Yeonjun. Or do you want to do it yourself?”

You finished your cupcake in a few quick bites.

“I wanted to,” you said, wiping crumbs off your hands. Reina brightened. “But he kind of ran away from me the last time I tried to talk to him. Literally got into his car and drove off. And even later, when I found him again to ask about the—the whole scheme, he just walked off again.”

“Right.” She took a long sip of coffee. It was completely lukewarm now. “Break his legs, s’what I think. Never going to walk off again.”

You laughed.

Reina appreciated the momentary lightness. She set her mug back down on the island.

It made sense, she thought, why you’d denied being affected by this for so long. Getting hurt was one thing, but handing that hurt to someone and asking them to explain it, only for them to walk away, was another.

“What’s happening now, then?” she asked eventually. “Has he—I mean, he’s been downstairs for weeks now, yeah? And his cat’s practically moved in.” She glanced at Violet, who seemed to have fallen asleep against the monstera pot. “I’m assuming you’ve talked at least a little.”

You sighed. “Not really. We mostly talk about Violet.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Mostly.”

You took your time folding the cupcake wrapper.

“He did offer to explain,” you admitted, wiping icing from your lips with your index finger. “Said we needed to talk.”

Reina didn’t need to ask. She already knew you’d refused, and that was likely why Yeonjun had been trailing you all night yesterday.

“I think,” she said, uncomfortably serious now, “that would probably be good. Listening to him.”

You stared at your hands.

“For closure, first of all,” she continued. “To, um—to understand what actually happened.”

“And second of all?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “You’d figure out what comes next once you’ve heard why he ended everything so suddenly.”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly sudden,” you said. “We did say the bet was—”

“Oh, come on,” she cut you off with a flick of her hand. “You can’t seriously believe it was really just a bet. Something had to have happened.”

“Did it, though?” You finally looked up. “He literally had a scheme to use me to embarrass his parents.”

Reina exhaled, forcing the lid of the cupcake box to tremble.

The scheme made no sense to her.

She’d made Soobin explain it to her three separate times and punished him by sleeping at home instead of at his house after each explanation. It remained excruciatingly stupid every time she heard it.

So, Yeonjun had wanted to date someone below his social status to spite his parents.

Reina had never held much hope for him, but surely he had to have been fucking joking. She’d seen the way he’d looked at you.

“Please don’t think I’m trying to defend him,” she said. “Fuck him, actually. But I thought that scheme wasn’t the reason he started the bet?”

You gave a weary shrug. “Maybe not. But the bet was still an ego boost.”

“Sure. But then, uh—he told you he had feelings for you,” she said, her gaze fixed on you in case she said too much. “That’s pretty far from that whole I’m the best in the world, and everyone loves me act.”

“Could’ve just been saying shit.”

“I guess,” she allowed, leaning back. “But do you honestly believe that?”

Your gaze dropped to the floor.

You remembered how Yeonjun had looked in the stairwell when he said he wanted to explain everything. The way he’d looked last night, too, clinging to that lamppost.

“No,” you admitted, but the word bruised on its way out. It felt like stepping on the same rake and taking the handle to the forehead all over again.

Reina nodded slowly.

“Right,” she said. “So, that’s what doesn’t add up. If he had feelings for you, why end the bet at all? You weren’t rejecting him. He had to know you liked him back. He’s a fucking idiot, obviously, but he’s not that stupid.”

That earned her a small twitch of your lips. Reina considered it a triumph.

“Soobin and I think his parents had something to do with it,” she said. “Otherwise, none of this makes sense.”

You folded your hands in your lap and pressed your thumbs together.

You’d had these thoughts looping over and over, hopeful and relentless, during those first months afterwards. Yeonjun had been convincing; he’d looked at you like he meant every word he said to you—which was why ending the bet hadn’t made sense. Something must’ve happened to change his mind.

But love wasn’t supposed to be something you changed your mind about.

“That’s even worse, then,” you said, “if it wasn’t just a bet for him, either. Because he still ended it without explaining anything. So it couldn’t have meant that much to him in the end.”

Reina lowered her gaze back to her empty mug.

“And then hearing him out now,” you went on, your voice tightening, “means I’ve got to dig up all of that. Admit that—admit that this is important. Maybe even forgive him. And then risk him just leaving again.”

A few stray raindrops tapped against the balcony, quiet against the glass, as though bashful to interrupt.

“That’s thinking three steps ahead, though,” Reina pointed out carefully, “isn’t it?”

You looked up at her. “Is it?”

“He spent the whole night following you around yesterday,” she said. “Seems genuinely desperate to be part of your life.”

“Seemed desperate for it last time, too.” Your eyes dropped back to your hands, a wry smile on your lips. “Still left.”

That was that, then.

Reina wanted to protect you from your own mind, but she couldn’t argue with you about this.

You leaned back against the stool, the metal edge digging into your lower spine. Your limbs felt strangely heavy, even though you hadn’t drunk all that much last night.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” you said. “Admitting that I wanted him outside the bet, that—that’s what ended up fucking me over. And I already said shit to him last night that I shouldn’t have. That’s it.”

Reina swallowed and tried to neutralise her expression. You were admitting things she’d expected to have to pry out of you inch by inch; she couldn’t get used to it.

“Okay,” she said again, still buffering. “I hear you. And I want to ask to elaborate, but I’m holding myself back. Please appreciate my efforts.”

One side of your lips stretched. “I appreciate your efforts.”

“Thank you.” She tapped her fingers against the marble. “So—uh, just to be technical about it for a second, yeah? You admitting that to yourself didn’t end things. That was good. It’s Yeonjun who ended things. And we still don’t know why. He knows, though. And wants to tell you, apparently.”

“Right.” You clenched your jaw. “But I don’t know if I want to know. Or if it even matters anymore.”

Reina lowered her head. She wanted to march downstairs and demand answers from him herself, maybe knock him out for good measure.

But this wasn’t her wound. Wasn’t her heartache.

“Babe,” she said after a moment.

You lifted your eyes.

“Do you really think it doesn’t matter?” she asked. “Or do you just wish it didn’t?”

You held her gaze for another second before turning towards the window instead. Violet was curled up like a little pretzel beside the flowerpots.

“I don’t know,” you said finally.

Reina shifted on the stool, tugging her left leg out from underneath her. It was completely numb.

“Shit,” she mumbled, shaking the feeling back into her foot. “Let me, uh—let me ask you something else, yeah?”

You turned back to her. “Mm. Love it when you come over just to interrogate me.”

She ignored that completely.

“Do you actually want him to just fuck off and leave you alone?”

You hooked your ankles against the bottom rung of the stool. You’d already anticipated the question and imagined your answer.

But, sitting here now, you could still feel his hands on you from last night, as though the traces of his touch were embedded under your skin.

“Probably not,” you said with a resigned exhale. “I mean, I kissed him.”

Reina coughed politely once, then less politely twice more.

“Right,” she breathed, pressing a fist to her chest. “O-okay, yes. I suspected that was what happened, so I don’t know why I—why I’m surprised. Um—”

“I’ll give you a minute,” you said, lips pressed tight. “More coffee?”

She tipped her head back and took a deep breath before looking at you again.

“I’m good,” she said, patting her chest. “We’re back.” She cleared her throat another time just in case. “Well, more or less.”

You snorted.

“This is smashing news to receive at nine in the morning, just so you know,” she said. “M’so glad I came over.”

“I can tell.”

“Mm.” She took another breath. “So, uh—okay. In light of this deeply important development, talking to him would make sense, no?”

You shook your head faintly. You’d followed your feelings before, ignored common sense, and this was where they’d led you.

“It would be better not to,” you said.

“For whom?”

You blinked. “For—well, for me.”

Reina ran her hand over the cold edge of the island and looked away from you for a second.

“Would it, though?” she asked.

You sighed again; a long, heavy sound. “I don’t know.”

That was the best you could manage, Reina was starting to notice. She recognised that she’d pushed far enough.

“Well, you don’t need to do anything right now,” she said. “You can think about it. Avoid it for a bit longer if you need to. Just, uh—you’re going to be seeing him anyway.”

You turned to Violet. “I know.”

“And it’s probably not going to get easier with time,” she added. “These things usually don’t.”

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to organise your thoughts into something coherent.

“See, um…” You turned the empty mug between your hands. Your rings clicked against the ceramic. “I’m probably prideful enough to think this could get easier with time. Eventually, there might be no reason for us to talk anymore. Maybe Violet will stop coming here, I don’t know.”

Across the room, Violet lay so still that she resembled a plush toy. Reina watched her and did not share your optimism.

“Sure,” she said. “If that point ever comes.”

You looked back at her. “Why wouldn’t it?”

“Nara’s birthday is on Friday.”

You clicked your tongue. “Okay. Fuck. But maybe he won’t—”

“And Yeonjun’s is right after that.”

Your shoulders lowered again. “Well, I can skip that one.”

Reina tilted her head towards the sleeping cat. “Can Violet?”

You glanced back towards the window.

“Look.” Reina flattened both palms against the countertop, drawing your attention back to her. “This can very easily turn into a lifelong process of finding excuses to avoid him. And you might find enough of them—in fact, I don’t doubt you will.”

You opened your mouth to reply.

“But,” she continued before you could interrupt, “that means your brain stays switched on all the time. All the time, yeah? Constant fucking rerouting, planning ahead, avoiding places. It’s exhausting, babe. You can’t live like that.”

You tapped your finger absently against the edge of the island. The kitchen still smelled of coffee and chocolate.

“I get that,” you said. “It’s just a lot.”

“Well, of course it’s a lot,” she said. “You’ve been carrying all of it for over a year.”

You hummed.

“S’the band-aid thing, the way I see it,” she said. “You either rip it off in one go, and it hurts like hell for two seconds, and then it’s done. Or you peel it off slowly, tiny rip by tiny rip. And it stings the entire time, and your skin’s all raw by the end of it.”

A weak smile appeared on your lips. “Vivid imagery, Rei.”

“I know, yeah.” She smiled, then forced her lips back into a straight line. “S’what you’re doing, though. You peel the band-aid back a little, panic because it hurts, then try sticking it back on. But it’s never going to stick properly, is it? Corners all curled up. Hair’s getting caught underneath.” She shuddered. “S’a nightmare.”

The humour slowly faded from your face.

You dragged your fingers down your calf until your hand wrapped around your ankle, for no reason other than to give your nervous energy somewhere to settle.

“Well,” you said, looking back towards the balcony doors, “I could always just buy a new band-aid and slap that over the old one.”

“Over the—” Reina narrowed her eyes. “Oh, look at you, Miss Think-Outside-The-Box.”

You ducked your head with a soft chuckle.

“No, I mean, that’s true,” Reina said. “You could get a new band-aid. S’going to be fun, I imagine—and sustainable—having to find a new band-aid every time Yeonjun comes to collect the cat you’re co-parenting.”

You winced before you could stop yourself.

Reina noticed it immediately and leaned back from the island, already preparing to apologise.

“We’re not co-parenting,” you said before she could. “Violet just visits.”

She sighed. “Right.”

“I get it, though,” you added. “You’re right.”

Reina leaned slightly forward as if she’d misheard you.

“I—I’ll try to talk to him, I guess,” you continued, staring at your ankle. “Hear what happened. Rip off the band-aid. Whatever.”

Reina gave a slow nod. She climbed off the stool and, limping slightly on her numb leg, crossed the kitchen to you.

“Good,” she said, draping an arm over your shoulders. “And then we’ll get a new band-aid if we still need one, yeah? Not leaving you bleeding out.”

The thumping in your chest quieted.

“Yeah,” you said, resting your hand over hers. Her shirt was soft against your arm. “Thank you.”

“I’m with you, babe. Always. Will rip out his eyes, just tell me when.”

Laughing softly, you turned properly to wrap both arms around her. Reina leaned into you, exhaling.

“I don’t like seeing you suffer,” she whispered, her fingers brushing over the ends of your hair.

“I know.” Your throat tightened. “I love you, Rei.”

She squeezed you back. “I love you.”

✦ • ─── AUGUST 30, 2026. 10:30 AM

Eventually, you and Reina relocated to the sofa, where the conversation drifted back to her engagement party—focusing, this time, on the next plans.

“Sage,” she announced, “is still the leading colour for the bridesmaid dresses in my mind.”

“Wasn’t it emerald last week?” you asked.

“Oh, yeah.” She snorted. “But, see, I had a dream about this frog the other night—kind of like the one in Shrek, Fiona’s dad? No idea why my subconscious produced that, but anyway. Everyone wore this garish shade of green in the dream. In his honour, I assume, so—”

“The frog’s?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.” She grinned. “So, since then, emerald reminds me of frogs. So sage it is.”

You chuckled, leaning in closer to look at the Pinterest board on her phone screen.

It still startled you, sometimes, to hear her talk about marriage. She’d just turned nineteen when you met her, a year younger than you.

Now, listening to her describe, one more time, the way Soobin’s hands had shaken as he held the ring box, it felt as though you’d lived an entire lifetime alongside them. As though you’d watched them grow up and had grown up with them.

You couldn’t wait for all that would happen next.

When Reina left your flat a few hours later, she felt much lighter.

That was why, after the two of you hugged goodbye and confirmed your Friday lunch plans, she stopped one floor below. She stood on the landing for several seconds, one hand gripping the railing, and watched the weak midday light filter through the narrow stairwell windows.

This, she knew, was probably overstepping.

Maybe even catastrophically so.

Then she thought about the years the three of you—Soobin, you, and herself—had spent together. Thought about Yeonjun, too, lingering on the periphery of those memories, whether you and Reina wanted him there or not.

She turned and knocked on his door.

Then knocked again.

And again.

By the fourth knock, she was beginning to suspect he’d died, and she was bruising her knuckles for nothing.

Finally, the lock clicked. The door opened halfway.

Yeonjun had very clearly not expected to see her here.

“Oh,” he said first.

Then, “um.”

And finally: “Hi.”

“Hi,” Reina replied. “She doesn’t know I’m here.”

That seemed to answer the question he was about to have. But he still looked mildly startled, and a bit like he’d crawled from his bed and immediately regretted surviving the night. His hair stuck out in several directions, skin looked nearly translucent. Reina could practically see his headache.

“Okay,” he managed after a second. “Why, um—w-why are you here?”

“Um.” She glanced towards the stairwell as if you might suddenly appear and catch her here. “A question before I answer your question, okay?”

Yeonjun frowned faintly. “Sure.”

“Do you love her?”

The headache seemed to drop straight from his skull into his chest.

His grip tightened around the door handle.

“Yes,” he said.

Reina was glad he hadn’t hesitated.

“Okay,” she said. “Great. So, that’s why I’m here.” She inhaled sharply, and the rest of her words tumbled out in one furious burst: “I don’t know what the fuck your damage is, but you need to sort your shit out and explain the fucktrain of bullshit you pulled in grad school.”

Yeonjun closed his eyes briefly. This, he recognised, had to be where Soobin’s colourful vocabulary had come from.

He remembered, abruptly, taking the lift home last night. Remembered finding his jacket draped over the stairwell railing outside his door. No trace of you, other than a faint whiff of your perfume on the lapels.

“Sh-she won’t listen to me,” he said quietly. His eyes were so bloodshot that Reina wondered whether he’d slept at all or just lay there decomposing. “I’ve already tried.”

She took a moment to regain her breath.

“I talked to her,” she said then.

The corridor fell quiet. It smelled, she noted, oddly of burnt toast.

“You talked to her?” he repeated. “About talking to me?”

“Yes,” she said, gripping the edge of her raincoat sleeve. “But not for you. I did it for her. She deserves to know what the fuck happened to you back then. Honestly, I deserve to know, too, seeing as you two have dragged me into this mess against my will—but anyway. You need to explain, and you need to do it properly. In a way that makes sense.”

“It—yeah.” He dragged a hand through his already dishevelled hair. “I know. Yeah.”

He still looked dreadful and grey. But now he seemed to have a purpose again.

“And I swear to God,” Reina added, tipping her head back, “if you come up with another fucking bet, or lie to her about—”

“I won’t,” he interrupted. “I’m done with bets. And I never lied to her.”

She stared at him for a long moment.

“Not going to fact-check that,” she decided, “but that better not be a lie, either.”

“It’s not.”

“Good.”

She glanced toward the stairs again, debating, for a second, whether he’d earned the next part.

Finally, she sighed.

“Look… don’t expect anything once you’ve explained yourself,” she said. “For your own sake.”

Yeonjun tried to nod, but quickly decided he’d be better off not moving his head at all today.

“Trust me, I don’t expect anything,” he said. “Just want her to know what I was—what really happened. What she does with that isn’t up to me. She doesn’t owe me anything.”

For the first time since she came here, Reina allowed her shoulders to drop.

“That’s right,” she said. “She doesn’t. So don’t push her into anything she’s not ready for, yeah? Or I’ll be back here knocking on something other than your door.”

Yeonjun lowered his eyes, though the warning still stung enough for him to mutter, “I’d never push her.”

“No, that—” Reina clicked her tongue. “See, you say that, but you seem to push her just by standing too close. Remember that when you talk to her. Because you might think she wouldn’t give a fuck if you got struck by lightning tomorrow, but she’d start a fight with the fucking rain clouds for you. Alright? Remember that. Or I’ll really knock your fucking teeth in.”

A wave of dizziness rolled through him so suddenly that he had to lean harder against the doorframe to stay upright. His heart thudded heavily in his chest.

You’d told him you cared last night.

He squeezed his eyes shut. His ears were still ringing.

“Still with me?” Reina asked, leaning forward to check for signs of life.

Yeonjun opened his eyes again.

“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “Yeah, I—I’ll remember.”

“And if there’s still shit you haven’t figured out yet,” she added, “figure it out first. Don’t take another year to do it, because—why did you need a year?”

“I—”

“No.” She held up both hands. “Never mind. Not my place. Just—just be ready. She’s already got questions. Don’t leave her with more.”

His pulse seemed to thrum through every inch of his skin.

A part of him wanted to run upstairs immediately. Talk to you right now, while adrenaline was still drowning out everything else.

He suspected all he’d manage was please.

“I won’t,” he said, forcing himself to take a breath. “I mean, I’ll try not to.”

Reina nodded. She trusted that more than she would’ve trusted his confidence.

“That’s fair,” she said. “So, we’re clear?”

He gave a small nod. “We’re clear.”

“Okay.”

She stayed on his doorstep another moment, studying him. His shirt was wrinkled. There was a faint crease along his cheek, probably from sleeping on that side of his face. He looked like, if he let go of the doorframe, he’d drop right onto the floor.

For one second, she almost felt sorry for him.

Then she remembered everything you’d said upstairs and crossed her arms.

“And in case you somehow still haven’t got it,” she said, “I’ll emphasise that again: I don’t care how much you drink or how fucked up you feel, yeah? I will literally fold you in fucking half, light your ass on fire, and launch you directly into the next galaxy if you hurt her. Are we clear on that, too?”

A shadow crossed his face.

He doubted Reina could make him feel worse than he already did, but the threat was fair.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s, uh—that part was already very clear.”

“Good.” Finally, she took a step back from the doorway. “Your cat’s at her place, by the way. What the fuck’s that about?”

“Oh—” He laughed, startling himself. “Yeah. That’s Violet. She sort of does whatever she wants. And apparently, what she wants is to be around her.”

Reina smirked despite herself.

“Interesting,” she said. “Seems she inherited that from you.”

Yeonjun felt a flush at the back of his neck despite the chill in the corridor.

“Yeah,” he said, finally pushing himself away from the doorframe. “Seems so.”

“Yeah,” she echoed, amused by the way he avoided her gaze. “Well. Don’t forget what I said.”

“I won’t,” he said. “And, f-for what it’s worth, I wouldn’t have given up. I’d have kept trying to talk to her, however long it took.” His fingers curled around the handle again. “It’s not—I’m not doing this because you told me to.”

Reina watched him quietly for another second.

“I know,” she said finally.

Yeonjun realised, with some surprise, that this was probably the closest thing to approval he’d ever received from her.

“And, um…” Reina’s mouth twisted. “I’m also thinking she probably doesn’t need to know I was here.”

“Scared?”

“A bit, yeah.”

He smiled softly. “I won’t tell her.”

“Good.”

Reina stayed on the landing, feeling awkward now that she wasn’t threatening him.

“Just so you know,” she said. “I’m not rooting for you. You’ve got a lot of shit to fix before we can talk about that. But I also don’t want to repeat grad school. So I had to talk to you.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I don’t want that either. S’why I’ve been trying to talk to her.”

“Right. So try that again.” She paused, frowning. “Actually, maybe don’t. Let her come to you. She said she’d try to.”

His eyes lit up so quickly that it embarrassed them both. Reina looked away.

“She did?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

He glanced down to process that. The linoleum outside his flat was terribly scratched. Part of the damage, he knew, had come from his own boxes when he’d moved in.

“That—well, knowing her,” he said, exhaling shakily, “that doesn’t necessarily mean she’ll talk to me soon.”

“True,” Reina admitted. “Nothing you can do about that now, though. You got yourself into this mess. Let her find you when she’s ready.”

Yeonjun didn’t argue. This was already more than he’d allowed himself to hope for after last night.

“Yeah,” he said. “Okay. I already know what I need to say to her anyway.”

Something in Reina’s expression softened very slightly.

“That’s good,” she said.

He ran a hand through his hair again. “Also, uh—m’sorry about drinking half the open bar last night.”

Reina’s lips twitched.

“Yeah. S’fine.” She nodded towards his face. “But take some aspirin. Your temples are turning blue.”

“Ah.” His hand lifted automatically to the side of his face. He could only feel the heat now, and none of the pain. “I will. Thanks.”

With a final nod, Reina turned and climbed down the stairs.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 30, 2026. 4 PM

When Yeonjun came to pick up Violet that afternoon, he wore a black jumper with the hood pulled up and did not look at you. The two of you communicated entirely through mime.

You opened the door.

He gave a nod.

You nodded back and stepped aside.

He bent, one hand braced against his knee, and whistled softly for Violet.

Violet walked over, tentative, her tail held high.

Yeonjun scooped her against his chest and stood. He gave you another nod.

You closed the door before either of you could accidentally say an actual word.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 31, 2026. 4 PM

When you returned from university the following Monday, Yeonjun wasn’t in the lobby.

You’d suspected he might stop waiting there eventually, and you were glad you didn’t need to search for what to say, yet his absence still felt odd in the empty space. The air was dry and still. Someone had left muddy footprints near the entrance; they’d already begun to dry.

You checked your letterbox and pulled out another advertisement for window frames—it had to be a joke, considering that ninety per cent of the windows in this building didn’t open. You crumpled it into your palm.

Your gaze drifted to the peeling adverts across the opposite wall. Alfred, the dachshund, had probably been found; the flyer was gone.

It was quiet here.

You could hear a faint ticking sound, as though that of a clock.

You turned up the stairs.

Inside your flat, you kicked off your shoes, grabbed a banana from the kitchen counter, and changed into your jumper and sweatpants. Violet was still here.

Before you could text him, Yeonjun rang the doorbell. This time, his jumper was blue.

The two of you performed the routine again: one nod, step aside, cat, another nod, door shut.

It felt worse today.

✦ • ─── SEPTEMBER 1, 2026. 4 PM

On Tuesday, Yeonjun wasn’t in the lobby.

And then he forgot the second nod before he left with Violet.

✦ • ─── SEPTEMBER 2, 2026. 4 PM

On Wednesday, Yeonjun wasn’t in the lobby.

At your flat later, he nodded an additional two times.

✦ • ─── SEPTEMBER 3, 2026. 4 PM

On Thursday, Yeonjun wasn’t in the lobby.

But he looked at you, this time, as he picked Violet up. Then nodded and left.

✦ • ─── SEPTEMBER 4, 2026. 4 PM

By Friday, you’d stopped expecting him in the lobby.

Exhaling heavily, you hitched the grocery bags higher against your wrists and started upstairs. The paper handles bit into your skin with every step. The carton of eggs kept thumping against your knee as if the eggs were suicidal.

You were exhausted.

University had wrung you dry this week; you’d forgotten how stressful that first month of the term could be. Professor Lee already needed your help reading through sixty essays from his undergrads. Even your lunch with Reina—during which she kept shooting you expectant looks—didn’t relax you as much as it used to.

Still, you hoped to recover in the next four hours before Nara’s birthday dinner. Hoped to squeeze in a nap as well.

Violet was stretched out in the middle of the living room when you unlocked the flat. She stood the moment she heard the grocery bags rustle and hurried toward you. You bent down to scratch under her chin. She enjoyed that tremendously, though not as much as she enjoyed the paper bags afterwards.

Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang.

Violet was still sitting inside one of the bags, her tail waving through the opening.

Expecting another silent exchange, you opened the door. Yeonjun stood there, holding a plate of biscuits. He smelled of sugar and vanilla.

“Hi,” he said. Hearing his voice after nearly a week hit you straight through the ribs. He lifted the plate. “For you.”

For a second, your mind was empty.

“Oh,” you tried. “Th—thank you.”

You accepted the plate without registering your hands moving. The ceramic felt cool against your palms.

He’d been baking again, then.

You set the biscuits down on the kitchen island. Behind you, Yeonjun’s eyes followed you automatically.

The sunflowers, he noticed, were gone.

Violet untangled herself from the paper bag and scampered towards him, circling his ankles with an affectionate meow.

“Oh.” He crouched to scratch her ears. “Now you act as if you’ve missed me. Can you tell I’ve been baking, love? Hmm?”

You glanced down at the cat. “You smell like it.”

He looked up. “Hm?”

You leaned one hip against the island. “Like sugar.”

“Oh.”

Something in his eyes softened helplessly. He scooped Violet into his arms and straightened, his gaze dropping to the floor.

It struck you, suddenly, that if he nodded politely and left again, you might actually lose your mind.

“You, uh—” Your eyes flicked back to the plate. He’d used the same one he’d brought the peach cobbler on before. “You baked biscuits, then.”

Yeonjun couldn’t help a smile.

“Yes,” he said. “Thank you for noticing.”

“Mhmm.”

“They’re cherry.”

You turned back to him.

You remembered, of course, the neon pink, cherry-flavoured biscuits. The rain drumming against the roof of his car. The precision of his pen against your wrist.

You cleared your throat and looked away again.

“Have you got a minute?” you asked.

Yeonjun inhaled sharply.

“Yeah,” he said. Then, quieter: “Always.”

“Okay, um…” Your gaze drifted towards the balcony doors. “Can we talk? Or do you think we’ll end up late for Nara’s?”

He’d been waiting for this, but now that you were actually asking, he felt a reflexive urge to bolt.

What if he said something wrong and it became the last thing you ever said to each other, and he’d have no one to blame but himself, and—

He took another long breath.

“Yeah,” he said. “We—no, we can talk.”

You nodded.

“Do you want to go out on the balcony?” You gestured towards the living room. “Warm day today.”

“Sure.”

You carried the biscuits onto the balcony and set them down on the round metal table between two white chairs. They’d come with the flat, their legs slightly rusted and paint peeling in thin curls along the sides. You’d loved them immediately.

The balcony barely fit the furniture, let alone both of you, but it was cosy in the golden late-afternoon light. The metal table scorched your fingertips briefly when you touched it, still radiating the heat of the day.

Yeonjun lowered Violet by the balcony doors. She stepped outside cautiously, her whiskers twitching. The moment she felt the breeze, she scrambled towards the ledge to sniff at the wind.

Yeonjun took the chair on the left.

You sat on the right.

And then, neither of you spoke for a very long time.

Cars rolled steadily below. A pigeon landed on a nearby rooftop with a heavy thump of wings; Violet tracked it with wide, curious eyes. You realised you didn’t feel all that tired anymore.

“Well,” Yeonjun said eventually, leaning back in his chair, “reckon that’s a solid prequel.”

You snorted despite yourself. His shoulders relaxed at the sound.

He nodded toward the biscuits. You leaned forward to take one, and he did, too.

“Can’t remember us ever being quiet around each other for this long,” he added, taking a quick bite.

The biscuit was still warm in the middle when you tried it, buttery and soft enough to crumble against your fingers. It wasn’t as dangerously sweet as the ones from grad school.

“Yeah,” you said. “Would’ve spared us from your wardrobe room.”

His chair creaked as he shifted back. You wiped your palms against each other.

“Think I would’ve found another way to get to you, though,” he said. “Even without the Seven Minutes.”

He used to say things like that constantly back then, you remembered; careless little comments meant to fluster you into silence. Your instinct was still to drop your gaze and clench your hands.

“Right,” you said. “To get back at your parents, yeah?”

The warmth drained from his face.

“No,” he said. “Not for my parents. For me. Because I wanted to be with you.”

Your shoulders stayed taut against the back of the chair.

Across the street, a window slammed shut. Violet’s ears flicked toward the noise. Yeonjun looked that way, too, briefly distracted by the movement on the street below.

It occurred to him, as he watched the traffic, how easily you could just stand up and leave. Close the balcony door, end the conversation. End everything.

Immediately, he started to think of all the ways to stop that from happening, before he caught himself.

If you wanted to leave, you should be able to.

“C-can I start from the beginning?” he asked. “I don’t want to—I want you to know everything.”

You took a slow breath. “Yeah. Start wherever you like.”

Yeonjun had rehearsed this conversation hundreds of times in the past week: lying awake at four in the morning, standing outside your door with Violet, driving to work, in the queue at the shops, choosing between two brands of chocolate bars.

None of those rehearsals had included the look on your face, he realised now. He didn’t know what to expect.

“So,” he said, “the beginning is that I’m in love with you.”

Your gaze dropped immediately to the plate on the table.

His heartbeat was so violent that he wondered if you could hear it over the traffic below. You wondered if he could hear yours.

“You, um…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You probably already know that. I told you before. Once.”

“Yeah.” You let out a long breath. “And I almost believed you. Once.”

His jaw tensed.

Violet, sensing the shift in the air, took a turn around your chair and settled in the shade underneath it.

“I meant it,” he said. “And I mean it now. I’m in love with you. Probably have been since the day I sat next to you outside class in our first year, and you were mean to me.”

You turned to look at him. “You earned that. Acted like a knobhead.”

“I know.” His jaw relaxed enough to let him smile. “But I was done for immediately. And then you kept making it worse for me—unintentionally, I’m assuming. You always get this look in your eyes when you realise you’re talking to a complete idiot, and I—”

You frowned. “I don’t get a look.”

“There!” He jumped, pointing at you with ridiculous delight. “That’s the look.”

You turned away the moment your lips twitched. He laughed, settling back in the chair. The metal at the back poked his spine.

“S’lovely,” he said. “Makes me want to keep annoying you just to see it again.”

“You have problems,” you informed him, not cruelly.

“Yeah,” he replied easily. “Quite severe ones, too. We both know that.”

“Hmm.”

You took another biscuit from the plate.

Across from you, Yeonjun watched your legs swing beneath the metal chair: back and forth, back and forth. You still looked nervous, but you were staying.

“I, uh…” He rubbed his thumb along the edge of the table. “I’ve already told you about the first time I wanted to kiss you.”

You let the biscuit melt on your tongue.

You remembered exactly the way he’d told you: standing by the window in your old bedroom, saying he’d spotted you on the balcony of his dorm room once, years ago, with a cigarette. He’d hidden behind the wardrobe door so you wouldn’t catch him watching.

It had been cute, if it was true.

“I remember,” you said, brushing crumbs off your sweatpants. They dropped to the floor.

Violet twitched under your chair, offended at the disturbance, and cracked one eye open. The crumbs smelled excellent, admittedly, but she had standards. She wasn’t eating crumbs. And off the floor, no less.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately,” Yeonjun said, “and I identified another moment that was particularly bad for me.”

You looked up. “Yeah? How bad?”

“Very.” The corners of his lips curled. “Thought I was properly fucked if you never liked me back.”

You turned back ahead, lips pursed.

“Oh—” He clapped his hands. “There’s that look again.”

You shook your head, fighting back a sudden laugh. “What’s the moment, then?”

He smoothed his palms over his black trousers. He’d got flour on them earlier, but you wouldn’t be able to tell now.

“D’you remember our final year of undergrad?” he asked. “November, maybe late October. When we usually started racing.”

You didn’t know what you were supposed to remember.

“Sure,” you said anyway, reaching for another biscuit. You pushed the plate with the last one towards him.

“Right.” He leaned forward to take it, turning it between his fingers. “Soobin and Reina had just started dating, and he refused—I say that with love—to shut the fuck up about her. Thought I was going to go insane.”

You smiled.

Even before they started dating, Reina and Soobin already talked about each other as if they were being paid per mention. Once they actually got together, it increased exponentially. You remembered complaining about the broken radiators in your flat once, and Reina sighing dreamily, Soobin and I were just talking about that yesterday.

It had been endearing. And a little nauseating.

“So then,” Yeonjun continued, pausing to chew, “one day, Soobin tells me he’s going to be late for the first race because he’s got plans with Reina. And I was—now, we know I’ve got problems.”

You snorted into your biscuit.

“At that point, I was making real progress, though,” he said. “Massive character development, yeah?” He gestured with the biscuit. “Huge. So instead of accusing him of abandoning me forever because he’d got a girlfriend, I kept quiet. But I still wanted him there. He’s my good luck charm.”

You swallowed, the cherry jam warm against your throat.

Yeonjun had told you how he’d spiralled when Alain got a girlfriend and started spending less time with him.

It happened to him again, then, with Soobin. And there’d been no one who was proud of him for handling it better.

You realised, absurdly, that you were.

“So,” he said, the white of his shirt reflecting the sunlight, “the day before the race, I told him, hey, Soobin. Why don’t you bring Reina? That way we can all hang out.”

Your gaze drifted sideways as you searched through old memories.

“So, uh—naturally,” he went on, swallowing the last of the biscuit, “after Soobin invited her, Reina got nervous. Thought hanging around his mates would be awkward. He said it wouldn’t be. She disagreed, apparently, and brought you along just in case.”

He could imagine how much convincing that must’ve taken, despite not knowing that part of the story. All Soobin had told him at the time was that Reina would bring her best friend. And Yeonjun, knowing exactly who said best friend was, proceeded to put his jeans on backwards.

“Hmm.” You leaned back in your chair, hands dropping loosely to your sides. Violet’s tail brushed against your fingers. “What’s special about this race, then?”

“I’m getting to it,” he said. “I remember the exact moment you arrived.”

You glanced at him.

“You wore dark jeans and this white top with glitter writing across the chest,” he said. “Don’t know what it said. Stared at you for ten minutes, and my brain stopped cooperating.”

You ran your tongue over your lips, an ironic smile spreading across your face. “You once accused me of seeing you in the shapes of the clouds. Bit ironic now, yeah?”

He snorted. “Yeah, I’m great at deflection. You didn’t know?”

“Hmm. Go on, then.”

“Right. I remember you had sunglasses on, too,” he went on, “even though it was dark. Bit performative if you ask me, but—”

“Okay—” you paused to let him finish laughing, the memory vague in your mind, “—it was light when we left the flat.”

“Fair,” he accepted, tipping his head back. “It was a good night anyway. The wind kept blowing your hair into your mouth. You kept spitting it out. And you were carrying your leather jacket in your hands. I thought you looked like an actress from a 00s film.”

“Please.”

“No, really.” His grin widened. “It pissed me off how hot you looked.”

That finally made you laugh again.

The sound satisfied him unreasonably.

“I remember you saw me,” he said, “and just stopped dead. Reina turned to look at you. You said something to her—probably that you were leaving because I was there.”

“Probably.”

He snickered. “Yeah. And then you were actually about to leave, but Beomgyu found you. He did that a lot back then. Always seemed to seek you out.”

Now you remembered.

Beomgyu had asked you, earlier that day, if you were coming to the race. You’d said no. So when he spotted you there anyway, he’d marched straight across the old camping grounds, grabbed your wrist and refused to let you escape.

“He wanted to know if I’d brought drinks,” you recalled.

Yeonjun didn’t like the fond smile on your face. “Why?”

“A few days before, he overheard Reina and me in class, talking about her grandmother’s homemade spirits,” you said. “And I mentioned that my gran used to make them too, when she was young. Cranberry liqueurs, Kahlúa knockoffs. You know. Stuff where, if you threw it on a wall, paint would probably come off.”

Yeonjun laughed under his breath.

“Beomgyu got obsessed,” you said. “Spent days begging us to bring him some.”

“Did you bring him any?”

“No,” you said. “Our grans were generous with alcohol, and Beomgyu already drank enough as it was. We weren’t helping him become a full-time alcoholic. Think he’s held a bit of a grudge since then.”

Yeonjun laughed again, louder this time.

It was the drinks, then, that Beomgyu had wanted from you.

Good.

“Yeah, that sounds like him,” he said, his foot bouncing lightly under the table. “I remember him moaning at you the entire night.”

“Yeah, well.” You shrugged. “He’s very good at making people feel guilty.”

“Yeah.” He shifted his ankles, trying to ease the pressure against his spine. “Anyway—so, later that night, I was getting into my car for the first heat, and I looked over, and Beomgyu was wasted. Just gone. Walking circles around the pergola, one shoe on, another in the grass under the drinks table.”

You snickered, raising your hand to cover your mouth. Yeonjun wished you wouldn’t; he wanted to see your smile.

“A-and then,” he said, “I saw him trying to shove you into his Audi, saying he’d be your navigator. Just drive. He couldn’t miss the race.”

You looked up at the roof of the building across the street, an amused smile on your lips.

Beomgyu’s Audi, you remembered, had been in a tragic state when you’d climbed in: wrappers and empty energy drink cans rolled under your feet, the seats smelled of strawberry yoghurt. Your fingers clung to the steering wheel with something sickeningly sticky.

“I remember,” you said. “He was too drunk to drive. Kept saying I had to do it in his honour because I’d betrayed him over the drinks.”

“Hmm.” Yeonjun watched you across the table, one elbow propped against the metal edge. “He actually made you start the race.”

You nodded. Before the sirens had signalled the start, Beomgyu had already been halfway out the passenger window. He’d promised to give you directions. Instead, the moment the engine coughed to life, all you got was, oh God, I’m going to throw up, please pull over—wait, no, don’t pull over, I’ll lose my place, oh God. Then he’d passed out.

“Yeah,” you said. “I didn’t get far.”

“Mhmm.” Yeonjun bent one leg under his chair. “But you did finish the first lap.”

“Okay,” you said, “and then I spent the rest of the night holding Beomgyu upright while he threw up in the grass.”

He snickered softly. He remembered crossing the straight and catching sight of Beomgyu folded over the guardrail, while you stood behind him rubbing circles over his back.

“Alright, yeah,” he said. “But, uh—did you check your lap time?”

You frowned. “Did they even record it? I wasn’t supposed to race.”

“They logged it under Beomgyu’s name.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm.” He sat up straighter, a small smile on his lips. “You beat me.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “No.”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

He laughed. “Yeah. First time driving Beomgyu’s wreck of an Audi, with his drunk ass passed out beside you, and you still beat me on your first go.”

The delight on your face was beautiful. He’d known it would be.

“I thought it didn’t count,” you said, nearly out of breath.

“Of course it didn’t. I spent the next ten minutes shouting that it shouldn’t. It was very important to me.”

You laughed again, your head tilting back. Violet looked up from beneath your chair to inspect the noise. Once she was sure that no one was dying, she curled back into herself.

Yeonjun watched the crinkles forming around your eyes and thought he’d have gladly watched you beat him a hundred times over just to get to this point.

“Wow,” you breathed at last.

“Yeah,” he said, still grinning. “Humiliated the absolute shit out of me. Never fucking wanted you more.”

You shook your head.

“You really are insane,” you said, but there was a softness in your voice now. An old instinct.

He forgot to swallow for a moment and inhaled too sharply, coughing into his fist.

“Sorry,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “Yeah, uh—well, it only got worse from there, as you know very well.”

“It makes no sense, though,” you said, brushing the crumbs on the table into a tiny pile with your fingertip. “Because I remember all the times we argued. All your provocations. All of it.”

“Yeah.” He nodded along to every word. “I was in denial for a long time. But, fuck, let’s be honest, the more I pissed you off, the more I reinforced my problem. You were so mean to me. I was thriving.”

“That’s such—” A helpless laugh cut you off. Yeonjun lit up instantly. “I think we should be finding you help instead of sitting on my balcony.”

He snorted, shaking his head hard enough for his hair to fall into his eyes.

“S’fine,” he said. “I’ve accepted this is an incurable condition.”

“Ah, so just gave up, then. Typical.”

He gasped, clutching dramatically at his chest.

“Nooo,” he whined. “Don’t say that. You’re making this worse for me.”

You laughed so easily that he had to grip the back of the chair to physically stop himself from leaning across the table. Heliotropic, like a fucking sunflower.

Violet finally emerged from under your chair and stretched across the warm tiles, flexing her claws. Then she looked up at you. You looked back, still smiling.

Taking that as permission, she hopped into your lap, startling you slightly with her weight, and lifted her head in expectation, her pupils widening.

Obediently, you smoothed a hand down her spine.

“So, it was clearly bad for me,” Yeonjun said. He couldn’t look away from Violet sprawled contentedly across your thighs. “And that was why I talked our professors into letting me host that workshop with you later.”

“Hmm.”

“And…” His voice faltered. “After that, I suggested the bet.”

The warmth of the afternoon slowly drained away. You felt the cold at the nape of your neck every time the breeze lifted your hair.

“Right,” you said.

Yeonjun lowered his gaze to his hands. His thumbs moved restlessly against each other in his lap. He could feel the biscuits sitting in his stomach.

“All through this,” he said slowly, “from the moment we first talked, I kept looking for ways to get closer to you. That was all I did.” He swallowed. “I—I know I’ve got issues, yeah? Plenty. But wanting you is genuine. It’s got nothing to do with—with fucking schemes. None of that. It’s just you.”

Your eyes dropped to the dark tiles under your slippers and stayed there. Violet, offended you’d stopped stroking her, hopped off your lap and wandered back into your living room.

This time, Yeonjun was grateful you weren’t looking at him.

“On the last night of the bet,” he said, “after I sprained my wrist, my mum called me.”

The wind slid down your spine. You looked up, and the tension in his face made your stomach clench before he said anything.

“She gave me two options,” he said. The breeze caught the hem of his shirt and lifted it slightly. “Option one was that I break up with you.”

Your pulse stumbled hard enough to make you momentarily dizzy.

“Option two…” His jaw locked. “Option two was that I don’t break up with you. But the Board doesn’t let you graduate. Your thesis fails review for contract cheating.”

For a second, you forgot how to breathe.

It was surreal, at first, that accusing you of paying someone to write your thesis was a realistic option to begin with. Then you remembered the stark white walls of his parents’ house, and the heavy silence within. Remembered Yeonjun telling you his mother had once delayed his flight because he’d tried to run off on a holiday with friends.

Falsifying academic misconduct probably wouldn’t have troubled her much.

“That’s why I ended the bet,” Yeonjun said. “I didn’t want to lose you. But I couldn't let them do that to you.”

You looked up again. The sun was beginning to cast long shadows through the railings, painting stripes across the tiled balcony. Golden light brushed the edge of the plate and turned the white of Yeonjun’s shirt the colour of honey.

You felt almost nauseous.

He’d ended the bet, then, because he thought that wanting him would ruin your life.

“Why—why are you only telling me about this now?” you asked finally. “S’been over a year since we graduated.”

A flash of pain crossed his face. “I was afraid of what else my mum might do.”

“What else could she have done? My thesis had already passed review.”

He dropped his gaze and didn’t answer. The noise of the city filled the silence instead: the hum of the cars on the street, the distant wail of a siren several blocks away.

Your thoughts raced as you watched him.

You remembered the fellowship offer at New York University, the absurd timing of it—right after Yeonjun ended the bet. Right after his mother threatened your future if he didn’t leave you.

“Your mum—” Your stomach lurched. “Sh-she was behind my fellowship. Wasn’t she?”

Yeonjun squeezed his eyes shut. “I think so.”

“Fuck.”

“I don’t know what she did, exactly.” He opened his eyes again and fixed his gaze somewhere past your shoulder. “Could’ve just put in a good word. Made sure your name stayed in front of them. I don’t know.”

Your hands clenched into fists.

“The email I got,” you said, swallowing thickly, “said it was a nomination.”

He lowered his head. “Yeah. It was—it was still you, though. If you hadn’t done the work, she couldn’t have nominated you.”

“Mhmm. And if she hadn’t nominated me,” you returned, dryly, “I wouldn’t have got it.”

He didn’t try to argue. Instead, he let you sit with this for a minute.

“I-I think she wanted to make sure,” he said then, quieter. “Breaking up with you wasn’t enough. She needed you far away from me.”

You shook your head—in disbelief, Yeonjun thought, not realising that it was in disagreement.

It wouldn’t have worked.

If you’d known, it wouldn’t have worked.

He had thought there was no other way. Thought that staying together meant giving up everything else.

You didn’t think so.

You thought that staying together meant staying together. Thought it meant searching for some impossible solution, because that would still be easier than letting go.

“You…” You swallowed against the lump in your throat. There were twenty different things your mind was screaming at you. You tried to focus on the loudest one. “You didn’t explain anything. Just left. Did you really think I’d just fly to New York, be angry for a bit, and then move on?”

His whole posture folded inward.

He didn’t answer.

“You made me think that I wasn’t—made me think I had to be someone else,” you said. Your hands shook in your lap. “Someone worth staying for.”

He took a tentative breath.

“Fuck, I—I realise that now,” he said. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t know how else to protect you from the fucking mess that is my famil—”

“You could’ve told me right away.” Your voice sharpened before you could stop it. “I didn’t know your mum called you. Didn’t know New York was them.”

“It—I didn’t know for sure it was them,” he said. He felt too large, suddenly, for your small balcony, too heavy for the flimsy chair. “You were a brilliant student; the fellowship made sense. But, um… after a while, I thought—thought the timing felt too convenient.”

“Why didn’t you tell me then?”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t go,” he said. “If you knew my parents had anything to do with it. Thought you’d refuse on principle. And New York was an incredible opportunity for you. It would’ve been—”

“And you don’t think I would’ve got other opportunities?” you cut in. “Think I couldn’t have done anything without your parents handing it to me?”

He winced. “No. Fuck no. That’s not what I mean. I know you could’ve. But this was already happening. This was your future. I thought if I—”

“Why do you think that was my only future?”

He finally looked up.

Your eyes locked across the small table, and something electric crackled through the warm air.

“I wanted you in my future,” you said. Yeonjun felt every sharp thing inside his chest twist at once. “I could’ve still gone to New York. You could’ve come with me. We could’ve—fuck, I would’ve defended my thesis, and they would’ve seen in the viva that I hadn’t cheated. It—”

You stopped to steady your breathing.

“There were things we could’ve done,” you said, without looking at him. “But your mum gave you two options, and you never even considered refusing both.”

His breath hitched in his throat.

Just a few days ago, Reina had warned him to remember: she’d fight with the fucking rain clouds for you. He thought he could see it in your rigid shoulders, in the furious hurt brightening your eyes.

He’d known it, he remembered now, even as he walked away from you: if he’d told you about his mother’s call, you would’ve fought for him.

That was why he hadn’t.

He knew that fighting with his parents was like standing in front of an oncoming train and asking it politely to stop. That’s what it had always felt like. You could exhaust yourself, give it your whole soul, and still change nothing.

He didn’t think he deserved the effort. The sacrifice.

“So, then,” you said, hands clenched so tightly your knuckles hurt. “Since we’re talking now, you’re not worried about what else your mum might do?”

Yeonjun sat very still.

Below the balcony, a motorcycle revved hard enough for the sound to echo between the buildings. The two of you listened to it fade, block by block, into the city.

“I’m not in touch with my family anymore,” he said at last.

You frowned, turning back to him. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” he said, bringing a hand over his face, “I stopped going to dinners. Stopped answering their calls. Got a job. Got Violet. Moved out of the house they bought me, got my own place.” He glanced back toward the balcony doors. Violet’s tail was still visible beneath the shifting curtains. “I haven’t talked to my parents in months.”

Your brows stayed furrowed.

“Okay,” you said. “That—I get that.”

“Yeah.” He leaned back in the chair. “This had never happened before, them just letting me exist in silence. Even after Alain, we carried on as normal. But this is different. We’re not—we’re not talking anymore.”

Your gaze drifted past the balcony, towards the birch trees lining the street below. Their leaves shimmered with silver-green in the dying sun.

Alain, then.

People like you and me, he’d told you the only time you met him, aren’t irreplaceable in his life.

“It’s not entirely different, though,” you said. You could feel your pulse in every word. “Your parents forced Alain out of your life, and there was nothing you could do. Then years later, they forced me out, too.” Your gaze returned to him. “And again, there was nothing you could do.”

Yeonjun felt a wave of heat wash over him, so strong it hurt.

“It is different, though,” he said.

“How?”

He blinked incredibly slowly.

“It—I let them take Alain,” he said. “I played along when they acted like everything was fine. But I didn’t do that aft-after you.”

Something tightened in your expression. You lowered your head before he could recognise what it was.

“Okay,” you said slowly. “So what do you think would happen if your parents found out we both lived here? That we’re talking again?”

His gaze dropped.

“You think they couldn’t do anything else?” you pressed. “I’m back at university. I see your mum’s building every day. You really think your scheme wouldn’t accidentally come true anyway?”

He visibly flinched at the word.

“But I’m not speaking to them anymore,” he insisted. This was all he had. “They took it too far—t-they had to get the message.”

“Do you think they did?”

His eyes settled on the empty plate between you, red and blue around the edges. It was one of the first things he bought after moving out.

He realised now, staring at the crumbs, that his parents might not think this was permanent at all. They might think he was throwing a tantrum. Sulking. They might be waiting for him to come home again.

You were right, he thought. He hadn’t stood up for himself, or for Alain, or for you.

He’d just looked away.

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly.

You nodded.

“Nothing’s changed, Jun,” you said softly. “We’re sitting here talking, and everything’s still the same as before.”

Yeonjun looked down.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, staring at the grout between the tiles, “that I let my parents decide this, too.”

You let out a slow breath. “You shouldn’t apologise for that. You didn’t choose your family.”

“M’not apologising for my family.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers locked together. “I’m apologising for not holding onto you. For not keeping my word when I said I’d never let them harm you. I—I shouldn’t have agreed with any of my mum’s options.”

You looked out beyond the railing.

The light was changing now. The birch trees had already fallen into shadow.

After you didn’t speak, he added quietly: “I should’ve told you.”

You moved at last, folding your hands together in your lap. Something turned low in your stomach while you tried to understand where to put all of this inside yourself. And where to go from here.

“Why, um—why did you want to explain everything now?” you asked. “After so long. I wasn’t exactly making it easy for you.”

He glanced down.

“I’ve wanted to for a while after you came back,” he said. “But I didn’t know how. And it—well, I suspected you wouldn’t want to hear from me anyway. But now—living here finally gave me an opportunity to do it.”

“But why do it at all?”

He took a shuddering breath.

“Because you should know,” he said. “I made you think that none of it was real. That I didn’t love you. And that’s not true.”

Your pulse thudded against your clasped hands.

“Why,” you said, losing your courage faster than you could catch it, “is that something I need to know?”

His chest tightened.

He realised what you were really asking him.

“Because it’s the truth,” he said. “And I’m not saying I love you because I expect you to say it back.”

You closed your eyes.

For a second, you could almost visualise the band-aid Reina had mentioned. You’d peeled it back just enough to see the wound underneath. It was still alive. It stung.

“Do you think it’s easy for me to hear that now?” you asked, your voice cracking on the last word. You cleared your throat immediately. “To believe it after everything.”

He swallowed. “I know. But it—it’s still true.”

You looked up at the table between you.

“I get it, though,” he added. “You think I’m explaining this because I want us to pick up where we left off.”

You didn’t answer.

Yeonjun looked back towards the street. In the evening light, the building opposite had turned blue. A few of the windows were already glowing.

“I appreciate you explaining,” you said after a moment. “I just—I thought I’d had my thoughts sorted. They weren’t bothering me. And then—then you started fucking hammering downstairs, and I went to check. And now I don’t know what anything means.”

He looked up from the balcony railings. “What would you want it to mean?”

You took a deep breath, glancing up at the sky overhead.

“It’s not that I don’t want things to be normal again,” you said. Then looked back down. “Actually, I don’t even know what normal is.”

“Yeah,” he said, turning away. “I-I get it. The least I could do was tell you everything, but that doesn’t change the fact that I didn’t do it before. Or that I left.”

You hated that it all came down to one decision not to tell you the truth. And now you were on your balcony, months later, and everything he was saying, the good and the bad, scared you in equal parts.

“Well,” you said quietly, “I understand why you didn’t do it before.”

His head dipped. “Thank you.”

Somewhere inside the flat, something dropped to the floor. You heard it roll across the tiles. Neither of you moved to check what it was.

The streets below you were growing louder now; it was Friday night. Nara’s birthday dinner would soon be starting across the city. Beomgyu was probably already on a last-minute booze run.

Yeonjun swallowed.

He wanted to promise that he would never leave again. Wanted to swear that he’d fight this time, that he’d stay, do better.

But he’d made promises before. And the memory of him breaking them still lived inside you both.

He inhaled carefully and offered the only honest thing he had:

“We don’t have to—we don’t need to do anything.”

You lifted your gaze to him. For once, neither of you looked away immediately.

The last glint of sunlight caught the loose strands of his hair falling over his forehead. His eyes were slightly squinted. You remembered tracing his features at night, lying in bed next to him, half-asleep. He’d been so beautiful then.

Even worse now.

“What will we do, then?” you asked.

Yeonjun found hope in the question. You didn’t trust this yet, but you still wanted there to be a this.

He glanced down briefly, thumb rubbing over the side of his left wrist.

“I’d like us to be friends,” he said.

When he looked back up, your lips were already curving. He smiled back instinctively.

He didn’t know what it meant to be your friend. But it sounded infinitely better than not being yours at all.

“Hmm,” you murmured. “Never tried that before.”

A soft laugh escaped him. “Yeah. Reckon it’d go well. We’re clearly very normal around each other.”

You laughed, too, and something lightened in your chest—just a little. Just enough to take a solid breath.

You didn’t know if friendship between you was possible at all, maybe it was a terrible idea. But it wasn’t nothing. And it wasn’t everything.

“Okay,” you said before you could change your mind. “We can try being friends.”

“Yeah?”

You shrugged. “Yeah. I don’t know. Why not?”

The smile that spread across his face was so warm that you had to look away for a second.

“Okay,” he said, pushing himself slowly out of the chair. His hands spread slightly at his sides. “Can I—?”

You stood before he finished speaking.

The movement startled a grin out of him. “Oh—yeah?”

“Fuck off.”

He laughed as you stepped into him and folded into his open arms. He pulled you against his chest at once, warm and shaking slightly.

Your hands settled around his waist, still familiar with his shape. Your cheek pressed against his shoulder. You could feel his heartbeat, a little uneven. But slower than last weekend. Calmer.

“Would you have invited me in,” he murmured against your hair, “if I hadn’t brought the biscuits?”

Your smile pressed against the side of his neck. “Of course not.”

His laughter was a gentle ripple between you. You relaxed into him.

“Did you bake the biscuits, then,” you returned, “just so I’d invite you in?”

His arms tightened around you. “Of course.”

You laughed softly, your breath warm against his skin. He exhaled fully for what felt like the first time in a year and five months.

The sky continued to darken overhead.

For now, this was enough.

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✦ • ─── AUGUST 29, 2026. 4 AM

Yeonjun couldn’t sleep. His head felt like a cutlery drawer, rattling every time he rolled onto his other side, steel scraping steel.

Did it hurt the knives, he wondered at around four in the morning, to brush against other knives?

By six, he must’ve drifted off for a good twenty minutes, until a faint rustling near the windows woke him again. He blinked blearily just in time to catch Violet’s silhouette slipping under the heavy black curtains.

She hopped onto the windowsill and sat down in front of the only window in the flat that actually opened. It didn’t even look it; the frame had been caked in thick layers of white paint. Only the latch gave it away – a tiny brass catch, half-hidden beneath the lower frame in the far left corner, noticeable only by the peeling paint around it.

He hadn’t realised what the latch was for until you pointed it out to him that day on the stairs. Apparently, Violet had watched him work it once and memorised it.

She settled on the sill, her backside shoving the curtains aside. A narrow slit opened—he suspected he might’ve hung the drapes upside down—and through it, Yeonjun could make out the sharp outline of her whiskers against the pale light outside.

He lay still and watched.

With the precision of a surgeon, Violet slipped a paw into the far corner. Her whiskers twitched.

Tap.

Tap tap tap.

Nothing happened for a while.

Yeonjun frowned into the darkness.

Surely, he thought, she didn’t have the strength to move the latch. The thing was stiff even for him some mornings. It might’ve meant that the window had been opening on its own every day, then, or—

The brass catch jerked sideways with a tiny click.

The window frame loosened immediately.

Yeonjun stared.

Violet rose onto her hind legs and pressed her front paws against the bottom of the window, leaning her full weight forward. She was small—plump and very round, yes, but so small. Even if she’d mastered the latch, she shouldn’t have been capable of pushing the window open.

The frame creaked an inch upwards.

“Violet,” Yeonjun warned.

The cat turned, shooting him a look of profound irritation, like a single mother of five on her third consecutive night shift: don’t start with me right now, boy. Then she turned back and kept pushing.

The window scraped open just enough for her to squeeze onto the fire escape. Her back paws scrabbled briefly against the sill before disappearing outside.

Yeonjun stared, unblinking, for another minute.

Honestly, he should’ve used Violet to fight crime. Or rob banks.

Instead, he listened to the faint rhythm of her paws on the metal stairs as she climbed the fire escape towards your flat.

Upstairs, you dreamt that you were driving Reina’s old Honda.

The steering wheel thrummed in your hands as you drove along a narrow, two-lane road. The car rattled at higher speeds, and something in the dashboard buzzed as though you’d trapped a bee behind there somewhere, but it remained reliable as always.

The asphalt glistened; it must’ve rained recently. Now that you thought of it, you could almost smell the moisture in the air.

A bright blue car sped past, overtaking you.

You barely registered it.

Then, a few minutes later, the same blue car appeared again, passing you from the opposite direction.

Sunlight flashed against the windscreen, obscuring the driver’s face. The car was unfamiliar, yet you felt strangely worried that this was the last time you’d see it. You hoped it wouldn’t be.

You lowered the sun visor. Ahead, the road curved sharply left, and the car groaned as you turned the wheel.

For a while, you drove alone.

Soon, you spotted the blue car again. It was parked on the side of the road near a lake to your right, the hazard lights blinking lazily in the sunlight.

You pulled onto the gravel beside it, relieved.

As you stepped out of the Honda, you realised you were suddenly standing in the woods; the roadside was surrounded by trees.

Chestnuts, you thought at first. Then you narrowed your eyes.

Oaks.

You approached the blue car. The driver’s door hung open, but there was no one inside.

As you walked closer to the shore, past the trees, you saw a man sitting on the rocks in the shallows, sleeves rolled to his elbows, staring across the lake. This was the driver, you knew. You had to check on him.

You crept towards him. Your feet—why weren’t you wearing shoes?—slipped on the wet stones. The trees around you vanished.

The man turned—and the sound of something creaking jolted you awake.

Your eyes snapped open to the darkness of your room. For a disorienting moment, the dream clung to you: you could still hear the commotion of Reina’s old car, still smell the rain.

Then you heard Violet squeezing through the narrow opening in the window, right on schedule. She landed silently on the floor and padded toward the living room, careful, as though trying not to wake you.

The bedroom door creaked when her hind leg brushed against it.

Violet froze.

You closed your eyes, not wanting to spook her.

Silence. Then, the quiet patter of her paws fading into the living room.

Sighing, you rolled over, the sheets tangling around your legs. You reached blindly for your phone on the cardboard boxes by the bed. The screen flared to maximum brightness. Groaning, you squeezed one eye shut and tried to enter your PIN; Face ID refused to recognise you in the dim light.

Then you opened both eyes again.

Yeonjun, you realised, had been the driver of the blue car in your dream.

How strange.

You needed to text him, but yesterday’s conversation still lingered somewhere at the back of your mind. Just thinking about talking to him again made you feel like you’d swallowed something dense.

You pushed yourself onto your elbows, inhaled once, and opened his contact.

YOU [6:59 AM] violet’s here she’s welcome to stay but ive got to leave at 4

You’d barely lowered the phone before it buzzed against your palm.

YEONJUN [7 AM] thanks i’ll pick her up before you leave

The cursor blinked at the bottom of the chat on your screen.

You stared at it for a second, then set your phone down beside the pillow and climbed out of bed. A draft blew through the open window. You pushed it shut and headed into the kitchen to refill Violet’s water bowl.

The moment you appeared through the doorway, Violet abandoned her position by the curtains and wound herself around your legs instead, searching for entertainment. Her tail got caught beneath the hem of your pyjama bottoms, hitching the fabric upwards.

You knelt to scratch under her chin. Her purr vibrated against your palm.

“Let’s see if we can get some light in here for you, yeah?” you said, standing again.

Still half-asleep, you filled the bowl and went to the window. The curtains dragged heavily along the rail when you pulled them open.

It was a dreary, overcast morning outside. The building across the street looked even more muted than usual under the grey clouds.

Violet approached the window. She poked it with her nose, puzzled by the lack of sunlight, then glanced back at you.

“S’the best I can do, little one,” you said. “Cloudy day today.”

She replied with a small, resigned meow and turned back towards the window. A moment later, the faint reflections dancing across the glass seem to win her over.

You left her nestled between your flowerpots and started your morning.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 29, 2026. 3:45 PM

Fifteen minutes before you needed to leave, you stood in front of the mirror by the bathroom door, holding your breath as you misted setting spray across your face. It smelled oddly of hairspray.

The dress you’d bought for tonight was sleeveless and blue. Beaded detail ran along the slit—it had already left glitter scattered across your thigh.

When you first saw the dress in the shop last week with Reina, it reminded you of the photograph your grandparents kept on the mantelpiece in their living room. In it, your mother was posing with her date before their school dance. She wore a dark blue dress—sleeveless—and had her hair braided half up. She was smiling.

It was your favourite picture of her.

You’d spent the morning thinking about it while you pinned the braided sections of your hair back. The curled ends now rested across your collarbones.

You leaned closer to inspect your mascara and caught the edge of a price tag peeking from the side seam of the dress.

“Shit—”

The doorbell rang.

Startled slightly by the sound, you tightened your fingers around the plastic of the tag and ripped it clean off the seam. The edge nipped your palm. Hissing, you shook your hand once and dropped the tag into the bin by the kitchen island.

Behind you, Violet sat primly on the back of the sofa, licking her paw, as though she, too, was getting ready for Reina and Soobin’s engagement party.

“Got a feeling that’s for you, baby,” you said, nodding towards the door. “Come on.”

Violet chirped and jumped down.

She discovered the hem of your dress just as you opened the door. Her claws snagged in the fabric, catching and releasing the blue material with increasing enthusiasm.

Yeonjun stood on the doorstep.

He opened his mouth—and closed it right after.

All he registered, initially, was the deep blue of your dress. Then the ruched fabric at the waist and the small cutouts on both sides of your midriff.

Then the rest of his thoughts abandoned him to seek employment elsewhere.

You bent down before Violet could shred the hem. She resisted your hands, twisting in place. When you gathered the ends of the dress, she leapt back and wiggled her behind ominously, her pupils blown wide.

“You like the dress, baby?” you murmured, scooping her up before she could launch herself at you. She looked mildly startled at being lifted, but not especially offended. “Come on, then.”

Yeonjun thought he liked the dress.

Although, admittedly, he could’ve slept better if he hadn’t caught a glimpse of your thigh through the slit when you bent down. He suddenly felt as though he ought to sit down and have a bottle of water. Perhaps two bottles.

“Hi,” you said. “You alright?”

Your voice shifted slightly, and he realised that you weren’t speaking to the cat this time.

With all the grace and composure he could muster, he said, “I—uh—it would—I mean, yes. Yeah. I’ll be off, then.”

He pivoted sharply towards the stairwell.

You blinked after him, fingers still running down Violet’s spine.

“And Violet?” you called.

Yeonjun stopped dead.

“Yes!” he said, whirling around before he could fully register the heat climbing up the back of his neck. “Of course. I’ll be off with Violet. I—we will be off together.”

He gathered the cat, careful not to brush your hands in the process. At this point, he was convinced that any skin contact would finish him on the spot.

You stepped back.

He dared a glance at you.

You were looking down now, smoothing the fabric of your dress over your hips.

The sunflowers, he noted, were still on your kitchen island beside you, bright yellow and offensively alive. He stared at them, trying to work out who else could’ve got them for you.

It was still just this one bouquet in any case, as much as it irked him.

He’d got you fourteen.

You were surprised to find him still standing on your doorstep when you looked up.

“Later, then,” you said, a little awkward.

Yeonjun blinked, snapping back to awareness.

“Right,” he said. “Later.”

He escaped down the stairs.

Once the door of your flat clicked shut behind him, he let out a breath that seemed to rattle all the way through him.

Violet meowed in his arms. He could tell she knew he’d embarrassed himself.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he warned as soon as he unlocked his door. He tapped gently between her ears before scratching under her chin. “M’going to have a very, very long night tonight. I need your support.”

Violet, when properly motivated, offered excellent support.

Today, however, she felt strongly motivated to do three things exactly: use her litter box, demolish half a pouch of tuna in her bowl, and fall asleep directly on Yeonjun’s favourite pillow on his bed.

Yeonjun spent a solid hour trying to get her interest back; no luck.

Now he stood alone in his bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror under the bulb overhead. His hands shook as he attempted to tie his tie. The knot collapsed again.

It had been a long time since he’d needed to do this.

The last time, you’d stood in front of him. You’d been wearing blue too, though the colour had been lighter then. Your fingers had been warm against his throat as you fixed the tie for him, tightening the knot with one precise tug. He remembered the concentration on your face, the brush of your knuckles under his jaw.

He stared at his reflection for another moment.

Had that been the beginning of the end, then? Dinner with his parents, his crashed car. Had he given you even one happy memory in those last few days?

He yanked his tie off and threw it onto the counter beside the sink.

Fuck it, then.

He’d go without one.

What did it matter anyway?

He’d show up at the restaurant, congratulate Soobin and Reina, smile when appropriate. Then he’d drink until he couldn’t recognise himself in any mirror anymore.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 29, 2026. 7:30 PM

By the time Yeonjun arrived at the restaurant, everyone else was already there.

If he’d stopped to think about it, he might’ve found the sight endearing: the entire group of friends, formed years ago in university auditoriums and dormitories, still turning up for one another like this. Some of the other guests, he recognised, Soobin had known since kindergarten.

It was loud and very crowded here.

His mind was elsewhere.

He bumped into Soobin’s parents right by the door; his mother had earrings the size of small planets. They wanted to know how his family was doing.

“Fine, I expect,” he said, and walked off before they could ask what he meant. He hoped they’d assume he was drunk.

The restaurant had been decorated in excess, not unlike a royal wedding: white and gold everywhere, with balloons on the ceiling, on the walls, and stuck to the back of Kai’s head as Taehyun attempted to explain that hairspray was supposed to reduce static. There were enough flowers here that Yeonjun had heard Beomgyu sneezing from the street outside.

He saw you right away.

You stood near the main table in the centre of the room in your blue dress, one arm wrapped loosely around Reina’s shoulders. Nara stood opposite you, gesticulating wildly as she spoke, her bracelets flashing under the lights.

Then Soobin arrived and leaned over to murmur something into Reina’s ear. She laughed and pulled back from you with a quick wave.

Smiling softly, you turned to watch them go.

Yeonjun stared at that smile right up until he tripped over a loose ribbon trailing from the enormous banner stretched across the wall: REINA and SOOBIN 2027.

“Sorry,” he muttered to the approaching waiter, who bent to fix the ribbon.

On instinct, Yeonjun grabbed two champagne flutes from the tray in the waiter’s hands. Without hesitation, he downed the first one, dropped it back on the tray, and set off towards you and Nara with the second still in hand.

He figured he’d come up with something intelligent to say on the walk over.

Unfortunately, the walk was very short.

“Hi,” was the best he could do. “Where’re the betrothed?”

Nara, deducing the question wasn’t meant for her, took a sip of her champagne.

You turned towards him.

His hair was slicked back, but several dark strands had already escaped the gel and fallen over his forehead. He wore a black suit with a white shirt underneath. The buttons were golden.

Your gaze dropped, uninvited, to the exposed line of his neck. He wasn’t wearing a tie.

“Appetiser emergency,” you said, turning back ahead. “Something’s wrong with the salmon.”

“Ah,” Yeonjun said.

You were almost exactly his height in your heels. He became acutely aware of having a throat.

He wondered if he knew any fun facts about salmon. It wasn’t naturally pink; would that help the conversation? Also, was salmon the fish that could leap two meters out of water or was that—oh God, he was dying.

“W-wanted to apologise for being late,” he added, “but guess that’ll have to wait, then.”

“Hmm.” Nara smiled into her glass. “Bold of you to assume they even noticed you weren’t here.”

You snorted before you could stop yourself.

Yeonjun glanced at you and smiled despite the jab.

Good choice, then, not going with the salmon facts.

“Still,” he said, draining the rest of his champagne in one gulp. “S’rude of me. D’you need me to get you another drink?”

You didn’t immediately process the offer. Nara tilted her head meaningfully towards the empty flute in your hand, a knowing grin on her lips.

“Oh.” You rotated the stem of the glass between your fingers. “No. I’ve got it.”

You smiled at Nara and stepped away towards the bar.

It took Yeonjun a few seconds to realise you meant you’d go and get another drink right this instant, and not in a moment. He watched you walk away and tried to decide what a decent waiting time was before he could casually turn up next to you again.

Nara asked him something.

He didn’t hear a word and answered with a noncommittal grunt.

Guests crowded around him, and Nara, bored now, walked away to join them, momentarily blocking his view. He lost sight of you.

Just as something uneasy began to tighten in his stomach, he spotted your blue dress again near the bar by the far wall.

“You’re here!”

Yeonjun flinched at the clap on his shoulder and turned around.

Soobin and Reina stood behind him, both already flushed from champagne, their eyes sparkling. Reflections from the hanging lights flickered in Reina’s golden earrings every time she moved her head. Soobin, noticeably, couldn’t look away from her pink dress for more than two seconds at a time.

Just looking at them made Yeonjun remember how to smile.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, giving them each a nod. “Congratulations, guys. The place looks beautiful.”

Over the last year, Reina had stopped looking at him like she might one day strangle him with her bare hands. For a while, she hadn’t looked at him at all.

Tonight, she smiled and lifted her glass slightly in acknowledgement.

“Thanks, man,” Soobin replied, smacking his shoulder again.

Yeonjun nodded awkwardly. He wanted to offer a more heartfelt sentiment for the occasion, but couldn’t stop thinking about salmon.

“You find the drinks alright?” Soobin asked.

Automatically, Yeonjun glanced towards the bar.

You were still there.

“Not yet,” he said, slipping the empty flute behind his back. “Thought I’d get one now, actually.”

“Of course,” Soobin said easily. The room was delightfully fuzzy around him. He loved champagne. “Enjoy yourself.”

Nodding again, Yeonjun disappeared back into the moving crowd.

Reina watched him leave, the corner of her mouth twitching.

She’d seen you by the bar.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 29, 2026. 8 PM

As the first round of appetisers began circulating through the restaurant—small, buttery things topped with salmon and herbs that you and Reina had taste-tested earlier that afternoon—people drifted back to their tables.

Conversations mellowed into an expectant hum; the instrumental music on the speakers quieted.

It was time for the toasts.

Naturally, this took ages.

Everyone here had known each other too long to tell a short story. Every memory required context, three unrelated anecdotes, and at least one interruption from another table.

Reina and Soobin’s parents being here tempered some of the wilder tales, although not by much. Reina’s father, already out of his jacket, cheeks rosy from champagne, laughed louder than anyone in the room whenever someone started implying things they probably shouldn’t have.

Your personal favourite remained Beomgyu’s passionate retelling of how Reina had, over time, replaced Soobin for him.

It had started innocently enough: he’d go over to Soobin and Yeonjun’s to use their PlayStation for a few hours. Soobin usually joined him. Then, one time, Reina appeared in the doorway of Soobin’s bedroom, wincing. She had better things to do than watch them play, but Soobin was getting demolished, and she thought it reflected poorly on her. She took over the controller and proceeded to beat Beomgyu three times in a row before she got bored and left again.

“That,” Beomgyu said, hand pressed to his chest, “deeply impressed me.”

His champagne flute became part of the story. He mimicked Soobin’s aim and sloshed the drink across the tablecloth. Gestured at Reina again and nearly sent the whole glass flying.

The more people laughed, the louder he spoke.

“I’ve decided,” he concluded finally, “that I prefer playing against Rei. Least she can make a jump without respawning ten times.”

Another wave of laughter drowned out Soobin’s indignant yelps of protest. Reina leaned against his shoulder, hiding her laughter in the crook of his neck.

Beomgyu raised his glass higher.

“Anyway,” he announced, “can’t wait for your wedding. Cheers!”

Glasses rose around the restaurant, followed by applause. Soobin reached instinctively for Reina’s hand. The smile on her face beside him was bright enough to light up the whole building.

The warmth from their table radiated through the restaurant, settling into conversations as the evening wore on and people splintered into smaller groups.

Reina’s mother eventually settled down beside Taehyun at his table—she seemed to have adopted him the moment he’d brought her a fresh glass of champagne; her third one tonight. Her husband had suggested a two-glass limit. She suggested it was time for her husband to go home.

Across the room, Yeonjun leaned back, one arm draped over the back of his chair, and observed your conversation with Beomgyu a few tables away—for about a minute. Then he counted to three, finished the rest of his champagne, and rose to his feet.

Beomgyu, meanwhile, had taken it upon himself to revisit Taehyun’s earlier statement about static and hairspray. He rubbed a white balloon vigorously against the back of his head while he explained the theory.

His hair was beginning to lift.

“I believe you,” you said, already smiling despite yourself. “But, uh—you’re not worried this will ruin your hairstyle?”

“No, no, look.” He rubbed harder, oblivious to the strands floating upward around his ears. “I’m saying hairspray creates resist—”

“All that electricity can’t be good for you.”

You felt Yeonjun sit down beside you before you turned your head. He held another champagne flute in his hand.

Something inside you relaxed at the sight of him. Then this instinctive reaction set your teeth on edge.

“Lightning’s going to get you,” Yeonjun added, nodding towards Beomgyu’s hair. “How’re you going to make it to Nara’s birthday party next week, then?”

Beomgyu lowered the balloon slowly.

“This has got nothing to do with lightning,” he said. Then, less confidently: “Has it?”

Distracted by his growing concern, he missed the look you gave Yeonjun.

“No,” you said, unable to stop yourself from playing along. “It’s not raining right now anyway.”

“It’s not—but when it rains?” Beomgyu smoothed one side of his hair back down. Perhaps, he thought, he hadn’t used enough hairspray.

“Then we’ll be able to use you,” Yeonjun said, “to tell if there’s going to be thunder.”

Beomgyu frowned and turned back to you again.

“’Cause your hair will stand up,” you explained, gesturing at his head, “like a lightning rod of sorts.”

Yeonjun snickered quietly into his drink.

Realisation dawned on Beomgyu’s face.

He fixed you both with his most practised glare, scoffed, and pushed himself up from his chair.

“You guys think I’m five years old,” he said, pointing at you, then at Yeonjun, “don’t you?”

You failed to resist a smile.

“You look it,” Yeonjun replied, lifting his glass. “S’a compliment, really.”

Beomgyu hummed. Then, suspiciously solemn, he stepped around the table and leaned in before Yeonjun could react. Static crackled through the air as he rubbed the balloon against the back of Yeonjun’s head with ferocious enthusiasm.

“Oi! What—”

He ducked under Yeonjun’s outstretched hands, cackling, and darted into the crowd.

Grimacing, Yeonjun peeled the balloon away from his hair. A few strands remained standing upright.

“What a little shit,” he muttered.

When he looked up, you were already gone from your seat.

He pressed his lips together.

He sat there for a moment, balloon in hand, listening to the noises in the restaurant: the scrape of chairs, the laughter dissolving into the low rhythm of music. The balloons drifted by his feet whenever the kitchen doors swung open.

He didn’t know what to do with himself.

He couldn’t just sit here with this fucking balloon.

Near the main table, Soobin’s mother swayed to the music with both of Reina’s parents. The two women giggled loudly, clearly already tipsy. Soobin’s father joined them, balancing a tray of drinks in one hand.

Yeonjun watched them for a moment without really seeing them.

Then he spotted a passing waiter and stood. He traded his empty flute for a full one—then reconsidered his current circumstances and took the whole tray instead.

The champagne was dry and unremarkable, but it did the job. He guzzled half the glass and fell back into the crowd.

A few minutes later, he found you again.

This time, you were talking to Kai in the warm light near the kitchen doors.

A little tipsy and very conversational, Kai spoke with his entire body. Champagne kept sloshing dangerously close to the rim of his glass every time his hands flew up, the restaurant lights catching the bubbles.

Currently, he was filling you in on everything you’d missed at university while you were in New York.

“I thought he left because he got a better offer somewhere,” you said, raising one eyebrow.

“No.” Kai shook his head hard enough to splash champagne onto the cuff of his shirt. He didn’t notice. “No, no. He was sleeping with two undergrads at the same time, and they found out about each other.”

Your second eyebrow rose to join the first. “And then?”

“And then,” he continued, thrilled, “the undergrads teamed up and went straight to the Board together. Told them everything, brought screenshots. And now he’s fired.”

You chuckled, rotating the champagne flute in your hands.

“Nice,” you said. “Love it when women collaborate.”

“We should’ve seen it coming, honestly,” he said, sipping from his half-empty glass. “Something was always off with his classes. Serves him right for being such a rigid—”

“Serves whom right?”

By now, you’d half-expected Yeonjun. You didn’t bother turning around.

He stopped beside you anyway, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him against your arm. He tipped his head back and emptied the champagne in his glass in one swallow. He’d left the tray on the table behind him and glanced over his shoulder to make sure it was still there.

“Professor Johnson,” Kai told him. “He got fired.”

Yeonjun had absolutely no memory of a Professor Johnson.

Honestly, five glasses in, he was starting to have no memory of what he was even here for.

“No way,” he said. “What’d he do?”

Kai, buzzing at the opportunity to retell the story, started from the very beginning.

You listened for approximately two seconds, up until you had to duck away from Kai’s gestures. Then, lips pursed to fight back your laughter, you finished your champagne and left Yeonjun to endure the story alone.

And endure it he did, nodding at appropriate moments—more or less—while simultaneously scanning the restaurant for you. Kai’s hands grew increasingly more animated beside him.

There.

You’d joined a group of girls near the windows. Yeonjun didn’t recognise any of them, but you clearly did; laughter softened your features as you leaned towards one of them. The blue of your dress shimmered in the light every time you moved. The entire restaurant seemed to swim around it.

Kai noticed Yeonjun’s wandering attention mid-sentence.

He followed Yeonjun’s gaze across the restaurant, hand already reaching to drag him back into the conversation—until he spotted you near the windows and stopped.

Abandoning his efforts to resume the story, Kai walked off in search of more champagne before Yeonjun drained the place dry.

Yeonjun barely noticed him leave.

You were still laughing, which was good. He wanted you to keep doing that. Wanted the music on the speakers to quiet down, too, so he could hear you better. He also wanted—

Taehyun appeared beside you. He slipped smoothly into the conversation, apologised to the girls surrounding you, then leaned in to whisper something in your ear.

Yeonjun decided, immediately, that he needed something stronger than champagne.

By the time he crossed the restaurant towards you, a glass of whiskey in hand, Taehyun was already grinning.

Earlier in the evening, he’d been too busy charming Reina’s mother to pay much attention to anything else. Now, however, Reina’s parents were gathering their coats near the door, and Taehyun had redirected his energy into the next most exciting thing: tracking Yeonjun’s every move.

“It’s you again,” Taehyun said, raising his soju shot in greeting.

You glanced at Yeonjun. He met your gaze head-on and held it for an entire half-second.

“It’s me again,” he said.

“Have you had anything to eat?” Taehyun asked, eyeing the glass in Yeonjun’s hands. “Or just the drinks, then?”

“Just the drinks, then.”

“I see.”

Yeonjun swayed faintly where he stood. You turned your face so he wouldn’t see the smile threatening your lips.

“We were just talking about you, you know,” Taehyun added.

Yeonjun turned his whole body towards you. The golden light from the lamps carved dramatic shadows along his cheeks.

“Were you?” he asked.

“We were,” you said. “Noticed you’re very sociable tonight.”

The implication reached him about a second late. You watched him narrow his eyes, then take another sip.

“Guess I am, then,” he said.

“Any reason for that?”

He shrugged. Then shrugged again.

“My best friend’s engaged,” he said finally. “M’happy.”

You glanced at Taehyun just in time to catch the grin he was trying to hide by swallowing his soju. He placed the empty shot glass on the table next to him and turned back to Yeonjun.

He’d already noticed that every time you drifted into another conversation somewhere in the restaurant, Yeonjun reappeared minutes later with a fresh drink in his hand.

Naturally, Taehyun figured, this called for a small social experiment.

“Hm.” He stepped back to look you over with exaggerated consideration. “Have I told you you look stunning in that dress?”

Your eyebrows lifted.

Beside you, Yeonjun finished the rest of his whiskey in one alarming gulp. Ice knocked against the glass when he lowered it again.

“You haven’t,” you replied. “Thank you.”

Something in your dry tone amused Taehyun very much.

He decided to expand the scope of his experiment.

“Have you seen the photographer?” he asked, glancing around the restaurant. A few groups of people had started loose, tipsy dancing circles between the tables.

“I haven’t.”

You didn’t follow his gaze, which made Taehyun’s smile widen immediately.

Clueless, Yeonjun turned around. He had seen the photographer earlier—hard not to; the man had an aggressively white suit. Looked like a bishop in a game of human chess. Or the pope. Did popes wear white?

Salmon! Salmon was naturally white.

Before Yeonjun could point out the photographer with the salmon suit, Taehyun reached for your hand.

“We should take a picture together,” Taehyun announced, pulling you gently towards him.

You resisted instinctively, your heels dragging against the floor tiles. “Haven’t we already?”

“Not just the two of us.”

Your expression flattened immediately.

Taehyun, emboldened further, slid his free hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and withdrew his phone.

“Yeonjun,” he said pleasantly, holding it out. “Would you mind?”

A strange moment passed.

Yeonjun looked at the phone.

Then at Taehyun.

Then, finally, at Taehyun’s hand still wrapped loosely around your wrist.

The bustling restaurant seemed to fade around him. Someone dropped something near the kitchen; it sounded like a knife or a fork.

Slowly, Yeonjun accepted the phone.

Taehyun was surprised; he’d been convinced this would be enough. Back in grad school, Yeonjun would’ve combusted by now.

Alright, then.

Interesting.

Taehyun dropped his hand to your waist.

Yeonjun stared at the screen of Taehyun’s phone as though he’d never encountered such technology before. After a second, he set his empty glass down on the windowsill behind him.

Taehyun stepped beside you. Warmth pressed along your side as he nudged you even nearer.

“What are you doing?” you muttered under your breath.

“Trying to see something,” he whispered back. Up close, his breath smelled distinctly of soju, although it was hard to tell whether he was already drunk or still on the way.

Meanwhile, Yeonjun finally unlocked the phone. The screen tilted in his hand, the restaurant lights smearing across the glass until the apps blurred together.

He opened the email and stared, perplexed, at the writing on the screen. What the fuck was DHL and why—

This wasn’t right.

Finally, he found the camera.

He stepped back until the windowsill pressed against his hip and raised the phone, deliberately not looking at either of you.

Taehyun smiled at once. Pinned to his side by the weight of his arm around your waist, you managed something polite enough to pass for a smile, too.

Yeonjun took one picture.

Then another.

Then several more in quick succession, his thumb tapping faster each time.

You hadn’t realised how rigid you were until the muscles in your upper back started to burn. Taehyun, on the other hand, looked perfectly at ease beside you.

The moment he started snickering, unable to hold it in any longer, you stepped away and fixed him with a disapproving look.

You had long suspected that prolonged exposure to Beomgyu had caused permanent damage to his brain. The two of them rubbed off on each other in all the worst ways sometimes.

Taehyun’s smile didn’t so much as twitch as he took the phone back from Yeonjun. “Thanks!”

He swiped through the photos until he reached the first one with you in it and exhaled dramatically. He no longer worked at the theatre, but he’d clearly retained the flair for performance.

“Ah.” He sighed. “We look good together.”

Lips pursed, you glanced down at his phone.

The overhead lights glinted off the screen. You lifted a hand to block the glare, your shoulder brushing against his.

“Although,” Taehyun added just as you leaned in, “you do look a bit like a police sketch. I mean that respectfully.”

You snorted, pinching the screen to zoom in on your faces. Your eyes were completely lifeless in the picture.

“No, yeah,” you said, “I look like I’m wanted in twenty-five countr—”

“You look beautiful,” Yeonjun said.

Taehyun’s head shot up, victorious.

Slowly, you looked up, too.

Yeonjun still stood by the windows, one hand absently twisting the golden ribbon tied around the white curtain. The restaurant tables reflected on the glass behind him.

He was looking at you.

For a moment, you couldn’t seem to do anything but look back.

Taehyun grinned.

“Do you two want a picture together?” he asked, very pleased with himself.

You dropped your gaze first. “That won’t be—”

“Yes,” Yeonjun said.

Taehyun’s smile spread.

“Alright,” he said, stepping back and gesturing between the two of you with his phone. “Go on, then.”

You glanced at him, contemplated briefly what life in prison would be like, then turned to Yeonjun. He shifted to one side, making room for you next to him.

You didn’t move.

“Come on,” Taehyun urged. “Haven’t got all day.”

“No?” You cut him a look. “You can go, then.”

He plastered on a kind smile.

“I’d rather stay,” he said. “Go on now, come on. It’s just a picture. Or is something the matter?”

You pressed your lips together and turned away.

The dull sound of your platform heels against the tiles seemed unnaturally loud as you crossed the space towards Yeonjun. By the time you stopped next to him, your heart had climbed so high into your throat that you couldn’t swallow.

Taehyun raised his phone. On his screen, you and Yeonjun looked like you were two presidential candidates forced to stand next to each other before an important debate.

“Wow.” He tsked. “This is extremely awkward.”

You scoffed, your thoughts tripping over fifteen different retorts.

Yeonjun cleared his throat next to you.

“I, personally,” he said, one eye blinking slower than the other, “think s’nice.”

Taehyun openly beamed. He was having the time of his life here tonight. Soobin and Reina should get engaged every day.

“I like the sound of that,” he said, taking a step closer. “Just—here. Let me help.”

He caught Yeonjun by the elbow and nudged him closer to you with enough force to make him stumble half a step. Then, laughing under his breath, he pried your wrist from your resistance and placed your hand against Yeonjun’s chest.

You couldn’t breathe.

“There,” Taehyun said, stepping back to admire his work. “Much better. Now closer.”

You moved perhaps half an inch.

Taehyun shook his head.

“Closer,” he repeated. And then, closer, closer, closer—three more times, until you could feel Yeonjun’s heartbeat against your own.

His cologne curled around you, the same one, reminiscent of citrus and wood. Of cold air. Of late-night drives in the rain. Low-lit kitchens and quiet music on the speakers.

“Smile now,” Taehyun instructed.

You tried.

The shutter clicked—once, twice. Then twice more.

You were painfully aware of every point of contact between you and Yeonjun: the warmth beneath your hand, the sound of his breath, the thumping inside your chest and right against it.

Finally, Taehyun lowered his phone.

You took a step back, hands automatically reaching for the zipper of your dress just to have something solid to hold. Cold air prickled across your arms.

Taehyun had already started flicking through the photos, his head cocked to one side as he studied each one. You moved back to his side.

No one spoke for a minute.

The pictures were awful.

They looked like they’d been taken years ago, sometime in university, even, before the distance and the silence and all that came after. They looked like nothing had happened at all. You could not look away.

Beside you, Taehyun glanced up from the screen.

Up until now, this had all been a laugh: push Yeonjun’s buttons here, see how red his ears get there. But now Yeonjun was standing by the window, looking at you and not the pictures, and Taehyun realised there was something here that he hadn’t accounted for.

He glanced back down at the pictures. At the way Yeonjun had angled himself toward you in every frame. The way your fingers rested easily over the white line of his shirt.

For months, Taehyun remembered, every time he’d tried to bring Yeonjun up around you, you shut it down straight away.

I don’t know what you’re on about.

We were just joking.

Nothing really happened.

Right, then.

People who meant nothing to each other did not fall back together that easily.

“Great,” you said finally. The slit of your dress pulled slightly against your thigh as you took a step back. You glanced quickly towards the bar. “Um—great pictures.”

Taehyun looked up at you.

His experiment, he thought, could give you one more push.

“Yeah?” he said lightly. “‘Cause we can have a re-do.”

You turned back to him. “No. This is good.”

“Hm.” He swiped through the pictures again, smiling. “Are these your first photos together?”

Yeonjun quietly shook his head.

Taehyun didn’t notice and glanced back up at you, expectant.

You cleared your throat. “No.”

He nodded, scrolling further back to the earlier photos of you and him.

“Well,” he said. “I reckon ours turned out better anyway.”

Your expression relaxed just a little.

“We look natural,” he continued, zooming in. Your eyes, he noted, hadn’t looked this empty with Yeonjun. He continued anyway, “and comfortable. Like we actually enjoy spending time together.”

By the window, Yeonjun visibly stiffened.

You clicked your tongue. “M’not enjoying spending time with you right now.”

“No?” Taehyun’s tone remained innocent. “Would you prefer I left you two alone, then?”

“Actually—”

“Yeonjun?” Taehyun finished, turning his head towards him.

“Yes,” Yeonjun said. “I would.”

Aha, Taehyun thought.

Just a bit more now, he was sure.

“Oh,” he said, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “Don’t mind me, then.” He flashed you a grin, all teeth and vice and everything nice. “I was just having such a nice time catching up with you. We should do it more often.”

“We saw each other on Thursday,” you said.

“And yet I already suffer tremendously.” He reached for your hand again. “Maybe we should—”

“Excuse me.” Yeonjun stepped forward abruptly, forcing you and Taehyun apart. “I need to use the restroom.”

He lingered between you for a heartbeat, his thoughts spinning and tripping over one another. Then he kept walking.

Your perfume still swam around him. Your hand had been on his chest less than five minutes ago. The space between you and Taehyun—

He needed a minute before his nervous system gave up on him for good.

You watched him disappear through the restroom doors. Beside you, Taehyun made a strangled sound suspiciously close to a laugh.

You turned slowly towards him. “You little snake.”

Taehyun exploded with all the amusement he’d been holding back, one hand comically braced against his stomach. His shoulders shook hard enough that nearby people started glancing over.

“You should see your face,” he wheezed. “I nearly—”

“What’re you trying to do here?”

Still spluttering, he managed to straighten up.

“Nothing at all,” he said. “Just celebrating.”

Before you could question him further, he sighed happily and leaned in to press a quick kiss to your cheek—purely to annoy you one last time.

It worked.

“Taehyun.”

Laughing again, he sauntered towards the rest of your friends.

At some point during the evening, the floral centrepiece on the main table had been replaced by an unstable tower of jelly shots—Soobin, Reina, Nara, and Beomgyu were currently involved in a fiercely competitive game of jelly shot Jenga (JJ, as Beomgyu called it three rounds ago and now refused to call it anything else).

Judging by the alarming redness of Soobin’s cheeks, Reina was currently winning.

Taehyun arrived just in time to watch her slide another shot from the middle row. The structure held.

She threw both arms into the air so abruptly that she nearly sent Soobin tumbling into the table.

“Yes!” she shouted.

“I’m a little scared of you,” Nara said.

Laughing, Reina caught Soobin by the front of his jacket and pulled him into a kiss that he accepted with immediate enthusiasm.

He looked a little dazed when she pulled away, thrilled by her victory and their engagement and all their friends being here. He leaned back into the table dreamily.

“Bin—” Nara’s voice died in a high-pitched squeal as Soobin’s sleeve brushed the side of the middle row.

The tower collapsed at once, shot glasses staining the formerly white tablecloth in beautiful shades of the rainbow. Screeches rang around the table: Soobin—it wasn’t my fault—SOOBIN—I DIDN’T MEAN TO—

Beomgyu was doubled over with laughter as he tried to salvage the bottom row. Taehyun assisted him by dutifully swallowing every shot he was handed.

Before anyone could recruit you into helping rebuild the disaster, you turned away, walking towards the coat rack. You rummaged through your handbag until your fingers found your cigarettes; the cardboard pack was slightly crushed at one corner. You grabbed it, found your lighter, and slipped towards the back exit.

Outside, the evening air was cool against your bare arms.

The alley beside the restaurant smelled of damp brick and smoke. Headlights swept past the opening of the street. Somewhere further down the block, a group of teenage boys shouted loudly at one another.

You inhaled deeply and held the cold in your lungs for a moment. Then you opened the pack of Camels.

It was New York that had reminded you of the old habit.

Everyone there seemed to smoke socially: outside bars, museums, small European restaurants (the performative ones, with dreadful lighting and cocktails that nearly put you in debt, and the genuine ones, with great food and small windows).

You’d grown fond of standing outside with strangers, white smoke curling through the conversations, sharing lighters, borrowing cigarettes. It gave your hands something to do and, more importantly, it provided a great excuse to leave any room.

Yeonjun did not know about this habit.

When he finally left the restroom—after splashing cold water on his face and staring at himself in the mirror for a minute—his eyes automatically began searching the restaurant for blue.

Nothing.

He scanned the room again.

Still nothing.

Concern prickled through him as he grabbed another whiskey from the bar and started circling the restaurant in search of a familiar face. Someone had to have seen you.

Glittering dresses, glasses of champagne, and those endless fucking balloons all blurred past him.

Finally, he spotted Kai by the windows.

Unfortunately for Yeonjun, Kai had already been briefed on Taehyun’s ongoing social experiment and had decided, out of scientific curiosity, to become complicit.

“She left,” Kai said. “With Taehyun, I think.”

In reality, Kai knew, Taehyun was getting a new tray of jelly shots with Beomgyu, hoping to rebuild their tower.

Yeonjun, of course, did not know this.

“Yes,” Kai said in response to his gobsmacked expression. “Like two minutes ago, maybe.”

Yeonjun scanned the restaurant a third time, faster now.

You definitely weren’t here.

And neither was Taehyun.

Something heavy dropped straight through his stomach.

“Right,” he muttered. “I’ve got to go.”

Kai watched, fascinated, as Yeonjun abruptly turned and crossed the restaurant. Still clutching his whiskey glass, he barged past groups of people and disappeared through the back exit.

That was very interesting.

Taehyun, Kai thought, sipping his champagne, was going to enjoy hearing that the breaking point for Yeonjun had apparently been the mere possibility of you leaving the party with someone else.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 29, 2026. 10 PM

Yeonjun found you the moment he shoved through the steel door.

The metal slammed against the wall hard enough to make you jump. Your cigarette nearly slipped from your fingers, scattering ash across your hand and the wet concrete at your feet.

You looked up.

Yeonjun stood beneath the flickering exit sign. It tinted his face a sickly green. His chest rose and fell beneath the open collar of his shirt, a little too fast. His hair had started coming loose; several dark strands now hung over his forehead.

For a second, he simply stared at you. The frigid air had slapped some clarity back into him, though not enough to undo the whiskey.

This, he concluded, was the smoking area, then.

“Y-you’re not here with—” He stopped himself with a long exhale. “Okay.”

You stared back at him, completely thrown.

Slowly, Yeonjun reached back and pulled the door shut behind him. The noise from the restaurant dulled immediately, leaving only the hiss of tyres somewhere beyond the alley and the quiet electric buzz of the exit sign.

He moved away from the door and leaned his back against the wall opposite you. The whiskey glass in his hand trembled slightly, the ice tapping against the edge.

His gaze dropped to the cigarette between your fingers; your second one.

“Didn’t know you still smoked,” he said, patting distractedly at his chest until his fingers found the inside pocket of his jacket.

You chose not to question why he’d followed you out here.

“I don’t,” you replied, bringing the cigarette to your lips.

He smiled. “Yeah?”

You exhaled toward the alley. “Yeah.”

“Cool,” he said, pulling out the crumpled red package of Marlboro from his pocket. “I do.”

He planted a cigarette between his lips and nodded towards the lighter you were still clutching in your hand. He had his own, but he couldn’t care less for it right now.

You flicked the lighter open.

Yeonjun leaned forward and misjudged the distance completely. He stumbled half a step closer, ending up nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with you against the wall. Whiskey sloshed dangerously in his glass. You took a cautious step aside.

“Sorry,” he murmured around the cigarette. “You mind?”

You held the flame up to him.

This time, he leaned in carefully. The cigarette tip glowed orange in the dark, briefly illuminating the soft curve of his mouth. His cheeks hollowed as he took a drag.

You lowered the lighter and looked away.

“Smart idea,” you said, nodding towards the glass in his hand, “bringing your drink here.”

He followed your gaze downwards as if he’d forgotten he still had the whiskey with him.

“Yeah. Oh—” He glanced back at you. “You want some?”

You hesitated for only a second. “Dry throat.”

He held the glass out immediately.

You took a large swig. The whiskey burned harshly going down, but settled warm in your stomach.

“Thanks,” you said, handing the glass back.

His hand curled around it without looking, fingers grazing yours as he steadied the cigarette against the rim and took another drag. His lips brushed the edge of the glass.

Smoke drifted from his mouth in a thin silver stream, dissolving into the dark.

You only realised you’d been staring when your heart forgot its rhythm.

Turning away, you crossed one arm over your waist and lifted the cigarette again. Smoke filtered down into your lungs, calm and almost soothing.

“You should drink more,” Yeonjun said, staring absently into his glass.

“Yeah?” you said. “As much as you did tonight?”

A tired smirk pulled at the corner of his lips.

He wasn’t going to defend himself. He felt one prolonged blink away from falling asleep against the wall.

For a while, the two of you stood in silence while the smoke drifted upward between you before dissipating into the cold night air. The brick wall was rough and chilly against your shoulders, but you didn’t move.

You weren’t standing nearly as close to Yeonjun as you had in front of Taehyun’s camera, but this was somehow worse. As if without the proof of his heartbeat against yours, you couldn’t be sure he was actually here.

“Taehyun was being an idiot back there, you know,” you found yourself saying. “He didn’t mean anything.”

Yeonjun exhaled smoke slowly through his mouth.

“I know,” he said.

You glanced at him again, taking in the exhaustion on his face. The night seemed to hang off his shoulders.

“What’s going on with you, then?” you asked.

He huffed out a small laugh.

“Several things,” he said, turning his head towards you. “I’m a machine. Got loads of ongoing processes and—”

“Yeonjun.” Your voice softened. “Be real right now.”

The smile faded from his face. “I am real.”

“So, what’s the matter with you? What’s with inserting yourself into every conversation I’m having?”

He scoffed, his shoulders tightening against the wall.

“What?” he said. “I can’t talk to people now?”

“You can,” you said evenly. “Why’s it always the same people I’m talking to, though?”

He took another drag from his cigarette and tipped his head back against the wall. His gaze wandered towards the narrow strip of night sky visible above the alley as he exhaled the smoke. No stars tonight; too many streetlights drowned them out.

“Just happened that way,” he said. “The restaurant’s smaller than it looks.”

“Right.”

You turned away from him and brought the cigarette back to your lips. The paper crackled as it burned.

“Did your grandad get you those sunflowers?” Yeonjun asked.

You blew out the smoke. “What?”

“The sunflowers you’ve got at home.” His eyes stayed fixed on the sky. “Are they from your grandad?”

Your brows pulled together. “Where is this coming from?”

“Just—just answer the question.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Are they from your grandad?”

You exhaled through your nose, smoke trailing with your breath. You didn’t know when he’d noticed the sunflowers.

“They are,” you said.

He dropped his gaze back to the pavement. “Okay.”

You stared at his hands for a second. His fingers relaxed around the glass.

“So nothing’s going on with you, then,” you said, tapping ash onto the pavement. “Just acting crazy for no reason.”

He scoffed around the cigarette, teeth sinking briefly into the filter.

“Well, why should I tell you if something was going on?” he said. “You don’t want to talk to me.”

“That—” You watched his hand tighten around the glass again. “Is that the problem?”

“I don’t know,” he said. Ash fell from the end of his cigarette in grey flakes, dropping over the toes of his loafers. “I’ve got too many problems to keep track of them all.”

“What—”

“I’ve decided,” he cut in, pushing himself off the wall, “I’m going to go back to the party now.”

You watched him stub out the cigarette against the bricks behind him. It hissed faintly as it died.

This was starting to feel surreal.

“Okay,” you said slowly. “And do what?”

He tossed the filter into the bin by the door.

The smile on his face was crooked and a little mean when he looked back at you. You knew it well.

“Well,” he said, stopping in front of you, “that’s none of your business now, is it?”

“It wouldn’t be,” you said through a stream of smoke, “if you weren’t interrupting every conversation I tried to have tonight.”

“M’not interrupting,” he said. “Just joining. S’called mingling.”

You scoffed. “You’re not mingling.”

“Yeah, I am,” he said, and the whiskey finally showed its face in the sluggish click of his tongue against his teeth. “And you don’t get to have a problem with it, because you don’t want me.”

Your fingers froze around the cigarette.

Yeonjun leaned heavily back against the wall beside you, as if the effort of the words had drained whatever energy he had left. He lifted the whiskey and took a long sip. It was mostly melted ice now.

You turned to face him fully. “What—what does that even mean?”

“It means m’going to go,” he said, but didn’t budge. His eyes flicked briefly towards the door beside him before snapping back to you. “Oh—or would you rather I wait, so you can go back first? Just in case, yeah? Have to be safe.”

You pressed your lips together tightly enough that your teeth clicked.

“We’re doing this shit now?” you said.

He shrugged. “Guess we are.”

Slowly, you dropped your cigarette onto the pavement and crushed it beneath your heel before tossing the remains into the bin. You brushed your palms together.

“Okay.” You met his eyes. “You can go back first. Just don’t make tonight worse for yourself than it already is.”

“Oh, worse, yeah.” He shifted, shoulder resting against the wall, angled towards you. “How d’you reckon I could make it worse?”

You clicked your tongue and crossed your arms over your chest.

“If you have to ask that,” you said, “then you clearly already know.”

A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face. He knew you wouldn’t answer him properly.

He took another sip from his glass.

“No, actually,” he said. Everything inside him was burning. “S’the whole point of asking a question. It implies not knowing the answer.”

“Okay, wise-ass. How much have you had to drink tonight?”

He turned his head, grinning. “If you have to ask that, then you clearly already know.”

You rolled your eyes and turned away from him. “I see we’re still twelve.”

“Thirteen and a half now,” he replied. “Been over a year since we were last out together.”

The tightness in your chest spread lower, frigid along your spine.

“Has it?” you said.

He glanced at you without lifting his head from the wall. “I’m offended you wouldn’t remember.”

“Why would I remember a bet we had for two weeks?”

His gaze dropped to the whiskey glass hanging loosely from his hand. The green light from the exit sign shimmered weakly across the surface, catching on the half-melted ice cubes.

For a moment, he just watched them swirl.

Then, quieter:

“Was that all there was, then?”

The silence that followed landed like a weight on your shoulders. It took you a moment to realise there wasn’t anyone else around to answer him for you.

“You said so,” you replied, tightening your grip around yourself.

Yeonjun sniffled.

“I didn’t mean that,” he said—out loud, for the first time.

You scoffed so quickly, it nearly startled him.

“Yeah?” you said. “Did that only take you a year and a half to figure out, then?”

“No.” His voice dropped. “I knew I didn’t mean it the moment I said it.”

“Then why’d you say it?”

You asked the question, but your body was already preparing to leave. Your weight shifted, one knee bent slightly. Your eyes darted towards the door once, then once more.

Yeonjun wished he’d drunk more so he wouldn’t have noticed.

“Are you going to let me explain properly,” he asked, “or do you just want a quick answer so you can keep hating me?”

You watched him for a long moment after that: the darkness in his eyes, the tight set of his jaw, the mess of his hair. Your hands dropped to your sides.

He didn’t know, then, that there was very little he could say that would actually make you hate him.

You looked away towards the mouth of the alley and waited for a car to drive by so you could breathe again.

“I don’t hate you,” you said.

Yeonjun let out a slow breath. He wasn’t hearing you.

“Sure feels like you do,” he mumbled.

Above you, the exit sign seemed to buzz louder.

“I wish I did,” you said.

Yeonjun looked up.

The alcohol must’ve dissolved whatever sense he still possessed, because your words seemed to hit him hard enough to knock his heartbeat into a painfully familiar rhythm.

Now he heard you.

“W-what does that mean, then?” he asked.

You shook your head once. “Means you should go back in. Mingle.”

“No.”

He pushed himself off the wall too quickly and had to steady his balance before he lowered the whiskey glass carefully onto the pavement. Then he took a step closer.

“Explain,” he said. “You don’t hate me?”

You straightened instinctively against the wall, startled by the proximity.

“No,” you said.

“Why not?”

He suspected that might have been a stupid question. And still, his eyes moved slowly between yours, searching your face for the answer. There was nothing secretive left in him tonight; he’d drowned his restraint in the whiskey.

He wanted to know what he was to you now.

Wanted to be close to you.

Wanted you.

“Hating you,” you said, forcing yourself to hold his gaze, “would mean I care about you.”

Yeonjun felt his stomach twist.

He’d heard you say this before: in the dark of his wardrobe room, surrounded by hangers of his clothes and hardly able to take a breath.

“Right,” he murmured, and the darkness in his eyes seemed to grow. “You don’t care.”

The alley around you suddenly felt much too small.

“Right,” you echoed.

“Mm.” He nodded once, eyes still fixed on yours. “Still want to jump out of a window every time I open my mouth, yeah?”

Your breath caught at the question. You could almost feel the plywood backing of his wardrobe against your spine again. Could almost smell the old wood.

“Sometimes,” you said.

His lips twitched.

“Sometimes,” he repeated. A slow smile touched his lips. “That’s better. I like that you’re honest.”

“Mhmm. I’ve never lied to you.”

Surprise flashed in his eyes. You were handing his words back to him.

He remembered you calling him performative for saying that to you back then. Remembered the quiet night and the way you refused to look at him, no matter how much he’d wanted you to. Remembered how desperately he’d hoped you’d believe him then. How desperately he hoped for it now.

The whiskey churned in his stomach.

He moved half a step closer before he realised he was doing it.

“You’re lying to me right now,” he said quietly.

You could hear your pulse in your ears. “I’m not.”

“You are.” He was close enough for your vision to blur around him. “You do care.”

Shivers raced down your spine, so sudden that they almost hurt.

Yeonjun waited. He needed you to admit that you cared. Needed proof that what you said wasn’t true.

You needed it to be true.

When you didn’t speak, he raised one hand. His fingers brushed the ends of your hair, cautious in case you’d shove him away. The touch was light enough that you barely felt it, yet every nerve ending inside you seemed to focus there anyway.

Gently, he swept your hair over your shoulder, exposing the side of your neck to the cool night air.

He really liked your hair tonight.

Really liked that the rest of the alleyway swirled around him, but you stayed completely still.

“S’why you’re out here now,” he murmured. “Asking me what’s the matter with me.” He pulled back just enough to look at your face again. “Because you care.”

“I care,” you replied, breathless, “about the way you’re making us look in front of everyone.”

He tilted his head slightly. “And how am I making us look?”

“Bad.”

“Mm.” He leaned closer again. The toes of his shoes nudged the platform of your heels. “Why?”

His fingertips brushed your face before you could answer, a little cold and feather-light against your skin. Your shoulders pressed harder against the wall behind you.

You didn’t speak.

“Why am I making us look bad, love?” he repeated softly.

Your lungs tightened around the next breath.

Then his palm settled fully against the side of your face, devastatingly familiar.

Your eyes closed before you meant them to.

His thumb brushed over your cheek.

You blinked your eyes open again.

“You’re making it look,” you whispered, “like there’s something here.”

“Hmm.” He was close enough now that the warmth of every word reached your skin before the meaning did. “And there’s nothing here, yeah?”

There was nothing here: every inhale brought his chest against yours. Every exhale brought his mouth closer.

You squeezed your eyes shut again and took a breath.

The alleyway wrapped around you. Cars drifted by on the street. The exit sign pulsed loudly overhead. His cologne clung to the smoke in the air.

It was cold here.

The bricks were rough against your spine.

Before your mind could catch up to you, you pushed yourself off the wall and kissed him.

Yeonjun exhaled against your mouth, nearly choking as he caught your lips between his. His hand tightened at your jaw, still soft, but firm enough to hold you there. To tell you, wordlessly and desperately, not to pull away too soon.

His lips were soft and faintly bitter with smoke.

It was new, this taste of him. You didn’t like not knowing it.

Your hands caught instinctively in the lapels of his jacket, fingers tightening in the fabric as his shoulders loosened under your touch. He sighed against your mouth, emptying his lungs completely so he could breathe you in instead.

Your gloss was still sweet, still tasting faintly of cherry.

He hoped it would haunt him forever.

He tilted your head back to deepen the kiss—so slowly that you felt every moment of it: the parting of his lips, the slight tremor when you pulled closer.

Your fingers found the back of his neck and slid upwards into the strands of his hair. He made a small sound when you tugged lightly.

It went straight through you.

His other hand slid down to your waist, pulling you away from the wall and into him until your balance disappeared into the kiss. Your grip on his jacket tightened; your breath sped up.

“D’you care about me?” he murmured against your lips.

Your response came as a muffled breath, fingers tightening in his hair.

“Tell me,” he whispered, the words barely coherent. “Tell me you care.”

“I care.”

The kiss changed at once; his mouth moved against yours faster, rough with want. It stole the breath straight from your lungs.

His grip tightened around you. He could feel the texture of your dress against his palm, could feel the heat of your skin when his fingers brushed the cutouts on the sides of your waist.

He broke the kiss with a sharp, helpless gasp.

He was so fucking drunk.

“Fuck,” he whispered. His forehead dropped against yours. His lungs felt hollow, but his chest—his chest was so full. “Fuck, fuck, fu—”

“I’m sorry—”

“No.” Both of his hands framed your face instantly. “Fuck, baby, no—” He pressed his lips to yours again. “No.” And again. “Not sorry.” And again. “Not sorry at all.”

Each kiss seemed to carry something different: regret and relief, questions he wanted to ask you, promises you wouldn’t let him make.

You were drowning in the warmth of his mouth, in the solid press of his chest against yours. In the unbearable ease with which your body remembered him.

The tension softened, but your mouths still lingered together in small, quiet touches.

One more kiss.

Another.

A pause that should’ve been the end of it.

Then one more kiss anyway.

And another—

When you finally pulled apart, neither of you could breathe properly.

Yeonjun stayed close enough for the taste of his whiskey to linger on your tongue. Close enough that, if you leaned forward even slightly, you could kiss him again.

“That—” You reached up to wipe your smudged gloss from the corner of his lips with your thumb. He wished you’d left it there. “T-that shouldn’t have happened.”

Something painful flickered in his eyes.

He smiled, but that only made him look sadder.

Slowly, he stepped back. His hands slid down your arms, fingers lingering on your skin for a moment longer before falling away.

“Of course,” he said.

“I mean it.”

“I know you do, love.”

He took another step back and turned away, dragging a hand across his face as he tried to pull himself back together. You watched the line of his shoulders for a minute, your lungs unconsciously syncing to the rhythm of his breathing.

Then you dropped your gaze to the pavement instead. There were cigarette burn stains across the concrete, dark little circles.

“I-I’m going to go,” you said. “And we—we shouldn’t talk again tonight.”

He didn’t move.

A car drove past the alley.

You swallowed hard. “I need verbal agreement from you.”

Yeonjun shut his eyes.

You’d always recovered faster than him. Always been better at drawing lines and standing behind them.

“We won’t talk again tonight,” he said at last, still facing away from you.

The alley felt unstable around him now. If he looked back, if he saw your face again, he knew he’d drag you against him and start this all over again.

“Okay.” You pushed yourself off the wall. “That’s good.”

You moved silently enough that he barely heard you cross to the door. The hinges creaked when you pulled it open.

“I missed this, though,” he said before he could stop himself.

The door stopped moving.

Yeonjun didn’t turn, but he felt you freeze behind him all the same.

He pictured you standing in the doorway, one hand still on the handle, eyes lowered, fighting the same expression you’d worn yesterday in the stairwell.

That would haunt him forever, too.

“Don’t,” you whispered. It was a plea. “I—I’m going.”

The door shut behind you.

Yeonjun took a long, shuddering breath. He dug his lighter from his back pocket. It was nearly empty.

He needed another two cigarettes before he could force himself to go back inside.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 29, 2026. 11:30 PM

Soon, people began to leave the party in small groups, lingering in the doorway of the restaurant with jackets slung over their arms, hugging each other goodbye three times before actually parting. Laughter kept spilling out onto the pavement. Every few minutes, someone suggested, ‘one more for the road, yeah?’

You and Yeonjun were both still here.

Since coming back inside, neither of you had looked directly at the other.

Yeonjun, who had technically honoured his promise not to speak to you again tonight, kept checking the time on his phone to see exactly when tonight would finally be over.

Most of the pleasant whiskey buzz had already started wearing off. Now he was left with a dull headache pressing at the back of his skull.

While Reina and Soobin stood near the entrance, thanking people for coming, you quietly began tidying the remnants of the evening so they’d have less to deal with later.

Before long, Taehyun and Nara showed up to help.

The three of you moved easily around each other through the half-empty restaurant, stacking scattered plates, gathering abandoned champagne flutes, rescuing forgotten handbags and suspicious flash drives from underneath tables.

Every now and then, one of you would laugh at something, and the other two would soon join in.

The sound irritated Yeonjun instantly.

He wanted to be part of it.

He stood near the back of the room with a half-empty whiskey glass and spent nearly a full minute debating whether helping you clean would count as breaking the agreement between you.

Eventually, he decided it wouldn’t, as long as he didn’t speak.

Twenty more minutes until midnight.

“We used to stay out until four in the morning at least,” Nara remarked as Yeonjun silently took a stack of empty plates from her hands. “Is this us getting old?”

“It’s not,” Soobin called from the doorway. He clapped one of his old school friends on the shoulder before turning back inside. “The restaurant has working hours, s’all.”

“And you didn’t think about the after-party?” Nara asked.

“I think they did,” Taehyun cut in before Soobin could answer. “We’re just not invited.”

Behind you, Reina succumbed to giggles, leaning against Soobin’s shoulder while he fought to suppress his grin. She swayed lightly in her heels.

Seventeen more minutes, Yeonjun thought. And he can make a comment, too.

Beomgyu and Kai returned from the restroom and were dispatched, at once, to stack chairs while the rest of you finished clearing the dishes.

Finally, after apologising to the exhausted staff for staying late, all eight of you stepped outside. A few of the guests were still here. Apparently, there weren’t enough taxis in the city for everyone.

Phones glowed across the pavement. Somewhere farther down the street, a man argued with an Uber driver in a language you didn’t recognise, but seemed to understand perfectly. His hands flailed wildly in the direction of the intersection up ahead.

Reina and Soobin had planned in advance and ordered a taxi half an hour ago.

It arrived first.

The two of them climbed into it to raucous applause and dramatic cheers from the pavement, as if they were off for their honeymoon rather than just heading home. Fully committing to the performance, Reina rolled down the window and gave everyone a graceful royal wave.

You laughed.

They looked radiant tonight. You couldn’t stop watching them.

A few steps away, Yeonjun couldn’t stop watching you.

Another five minutes later, an Uber rolled across the street, the headlights washing everyone’s jackets silver-white for a moment.

You checked the license plate against your phone and reached for the back door.

“Bye!” Taehyun called after you.

“Text me when you get home,” Nara added automatically. Despite all her complaints about the night ending, she sounded ready to curl up and fall asleep right there on the curb.

You gave them both a wave and ducked into the backseat.

The sight of your hand disappearing behind the edge of the door made something inside Yeonjun drop hard enough to leave him briefly weightless.

All he remembered was taking a breath.

“Hello,” you said to the driver, reaching back to pull the door shut—only for it to jerk backwards.

Yeonjun climbed into the backseat, nudging you to a side, and slammed the door shut.

You stared at him. “W-what the f—”

“105 Dove Road,” he told the driver. “Thank you.”

Then, as though none of this was remotely unhinged behaviour, he turned towards the window and gave someone outside the restaurant a lazy little wave. Nara was visibly staring.

The Uber driver watched Yeonjun through the rear-view mirror for a very long second.

“Miss,” he said cautiously, his eyes shifting towards you, “is that the right address?”

Your surprise doubled at his question. Not many men bothered to check in with a woman when another man answered for her.

You glanced sideways at Yeonjun’s expectant, utterly unashamed eyes.

Sighing, you scooched across the backseat towards the opposite window and gave the driver an apologetic nod. It wasn’t his fault Yeonjun was insane.

“Yes,” you said. “He’s my neighbour.”

“Okay.” The driver shrugged easily. “Just making sure.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

He nodded and carefully backed away from the curb, manoeuvring around another Uber that Nara was currently attempting to climb into while still laughing at something Bemgyu was saying through the open door. He was pointing directly at your car.

Behind them, Kai had his phone out and seemed to be taking pictures of you.

This was great.

For a moment, you considered blocking everyone in your contacts.

As the Uber slid into dwindling Saturday night traffic, Yeonjun closed his eyes and sank deeper into the seat, letting his head fall back against the headrest. You kept your eyes fixed on the window instead of him, watching the streets smear past in streaks of neon.

He hummed beside you. “Warm here.”

You gritted your teeth.

“What did I tell you we wouldn’t do again?” you asked, trying not to let your voice carry to the front of the car.

Yeonjun gathered his hands on his lap. “We wouldn’t talk tonight.”

“Right,” you said. “And what are we doing?”

He cracked one eye open.

Ignoring the slow spin of his surroundings, he dug his phone out of his pocket and heaved it as though it weighed several kilograms. The screen lit his face with a ghostly glow.

“It’s technically tomorrow,” he mumbled, holding the phone vaguely in your direction.

His lockscreen showed 12:12 AM.

His arm dropped again, head thunking softly against the seat. You stared at him for a second.

“I’m starting to think you really are unwell,” you informed him.

A faint smile appeared on the corner of his lips. “We live in the same building.”

“That is not why you got into my car.”

Yeonjun opened his eyes and slowly rolled his head towards you.

“No?” he said softly. “Tell me why, then.”

Clenching your jaw, you looked back out the window. Further away from the city centre, most of the shops had gone dark. A pair of drunk men stumbled past a deli with their arms slung around each other’s shoulders.

“You wanted everyone to see it.” Irritation sharpened your voice. You wished you’d drunk more tonight. “Wanted to send everyone some message. Like you’re marking your fucking territ—”

“No,” he said, eyes sliding shut again. “S’actually because you said we shouldn’t talk again tonight. And then we didn’t, even though you were right there, and now I feel a little bit like m’dying. S’all.”

A violent shiver snaked down your spine.

“That’s your future hangover,” you said.

“No.” His lips twitched slightly. “S’just you.”

He heard you draw a sharp breath and opened his eyes to find that you’d closed yours.

When you eventually looked back at him and found him already watching you, you still didn’t speak.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I can’t—I shouldn’t be saying shit like this. S’not your fault we ended up here anyway. I’m the one who fucked up and—”

“Yeonjun.”

It didn’t sound like a demand for him to stop speaking.

He didn’t know what it sounded like.

“I—” He swallowed and dragged a hand roughly down his face. The tips of his fingers felt like ice against his cheeks. “Right now, I’m really drunk.”

He paused, then frowned.

That wasn’t right. He’d developed a solid alcohol tolerance over the last year, but he’d transcended even that tonight. He seemed to have acquired some sort of higher spiritual condition now, available only to those courageous enough to drink their weight in liquor.

His head felt detachable.

Oh—a bit like Eeyore’s tail, he remembered. He’d had a plushie as a kid. The Velcro on the tail had worn out, and he constantly worried he’d drop it in some shop and lose it forever.

A fresh wave of horror washed over him – what, then, if that happened to his head?

“You’ve been drunk the whole night,” you said when he didn’t add anything else.

He shook his head weakly against the headrest—it hadn’t detached yet, thank God—but didn’t say anything else.

Outside, the city darkened further. The pavements emptied street by street. The Uber passed cafés with shuttered windows, dark office buildings, and lonely bus stops bathed in the cold glow of streetlights.

Yeonjun watched your reflection in the glass of the window.

Even in this state, he could tell that the conversation was ending again, and there was no promise of it starting again tomorrow. Or the day after.

Actually, maybe the real conversation between you had ended a long time ago. Maybe it ended that day in grad school.

Everything since then had just been coincidence, like you said.

Just circumstances.

And Violet.

God, he missed Violet.

She was probably sprawled across the middle of his bed by now. She’d probably try to suffocate him in his sleep later for abandoning her all evening, and to be fair, he thought he deserved it.

“I…” He hesitated, swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth. “C-could you stay for a minute after we get back? I want to talk to you.”

The shadows across your face shifted in the passing streetlights.

“Think we’ve talked enough for one night,” you said.

“Please.”

You continued to watch the city rush past the window.

Quietly, you found yourself thinking of your dream again. Thinking of the way the blue car—was that Yeonjun’s dead Nissan?—had kept passing you on the road. How relieved you’d felt to see it again.

You thought you knew better than to believe in dreams.

Carefully, you turned your gaze to the floor of the car. You could see Yeonjun in your peripheral vision, leaning back against the seat. He was still watching you.

“Fine,” you said at last.

You didn’t know if you knew better.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 30, 2026. 12:45 AM

When the driver finally stopped outside your building, you made sure to leave a significantly larger tip than you’d planned—partly because he’d treated you like an actual human being, but mostly because he’d been forced to listen to two people spiral for about half an hour, and no one deserved that on a Saturday night.

Yeonjun climbed out first.

You followed more slowly, smoothing your dress once your heels hit the pavement. The night air was damp against your skin, cool enough to sting where your pulse still raced. You were very tired.

For a moment after the door shut, the two of you stood beneath the streetlights and watched the Uber disappear down the street.

The silence that followed felt old.

It reminded you of grad school again. Of the long nights outside your building with Yeonjun standing near the entrance, his hands buried in his pockets, while neither of you looked for a reason to say goodbye.

You remembered not wanting to disturb Reina by bringing him upstairs. Remembered how, even then, wanting him that much had felt unsafe.

You wondered whether one day you’d stop remembering.

“Look,” Yeonjun started with a ragged sigh. “Maybe I did get into that car with you to send a message.”

Your gaze flicked to him.

“But not to them,” he added. “To you.”

Wind moved through the empty street, stirring the birch trees lining the pavement. Their leaves whispered overhead.

You knew you shouldn’t ask the next question.

You’d spent over a year closing those doors inside you, stacking anger against them. Pride against them. Grief. Anything to keep them from opening again.

But some exhausted part of you seemed to have quietly resigned itself to the fact that this was going to hurt regardless of whether they opened or not.

“What message?” you asked.

Yeonjun stared at the cracks in the pavement under his loafers. There was still some ash on the left one.

“I don’t want to not talk to you anymore,” he said, digging his nails into his palm to force the street to steady around him. “Or only run into you in the lobby sometimes. Or just—just be a neighbour to you. I c—I can’t do that with you.”

You felt heat flare under your skin: at the back of your neck and on the side of your face and across your lips. Everywhere he’d touched you tonight, as though he’d left invisible marks that he could trigger just with his voice.

They burned at the thought that you wouldn’t talk anymore.

That you would only run into each other sometimes.

That you would only be neighbours.

“I can’t do that with you, either,” you said, turning your gaze towards the dark building across the street. Only a few windows still glowed.

Yeonjun watched you, holding his breath.

Hope was a very dangerous thing to hand him; he didn’t know how to hold it.

“So what does that mean?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, fingers clutching the fabric of your dress. “Maybe it means we shouldn’t talk at all anymore.”

He shook his head, stubborn even drunk. The street tilted around him and bent backwards. He stumbled slightly and caught himself against the nearest lamppost, his shoes clattering against the metal.

“No,” he said. “That—that can’t be what it means.”

He looked pale under the feeble yellow of the streetlight. Looked like he’d stay here until he became part of the lamppost.

“Why not?” you said.

He steadied himself against the pole, fingers tightening around the freezing metal. “Because it’s you and me.”

“So?”

“So we’ve always been talking.”

Your gaze drifted down to the base of the lamppost. “Much good it’s done us.”

Horribly, he realised that was true.

He had nothing concrete to offer you to prove that talking to him was worth the effort.

He’d failed to prove to you he was a good boyfriend back in grad school. Failed to tell you what mattered when it mattered. Failed at everything he’d tried.

And he’d never taken himself for much of an optimist, yet, despite all of that, he still stood here, in the cold, with tired eyes and whiskey for blood, his shoulders slumped beneath his suit jacket, looking at you like he still intended to get everything right this time.

It was you.

It had always been you.

He knew he’d carry that around with him for the rest of his life, whether you wanted him to or not.

“That can—everything can change,” he said.

He couldn’t tell whether the nausea twisting his guts came from the alcohol or the look in your eyes. Maybe both.

“It shouldn’t,” you said.

“Why not?”

“Because it—” You stopped yourself with a sharp exhale and looked down at the stubborn grass forcing its way through the cracks in the pavement. When you spoke again, your voice had gone quieter. “We can’t do this again, I told you. I’m sorry about what happened toni—”

“No.” The force of his interruption snapped your gaze back to him. “Don’t apologise for anything that happened tonight.”

You held his gaze for a second before looking away again. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“I wanted you to.”

The more he spoke, the less you seemed to move.

He let go of the lamppost, but didn’t dare step closer.

“That doesn’t make it better,” you said.

“Why not?”

You shook your head. The pins in your hair had started digging into your scalp, and every tiny movement hurt. You didn’t have many more why nots left in you.

“We can’t do that again,” you said.

“But we—we’re not doing that again,” he argued. “It’s different now.”

“It’s not, though. It’s still us. Nothing’s different.”

“But you won’t even let me talk to you.” Agitation sharpened his words now; he’d stopped trying to soften them. “So how can you know that?”

Your fingers pressed into fists. “We’ve talked enou—”

“No, we haven’t! We never talked about what we were—what we were doin—”

“Well, whose fault is that, then?” Your voice cracked through the empty street. You looked at him with eyes bright enough to burn. “I wanted to talk to you! I fucking—I tried to talk to you. Back in grad school, I tried. Twice. Both times, you walked away without explaining shit. ‘Things were happening.’” You scoffed. “Fuck that. Now you want to talk? Now, over a year later, you want to fucking talk?”

“I want to explain why it took so long,” he said quickly. “I—”

“No,” you cut through him. “No, we’re not doing that. You think it—think I’m fine, yeah? Said I’d forget about you. Why wouldn’t I? I’ve never been bothered by people leaving, right? Like water off my back, every single time.” Your chest shuddered as you tried to take a breath. “We—no. No, that’s it. I—I’m not doing that again with you. I can’t.”

You turned away from him.

Yeonjun stared at the back of your dress in silence. The vivid blue looked lighter beneath the streetlights. He watched the fabric shift with each wild breath you tried to tame.

He hadn’t been thinking about your mother when he’d walked away in grad school. He’d been thinking about his own.

And it hit him, finally, that you had cared about him far more deeply than he’d ever allowed himself to believe. And he had hurt you far worse than he’d understood.

He should’ve known.

He should’ve fucking known.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

A muscle jumped faintly beneath your shoulder blades. “Go home, Jun.”

The nickname knocked against him with frightening force.

“It’s cold,” you added. “You need to sleep this off.”

Yeonjun closed his eyes. He’d already got used to the dizziness and the nausea. The real problem now was the sharp pressure around his heart.

Maybe he’d drunk enough to damage something important. Or maybe it was the broken pieces, finding new ways to break again.

“I’m—I really am sorry,” he whispered.

“I know.”

You still didn’t turn around.

He didn’t move.

“Go inside, Yeonjun,” you said again. “S’cold.”

There was a slight shudder in your voice that seemed to trail down your whole body.

Swallowing, Yeonjun shrugged out of his jacket. The cold hit him instantly through the thin white shirt beneath, but he barely reacted.

He walked towards you, keeping his gaze ahead to ignore the dizzying sway of the pavement beneath him. Taking a deep breath, he lowered the jacket over your shoulders, the fabric still warm from the heat of his body.

Your breath caught in your throat all over again.

His hands rested on your shoulders for a second. Then he stepped back.

Immediately, you were swathed in him again: smoke, whiskey, the bergamot of his cologne, even traces of your own perfume. You gathered the collar of the jacket tightly in your hand and finally turned towards the building.

The doors groaned as you pulled them open. You glanced back at him, waiting.

Yeonjun lowered his gaze and gave a small nod before following you into the lobby.

Then he took the lift.

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✦ • ─── AUGUST 24, 2026. 6:55 AM

Violet was back on your fire escape the following Monday morning, undeterred by such feeble inconveniences as a firmly shut window latch.

You saw her as soon as you opened your eyes.

Before you’d moved in, you’d worried about the short curtains, afraid that the morning light would wake you up at the crack of dawn. Now, however, fingers braced on the window frame as you worked the latch, you appreciated every inch of glass they failed to cover.

Violet slipped inside the moment you pushed the window open, already accustomed to this. She brushed your ankles in a brief greeting and strode through your bedroom like she was running late for a meeting in your living room.

You exhaled and reached for your phone. Your vision was still clouded with sleep as you opened Yeonjun’s contact, but last night’s conversation on your screen snapped you awake.

You typed quickly, forcing your eyes to stay on the keyboard.

YOU [6:58 AM] violet is ehre

It took him a minute to reply:

YEONJUN [6:59 AM] coming up

You briefly wondered if you’d woken him, but decided it wasn’t your problem. Violet, however fond you were of her, was his cat. And if he wasn’t taking enough precautions to keep her inside, he could deal with the consequences.

You headed into the kitchen and picked up your mug from the cupboard.

Violet had already stationed herself by the window, nose lowered to the floor where her water bowl had been the day before. There were faint smears on the tiles where droplets had dried. You made a mental note to give the floor a proper scrub tonight.

The doorbell rang, cutting through the quiet of your flat.

You opened the door to find Yeonjun in a loose grey jumper, hood up, his hair poking out in uneven strands from underneath. His eyes were half open.

“Hi,” he said, voice still rough with sleep.

“Hi,” you replied. “She’s by the window.”

He glanced over your shoulder. “Sorry again. I know it’s starting to come across like maybe I don’t mind her leaving—”

“A bit, yeah.”

He held back a smile. “I do mind. I don’t even hear her do it.”

You stepped aside. Yeonjun’s gaze dropped to your pyjama top. It had strawberries on it. He was almost certain he’d seen it on you before, and the recognition sent a pleasant shiver through him.

Your phone buzzed in your hand before he could speak.

Professor Lee.

You glanced towards the living room, where Violet was sitting with her tail curled politely at her feet, then back at Yeonjun.

“Come in,” you said. “I’ve got to take this.”

A little thrown by the invitation, Yeonjun hesitated on the threshold for another second, then stepped inside with a deep inhale.

You turned away to answer the call.

Professor Lee skipped the small talk as he usually did, but it felt particularly abrupt this early in the morning. Apparently, he needed you in. Said he had a faculty meeting, and you would have to cover his office hours.

Yes, immediately.

No, there wasn’t any time to discuss details.

You stumbled over your words, trying to negotiate a reasonable travel window; you couldn’t exactly come in immediately, you were in your pyjamas. But Professor Lee seemed to be operating under the assumption that you either possessed the ability to teleport, or would develop it under pressure.

While you blinked at the floor, Yeonjun made soft, clicking sounds with his tongue to get Violet’s attention behind you. She resisted for a good half a minute, watching you as though she expected you to tell him to stop; he was embarrassing them both.

When you didn’t meet her gaze, she relented and allowed Yeonjun to gather her up.

“Sorry,” he murmured as he passed you with Violet in his arms. His eyes lingered, briefly, on your vase of sunflowers. He didn’t ask where they’d come from, but hoped it was your grandfather.

You nodded, half-turned away.

“Alright,” you said into the phone, shutting the door. “I’m on my way.”

✦ • ─── AUGUST 24, 2026. 9 AM

As it turned out, Professor Lee’s emergency was not much of an emergency at all.

You sat in his office for an hour, and not a single student came; not one tentative knock, no confused first-year wandering in by accident.

You spent the first twenty minutes checking your emails, another twenty staring at the clock above the door, and the last spinning aimlessly in the chair, half-hoping someone would appear just to give you something to do.

This was the calm before the storm.

Shortly after Professor Lee returned, he declared, with his usual flair, that the undergrads had flipped his schedule upside down. Naturally, that meant yours was upside down as well.

You spent the rest of the day reshuffling appointments, reworking study plans, and running around campus in search of Professor Lee’s missing staff badge. You returned to his office with bad news, only to be told that he’d realised he’d forgotten the badge in the back pocket of his trousers at home. He had a great laugh about that. You considered stepping out for a cigarette.

By the time you returned to your building, you could barely stand. Your dark brown trainers, which seemed so comfortable when you put them on this morning, had rubbed blisters all over your feet. The noises of the day still rang in your ears.

Yeonjun was in the lobby.

He stood by the letterboxes with a bowl of something aggressively green (with tomatoes) and a fork.

“Hi again,” he said, mid-bite.

“Hi.” You paused by the door, eyeing the contents of his bowl. It seemed to be a salad. “Tastes better in the lobby?”

Grinning, he speared another leaf onto his fork and held it out to you. “Want to try?”

“No, thanks.” You moved past him towards the letterboxes. He shuffled out of your way, his trainers scraping on the floor. “Did you actually come out here to have lunch?”

There was a flimsy advert in your letterbox: window frames at twenty-five per cent off. You glanced at it, then scrunched it up in your hand.

“Technically,” Yeonjun said, pausing to swallow, “s’my breakfast.”

You shut the letterbox and looked at him. “It’s four in the afternoon.”

He shrugged, already shovelling another forkful to his mouth. You caught your gaze locking onto his fork and turned away, crossing the lobby towards the stairs. He followed.

“Everything okay, then?” he asked.

You glanced back at him. “Hm?”

“You rushed out this morning.”

“Oh.” You slipped the crumpled advert into your pocket to toss it out at home. “Professor Lee had—he needed me to come in early. Hope Violet wasn’t upset.”

“She was,” Yeonjun said. “Very offended you kicked her out. But what can you do.”

“Did you tell her I’ve got no hard feelings?”

“No.” He nudged something—coriander, by the look of it—to the side of the bowl. “I told her you changed your mind about being kind to her. S’showbiz.”

You fixed him with a look.

His grin settled more comfortably on his face. “What?”

You huffed, then turned back to the stairs.

“Violet’s fine,” he said, scraping the bottom of the bowl. The sound was eerie in the stairwell. “She’s spoiled, I told you. But she, uh—hopefully she’ll stop coming. M’thinking I’ll stick some tape on the latch, so she stops getting ideas.”

“Hmm.” You dragged your hands down the sides of your jacket. “She won’t like that.”

“Probably not,” he agreed. “But she’ll realise it’s for the best.”

He took the next step, then stumbled to a halt, suddenly recognising his mother’s words in his mouth.

His fork clipped the rim of the bowl and slipped, clattering down onto the stairs.

You turned.

“My fork,” he said, mournfully, and bent to retrieve it.

You pressed your lips together. “Serves you right. Eating in the stairwell.”

Yeonjun hummed as he straightened, tilting his head.

“Meant to do that,” he said.

“M’sure you did.”

He stopped outside his door, shifting the bowl to one hand so he could find his keys in his jumper pocket. You continued up the stairs.

“See you tomorrow, then,” he called out.

“Or not,” you replied. “If Violet hates me now.”

“Sure. But I might pop by the lobby, still.”

You glanced back down at him. “Oh, might?”

He lifted a shoulder in a lazy shrug, his lips stretching. “We’ll see what tomorrow brings.”

Shaking your head, you continued up the remaining steps.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 25, 2026. 6:55 AM

On Tuesday, Violet waited on your fire escape while you fumbled with the window frame. There was a strip of tape stuck to her whiskers. Evidently, Yeonjun’s grand plan to protect the latch hadn’t worked.

You braced a hand against the sill, blocking her path for a moment, and gently plucked the tape away. She chirped sharply, offended to be disrupted in this way, and tried to nip past your grasp.

You pulled back. The fire escape creaked as Violet slipped in through the gap and landed gracefully on your floor.

You shut the window and picked up your phone.

YOU [6:57 AM] guess who’s back

YEONJUN [6:57 AM] back again shady’s back

Frowning, you started to type before he could send another text.

YOU [6:58 AM] you coming or

The three dots disappeared for a minute.

YEONJUN [6:59 AM] omw

By the time the doorbell rang, Violet had already made herself comfortable on the armrest of the sofa. She flicked an ear at the sound, blinked once, and turned back to the window.

You opened the door.

Yeonjun looked as though he’d come here directly from his bed. His hair was flattened at the back, sticking up at odd angles by his temples; his shirt sat crooked on his shoulders, collar askew.

He took a determined breath and dropped into a squat.

“Right, then,” he said. You pulled back from the door, giving him a clear line of sight. “Come on, love.”

Violet did not come on.

Yeonjun had come prepared; he crinkled her bag of treats.

Unfortunately, that only drew Violet a little bit closer. She sat down at a safe distance and eyed him for a minute. A few petals from the sunflowers lay scattered on the floor beside her.

“Alright,” he murmured, giving the bag another shake. “Few more steps for me, yeah? Just—”

The moment he reached for her, Violet twisted out of his grasp with startling speed.

“Violet, shit—” He jerked his hand back, blinking at the thin red line rising across his skin. “What did I tell you last night? You can’t scratch when I’m trying to teach you to behave.”

You folded your arms and diplomatically averted your gaze to grant them some privacy.

Yeonjun’s firm tone must have registered with Violet, though, because she made a low, begrudging sound and turned around. After another moment’s consideration, she lifted her chin and stepped past him into the stairwell, as if this had been her intention all along.

Exhaling, Yeonjun stood.

“Your hand alright?” you asked.

He gave it a reflexive shake. “Yeah, it’ll be fine. Growing pains. Sorry about her.”

“She’s alright,” you said. Violet turned her head in your direction, her pupils wide. She was hoping you’d invite her back inside. “She’s clearly very determined to keep coming.”

Yeonjun glanced down at her and cautiously extended his hand again. Violet leaned in for a sniff, her whiskers stiff against his skin. She allowed him exactly one stroke down her back before slipping deftly out from under his fingers.

“Feisty today,” you observed.

“I’ve been holding back the treats,” Yeonjun explained, straightening. He rattled the package in his hands again. “Hoped it’d stop her clawing at the window.”

“Ah.” You inclined your head. “So she’s come to claw at you instead.”

“I guess.” He twisted his wrist experimentally—then winced, breath catching as the motion pulled at his old sprain. He dropped his hand back to his side. “Anyway, uh—I’ll try again with the curtains. I pulled them up, but maybe she wants them fully gone.”

You followed his gaze to Violet, now perched on the top stair, thoughtfully licking her paw.

“Maybe,” you said.

“Yeah.” He rocked lightly on his heels, then remembered himself and stilled. “Um—you’ll be off to uni, then?”

You pushed off the doorframe. The edge of your pyjama pants snagged on a loose splinter in the wood. You glanced down, suddenly very aware of the stain at the knee from an unlucky accident with oil.

“Yeah,” you said, angling your leg to hide the blemish. “Professor Lee and I are hosting the introductory lecture for undergrads today.”

“Oh,” Yeonjun said. He opened his mouth to make another comment, but discovered he had none left. Half his brain was still asleep. “Good luck.”

You nodded.

He stayed on your doorstep.

The corridor fell into a quiet stillness around you. Only the soft, repetitive sounds of Violet grooming herself by the stairs broke the silence.

Yeonjun scratched the back of his neck and glanced at you, then dropped his gaze back to the floor.

“I, uh,” he said, “I could drive you.”

Your stomach seemed to drop out from under you.

You glanced down, instinctively, as if to catch it.

“Oh,” you said, gaze locked on your slippers. “N—I mean, no need. It’s not far.”

“Okay,” he said quickly. “Well, if you change your mind, let me know. The offer always stands.”

Violet had paused, mid-lick, to give him a pointed look. Yeonjun caught it and blinked away.

Nice going, idiot, she seemed to be saying. What else you got?

“Right,” he said, bending to scoop her up before he started to peel his skin off. “See you later, then.”

You dragged a hand over the side of the doorframe. “Later.”

✦ • ─── AUGUST 25, 2026. 9 AM

Professor Lee was running late, which wasn’t unusual. You suspected the man would one day be late for his own funeral.

You could manage his absence.

What you could not manage was the auditorium door.

You pressed your staff badge to the scanner again. The little light above the lock flashed red.

You stared at it, perplexed.

The corridor began to fill with students, their voices wrapping around you—laughter, complaints about the cold, yawns, jokes about the football match last night. You stood still, badge in hand, trying to look like you weren’t locked out of your own lecture.

Your skin felt terribly warm. Uselessly, your mind flashed back to the early morning. Yeonjun hadn’t driven you here, yet your stomach still felt tight as if he had.

“Sure you’ve got the right room?”

You turned. A boy stood beside you, looking a good ten years younger than you. He should’ve been in kindergarten.

“Yeah,” you said. “Seems like technology’s not working today.”

“Oh, well,” he said easily. “Guess class is cancelled, then. You can hang out with us instead.”

His friend, taller than him but still looking like he was learning to clap his syllables in primary school, jabbed him in the ribs. “Shut up.”

You forced a tight smile and tried the badge again.

Red.

The boy beside you snickered. His friend failed, audibly, to stifle his own amusement.

A few more comments followed behind you, just loud enough to reach you: most assuming this was your first day on the job (it was), or that you were actually a first-year, too (you almost wished).

You kept your eyes on the lock.

When Professor Lee appeared five minutes later, slightly out of breath but unfazed as always, the corridor immediately quieted.

It irked you a little, his innate authority.

You wondered what he had that you didn’t. He didn’t look much like a professor with his multicoloured shirt, jeans, and a black backpack slung over one shoulder.

Maybe it was just that he was a man.

“Ah,” he said as a way of introducing himself. “Good, good.”

He tapped his badge once.

The light blinked green. The lock clicked open.

Smiling like you were due for a check-up at the local psychiatric ward, you stepped into the auditorium after him.

The lecture, at least, went better.

Once you switched on your PowerPoint, the words came easily. You’d practised your presentation until it was muscle memory, even if said muscles kept shaking the entire hour and a half.

The students listened. And, in what passed for high praise these days, only a few of them pulled out their phones.

After you finished, a small group stayed behind.

“Sorry about earlier,” one of the students said—Sungjae, you’d learned, the one who’d tried to recruit you in the corridor. “You’re very young for a lecturer.”

“Yeah,” you said, cutting him a look as you turned off the projector. “I’m equally shocked they let me do this.”

He snorted, relieved you were playing along, and brought a finger over the edge of your desk.

“You did well, though,” he said. “I’m looking forward to seeing you the rest of the term.”

You gave him a tight smile.

He’d been overly active the whole class, raising his hand to clarify the points that didn’t need clarifying (‘Why’s that image wonky? Oh, sorry, I thought it was, like, a test of our perception—carry on.’). He reminded you of the students back in your thesis workshop.

He didn’t move from your desk.

Behind him, Professor Lee was deep in conversation with another cluster of students, nodding enthusiastically at something you suspected he hadn’t even heard. You considered calling him over.

Clearing your throat, you glanced back at Sungjae.

“First paper’s due end of September,” you said. “I’m very excited for that.”

“Oh—right.” His eyes widened, then dropped to the floor. “Yeah—I’ll do my best, then. Have a good one.”

“You, too.”

He rejoined his friends in the corridor, where he was immediately met with a round of laughter and a few punches to the shoulder.

Off to a good start, then.

At least this one hadn’t tried to ask for your phone number. You might’ve had to call his parents otherwise.

Turning away, you caught Professor Lee’s eye. He beamed at you and flashed you an energetic thumbs up, startling the boys he’d been speaking to.

You smiled back, relaxing your shoulders.

The professor hadn’t changed much since he’d been hosting your psychological warfare seminars back in grad school. And, despite everything, it felt good to be back in the trenches.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 25, 2026. 4 PM

When you returned, Yeonjun was leaning against the wall in the lobby, scrolling through his phone.

This, you realised absurdly, might’ve been the most stable part of your life right now.

No matter what happened at university, you could trust Yeonjun to be in the lobby when you got home.

You sighed as the doors clicked shut behind you.

Yeonjun looked up, already smiling before your eyes properly met. He had big, black-framed glasses on today. They were sliding down his nose.

“Oh, hi,” he said. “Back already?”

“My usual time, it seems.”

“Yeah? Wouldn’t know.”

You hummed, eyes narrowing slightly.

The last time you’d seen him wear glasses, he’d followed you into the library where you were working on a presentation with Luke. Those had been lensless, then; he’d been putting up a performance. Brought a book and everything.

“Like my glasses?” he asked, noting your stare as he slipped his phone into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Real or not?”

“Real, of course.”

“Yeah?” You turned away, tightening the strap of your backpack. “Used to wear ones for decoration.”

He knew exactly what you were thinking about.

“Used to wear real ones, too,” he said, eyes glittering behind the frames. “Before we met.”

You remembered him mentioning that.

“Mhmm,” you said. “So, a quick switch to being fake, then, yeah? Checks out.”

He blew out a puff of air. You seemed in a violent mood today—perhaps Violet had infected you—yet the small smile on your lips as you crossed the lobby had him transfixed.

He stood still for half a second before he realised to follow you.

“I like that you remember my fake glasses,” he said, deciding he enjoyed walking on thin ice. His hand followed yours on the railing.

“Hard not to,” you replied. “You stalked me into the library.”

“I asked if I could come with you.”

“I said no.”

“You didn’t.”

“I implied—”

“Well, how am I supposed to understand implications?” he cut in, tapping his palm against the bannister. “I can’t read minds.”

You gave him a flat look over your shoulder. “Clearly.”

He grinned. “You should tell me everything directly.”

“Alright.” You paused on the second-floor landing and turned to face him properly. “Don’t come to the lobby anymore.”

“That’s better,” he said, stopping a few steps below. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“That doesn’t sound reassuring.”

He shrugged. “I’m only human.”

Clicking your tongue, you turned back towards the stairs.

“Tell me something else, then,” you said. “What are you doing, job-wise, to have enough free time to loiter here every day?”

Yeonjun was feeling very buoyant and needed a moment to gather himself. Then his thoughts.

“I do simulations,” he said finally. “Strategy work.”

You slowed just enough for him to fall into step with you.

“For cars?” you asked. “Racing?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. Then, catching your raised eyebrows, he added, “not anywhere near Formula, in case s’what you’re thinking.”

“But you’re an engineer?”

He lifted a hand in a vague, sideways motion.

“A consultant, technically,” he said. “Mostly performance diagnostics. Data analysis.”

You lowered your head, thoughts drifting.

Beside you, Yeonjun could tell you remembered playing 21 Questions on his sofa with him. Eating grapes and chocolates. You’d asked him what he wanted to do in the future. He’d said he liked cars.

He remembered it, too: the low crackle of the fireplace, the way you used to look at him back then.

When he got the call with the job offer, that was what came back to him first.

“What sort of racing, then?” you asked, not looking at him.

“Stock cars.”

“Oh.” That surprised you again. “Like NASCAR?”

“Sort of,” he said. “We’ve got a local league. Closest thing you’ll get to NASCAR here, I guess.”

The stairwell narrowed as you climbed past the third floor, forcing you closer. Sunlight pushed through the thin windows in stubborn streaks, catching dust in the air and highlighting the yellow paint on the walls.

“Haven’t moved to dirt, then,” you said, almost absentmindedly.

His nose scrunched faintly, a reflex you recognised before you could stop yourself noticing.

“No,” he said, pushing his glasses higher up his nose. “Loyal to tarmac.”

“Hmm.”

By the fourth floor, your pace had slowed without either of you deciding on it.

You were aware that there was only one floor left until his flat. And if you lingered to talk there, that would mean you weren’t just exchanging quick neighbourly small talk on the stairs anymore. Then you’d be having a Conversation.

“That’s cool, though,” you said. “You went legal.”

“Yeah.” His gaze dropped to the stairs. “S’not bad. Mostly screens and numbers. Pays well, though, and, uh—” he looked up, “—leaves me with loads of free time.”

You met his eyes.

“Mhmm.” Your lips pressed together. “That explains it.”

“I do leave my flat, though,” he added quickly. “On test days, and—”

“I’m not accusing you of anything.”

“You gave me a look.”

You snickered under your breath.

“Didn’t mean anything by it,” you said. “Just surprised you’d voluntarily choose to work from home.”

That was fair enough, Yeonjun had to admit.

He let out a quiet breath, his gaze settling somewhere ahead.

“I’ve, uh—I’ve changed a lot,” he said. He’d had this conversation in his head hundreds of times before. He wondered if his words sounded rehearsed. “Found my peace.”

This wasn’t the first time he said something like this to you.

You didn’t know what it was supposed to mean.

“That’s good,” you said.

“Yeah.”

You rounded the next corner, gaze catching on the uneven linoleum, the peeling paint on the walls, the bannister smoothed by hundreds of hands. It all looked softer in the sunlight, more welcoming.

The two of you reached the fifth floor.

Yeonjun stopped at his door, hand hovering near the handle. He waited until you turned to glance back at him.

“Let’s see what Violet does tomorrow, I guess,” he said. “Yeah?”

You nodded and turned for the last flight up. “Yeah.”

Yeonjun watched you go.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 26, 2026. 6:55 AM

Violet did not care about the curtains.

She was back on the fire escape at her usual time, seated with rigid patience, waiting for you to notice her. In truth, she felt quite disrespected. It’d been nearly a week – surely, you should’ve expected her by now?

The faint, persistent scrape against the glass of your window finally dragged you from sleep.

You sighed into the pillow, then heaved yourself upright and went to the window. Violet squeezed through the gap the moment you lifted the latch, nudging the frame further with her plump backside.

“Violet,” you said as she toddled into the living room. “Be honest with me. Do you hate Yeonjun? I won’t tell him.”

Violet kept her secrets and settled between your flower pots.

Half an hour later, Yeonjun stood in the middle of your flat, scratching the back of his head. You left him to sort out the cat while you dried your hair in front of the mirror by the bathroom door.

“I don’t know what else to do,” he admitted, turning to look at you. He felt faintly dizzy at the scent of your shampoo.

He’d just spent five minutes hunched over in your kitchen, rattling the treat bag with steadily dwindling confidence. Violet wasn’t falling for it. Stretched out in her patch of sunlight, she had not so much as turned her head.

“Is she opening the latch herself?” you asked, shutting off the hairdryer and bringing a hand through your hair. It felt staticky. You tried to smooth it down.

“I mean, unless my flat’s haunted, yeah,” he said. “I shut it properly, I’m sure. She must keep at it until it gives. Chewed through the tape I’d put on and everything.” He glanced at the cat. “Then she just lets herself out.”

You hummed, gathering the cable as you turned your attention back to Violet.

You watched her roll onto her back, exposing her stomach to the sun. Her mottled fur seemed to glisten in the light. Her paws pressed against the glass.

She looked entirely at home.

“Um.” You walked into the kitchen and set the hairdryer on the island. “We could try leaving her here for the day.”

Even as you said them, the words sounded strange.

“I’ll be back around four,” you added, filling the pause before it could turn awkward. “I can let her out then. Bring her back to you. Obviously, I’d leave water out, and—” you gestured towards him, “—you could bring over some food. She could just—I don’t know. Stay here. For a bit. Like back on Sunday.”

Yeonjun watched Violet’s tail flick rhythmically against the floorboards and didn’t answer straight away. He flexed his fingers once, as if to remind himself that he, too, had a corporeal form.

“You’d—” He cleared his throat. “You’d be alright with that?”

You lifted one shoulder. “I don’t mind. But she’s your cat.”

Yeonjun was very aware of that. Aware, too, that Violet, his cat, clearly preferred your place to his.

He wondered, although he tried not to, how many other things he had in common with her.

“Yeah,” he said at last. “She—yeah. I’m cool. Fair warning, though, I can’t thank you with peach cobbler this time. Haven’t had a chance to bake anything.”

“Oh.” You raised your eyebrows and tsked. “Well, obviously, this can’t work, then. Take the cat and go.”

He snorted.

“We can try leaving her here,” he said.

“Yeah?”

He nodded.

“Okay.” You turned back to Violet. “Yeah.”

“I’ll, uh—I’ll bring over some of her food.”

“Alright.”

You stood still for a moment after he left, watching Violet and trying to decide if the rapid, uneven thumping in your chest meant anything. You decided it didn’t.

Yeonjun returned a few minutes later with Violet’s food in a charming, pale green ceramic bowl.

You took it and set it down on the floor beside the water, your expression deliberately neutral. This was all, of course, perfectly ordinary. Just doing your neighbour a favour and letting his cat stay at your flat. Again.

Violet lifted her head at the soft click of the ceramic against the floor. You crouched beside her, giving her a gentle poke on the back, then gesturing towards Yeonjun.

“Look, little one,” you said. “You sure you won’t miss him during the day? He’ll be gone awfully long.”

She flicked her tail once in acknowledgement, then turned her head back towards the window.

“Right, then,” you said, standing. “Never mind.”

“Right,” Yeonjun echoed. He was twiddling his thumbs.

“Nervous to leave her?” you asked.

“A bit.” He dropped his hands, then pushed them up to the back of his neck. “Always hard for a parent to separate from his kid.”

You felt your lips twitch again and turned away. “She’ll be alright.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

You left him to say his goodbyes—he did genuinely seem close to tears—and stepped into your bedroom to open the window just an inch, in case Violet decided to go home early. Then you returned to the living room.

Violet hadn’t moved. Her eyes were still squeezed shut in front of the sun.

You grabbed your backpack and stepped out into the corridor. Yeonjun followed, quieter now.

He lingered behind while you locked the door, wondering if he should say something else. He didn’t.

“Alright,” you said, slipping your keys into your backpack. “See you later, then. I’m sure Violet will be okay.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “See you.”

He walked downstairs with you to his floor and stood by his door a minute longer. By the time he went inside, he was smiling again.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 26, 2026. 4 PM

When you returned home that afternoon, the light in the lobby was dimmer. The sun slanted through the narrow windows, reflecting off the silver chain around Yeonjun’s neck.

He turned from the letterboxes the moment he heard the door shut. He had his glasses on again.

You smiled before you could stop yourself.

“Hi,” you said. “She hasn’t come back?”

“Hi.” He pushed himself off the wall. “No. M’starting to think she won’t want to.”

Your heart lifted at that. You forced it to calm down.

“She’s probably just looking for a change in environment,” you reasoned, turning towards the stairs. “Or—have you got other pets? Or some unusual odour in your flat?”

He snorted, following you. “No. She’s my only pet and the only unusual odour in my flat.”

You laughed.

Yeonjun felt it like a sudden drop in gravity and reached for the bannister just in case. He was remarkably dreadful on his feet around you. There was probably a name for it.

“Think she just likes your place, to be honest,” he said around the second floor. “You’ve got good light. And plants.”

You glanced at him. “You haven’t got plants?”

“No.”

You slowed until your steps aligned with his in the cramped stairwell.

“Why not?” you asked.

He looked down at the scuffed edges of the steps and tried to concentrate on placing one foot in front of the other, or else he’d start thinking about how close to him you were walking.

“Never thought to get any,” he said.

Your thoughts raced ahead of you.

You remembered the house he used to share with Soobin—how large it had felt, with light spilling through the big windows, and a kitchen with too many cupboards and teabags no one could find. And plants, on the sills and on the tables.

“You, uh—” The words caught in your throat on their way out. “You used to have plants.”

Yeonjun looked at you and forced his expression into something more neutral.

“Yeah, those were Bin’s,” he said. “Didn’t even let me water them unsupervised.”

Your lips quivered. “Makes sense.”

“D’you think I should get plants?”

You looked at him again. He looked earnest and a little worried, as if the rest of his life depended on this decision. You made a concerted effort not to start smiling.

“Yes,” you said.

“Okay.” He nodded. “What sort?”

“Whatever you want. Ferns are fairly easy, for example. Once you get them settled in a good spot.”

You and Reina had had three ferns in your old flat. She’d taken them when she moved in with Soobin while you were away in New York. One of them hadn’t survived the move, may it rest in peace. You and Reina had held a small funeral after you returned, then divided custody of the remaining two.

Yeonjun, in the meantime, sifted through his own memories.

He hadn’t really got acquainted with the plants he’d had with Soobin. There had been ‘the big one, with the enormous leaves’ in the living room, and ‘the small ones’ on the windowsills in the kitchen. There might’ve been a few in the guest rooms, too, come to think of it.

Had any of them been ferns?

“Ferns,” he said slowly. “Those are the ones with the feathery leaves, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said. “They’re also non-toxic for cats.”

“Oh.” He blinked, embarrassed that he hadn’t considered that. “Okay, that—that’s great. Can they survive anywhere?”

“More or less,” you said. You were nearing the fifth floor now, and you began to rush through your words. “They usually prefer shade, but they do need some light. They’re quite communicative, though—you’ll see it from the leaves if they’re getting too much sun. Or if you’re overwatering.”

Yeonjun clicked his tongue, unconvinced.

There’d been those Christmas plants that Soobin had brought home once—poinsettias, were they? He couldn’t remember. They’d looked expensive. Soobin had left them for a couple of days while he was visiting his family and had said, Yeonjun remembered clearly, water them a bit.

So, Yeonjun had watered them a bit.

By the time Soobin got back, all the red leaves had dropped off.

“Yeah, they’re all communicative,” he mumbled. “Hasn’t stopped me from killing them before.”

Your smile won against you. “Well, you’ve got to go into it with a pure heart. Plants can sense bad energy.”

He was about to argue. Then he thought of Violet, and the way she escaped his flat each morning and ran to yours instead.

Maybe he did have bad energy in his flat.

Maybe he should’ve bought one of those bundles of sage.

Maybe he should’ve asked you to move in with—

“Alright,” he said, inhaling sharply. “S’fair enough. I’ll look into ferns, then.”

You reached the fifth floor and stopped, briefly, on the landing.

“You, uh—are you coming up, then?” you asked. “For Violet.”

“Oh.” He glanced upwards as though he’d forgotten there was another floor. “Yeah. Of course.”

He followed you up the stairs. There was a peculiar lightness in his hands, he realised, as though some screws in his wrists had loosened. His fingers wobbled on their own.

It took you a minute to unlock the door. You jostled the key and nudged the wood with your shoulder until the lock finally gave.

Yeonjun paused on the threshold.

Your flat, he thought, smelled of something familiar. Fresh laundry, perhaps. Vanilla-scented candles. It felt warm and inviting. He was this close to climbing out onto the fire escape tomorrow morning and knocking on your window himself.

Violet hadn’t moved far.

She lay stretched across the centre of your rug, exactly where the sunlight had settled. She turned her head at the sound of the door, rolled onto her side, then pushed herself up and trotted over to Yeonjun. There seemed to be a small skip in her step.

Yeonjun was surprised.

“Hi, love,” he said, squatting to greet her. “Missed me, did you?”

She took a mandatory turn around his ankles, her head brushing against his knees, before allowing him to pick her up.

“Wow,” he breathed as she snuggled against his chest. She was content now. Ready to go home, treats or no treats. “Alright, then.”

“Guess she needed a break from you,” you said. “Can’t blame her.”

He snorted, then broke into proper laughter despite himself.

You felt yourself smile in response.

The sunflowers, Yeonjun noted, glancing back inside, were still on your kitchen island.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, one hand resting against Violet’s back. “Guess so.”

You slipped your backpack from your shoulder and let it fall by the door. Yeonjun shifted to the side to make more room.

This gesture felt alarmingly familiar, and for a moment, you forgot what to do with yourself.

“Should we—” Yeonjun paused when you looked up. He swallowed, recalibrating. “Should we do this again tomorrow? If she’s back at your window.”

You watched Violet’s whiskers twitch and settle. Yeonjun felt an uncomfortable heat rise to his ears with every second that you didn’t reply.

“I guess,” you said. You doubted you had a choice. “She seems to like it here.”

“Yeah. Alright.” He nodded quickly. “Don’t feel pressured by her big blue eyes, though. If you’re busy, I can come up and get her.”

Her big blue eyes were closed now. She was already half-asleep in his arms.

The bowl of food Yeonjun had brought her stood empty by the window.

“She’s good,” you said. “I don’t mind.”

Violet seemed to sense the shift in his chest at your words and lifted her head. He smoothed a hand down her back, warning her to be cool.

“Alright,” he said. “Just let me know she’s here, yeah?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

He nodded, and lingered on your doorstep for another moment.

He realised that, while he wasn’t very good at goodbyes, he was very good at hovering in your periphery and looking for small reasons to stay a little while longer.

You let him look for them.

“Until tomorrow, then,” he said at last.

“Until tomorrow,” you said, and then you smiled briefly—at him first, only then at Violet.

Until that moment, Yeonjun hadn’t realised he might be in competition with his cat.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 27, 2026. 6:55 AM

This time, you left the window open overnight—only a fraction, so you wouldn’t freeze in your sleep. The frame complained about it every now and then, and the fire escape rattled in the wind. But still, you slept.

At 6:55 precisely, the window frame gave an insistent groan.

You heard a faint scrape of claws. A soft, investigative sniff. Then—success. A quiet patter of paws on your floor.

You caught yourself smiling as you sat up in bed and reached for your phone.

YOU [6:57 AM] she’s here

Not waiting for a reply, you swung your legs out of bed and made your way to the kitchen. The tap glugged, disgruntled, as you filled Violet’s bowl.

Behind you, she had already taken her place by the window. She didn’t look at you. She figured she’d already trained you into your role.

“Right,” you said, crossing back to pull the curtains open.

The morning light flooded Violet’s little face. She blinked slowly and pushed onto her paws, leaning closer to the glass. The dark patch around her left eye softened in the early morning brightness.

She looked very pleased.

You left her there, got ready, and headed to university, anticipating an easier day. Your seminar had been cancelled, so you only had two meetings: one with your doctoral advisor and one with Professor Lee.

You should’ve known better than to celebrate.

On your way from that second meeting, you ran into Professor Myers in the corridor. You hadn’t seen her since graduation, and she whisked you into the staff room for a cup of coffee to catch up.

That part was lovely.

Then she asked you to speak to her grad students about your fellowship in New York.

“Oh,” you said. “When?”

She glanced down at her watch. “In about forty-five minutes.”

That was decidedly less lovely.

You finished your coffee, trying desperately to gather your thoughts, and followed her to the auditorium. Your eyes were twice their normal size; you dreaded being unprepared.

Your only consolation was that Taehyun and Kai were in her class—they’d just started their final year of grad school. They took it upon themselves to react to everything you said with excessive enthusiasm. Every time you stumbled over your words or lost your train of thought, they filled the silence by ooh-ing and ahh-ing at something you’d said earlier.

It was ridiculous.

It helped immensely.

You took them both to the canteen for dessert afterwards.

Despite being past lunchtime, the place was still loud. Benches scraped. Someone dropped a tray by the window just as you walked in. The air smelled distinctly of grease.

You’d missed it.

The dessert bar was already half-empty; only the chocolate cake looked remotely appealing. That was what the three of you settled on.

“I like your necklace,” you said, sitting down at a table in the back, opposite Taehyun.

His golden cross caught the light as he dropped himself onto the bench.

“Thanks,” he said, already cutting into his cake. “It’s the one Nara made for me.”

Kai, on your right, leaned forward to flaunt the four-leaf clover at his throat. “She made this one for me.”

Nara, from what you’d gathered, had discovered jewellery design earlier this year, after ordering a bracelet online and receiving it broken. Irritated, she’d bought wire cutters and a new clasp, and fixed it herself. It was a matter of principle, she’d said. Also, shipping was criminally expensive.

From there, she discovered beads. Then gemstones. You were sure she’d start melting metal soon, too.

“Reina mentioned she made her a lily,” you said, taking a bite of your own cake. The chocolate clung to the roof of your mouth. “Out of—out of wire. S’beautiful. I don’t know how she does it.”

“Oh.” Taehyun looked up sharply and shook his head. “Don’t ever ask her. She’ll walk you through every step in excruciating detail.”

You huffed. “That sounds interesting, though.”

He leaned back, lifting his plate. “Not when it’s the tenth time you’re hearing it.”

“I’ve asked her to make me a chain next,” Kai said. There was chocolate at the corner of his mouth. “One of those proper chunky ones that you can use as an accessory and a weapon.”

Taehyun glanced at him. “What’d you need a weapon for?”

“You never know,” Kai said, shrugging. “Better to be prepared.”

You smiled. “I like your thinking.”

“Practical,” Taehyun agreed, wiping his hands slowly on a napkin. Then he looked at you again, more thoughtful now. “I still think it’s ironic, though. You’re back from New York, giving a speech on what Sociology students can do with their degrees. Yet no one else in your year is actually doing it. I mean, Nara’s making jewellery.”

You tilted your head, your gaze dropping to his cross again. “Thought that was still a hobby.”

“Well, yeah,” he said. “But we don’t know what she and Beomgyu actually do, either.”

Kai looked up again. He was very invested in Beomgyu’s whereabouts now that they no longer lived together; partially because Beomgyu constantly sent him the most ridiculous pictures and never explained any. This morning, it was a photo of what looked like herring on a plate.

“To be fair,” he said, pointing his fork at Taehyun, “it could be related to Sociology. They never explained it.”

“Them not explaining it is exactly why I think it isn’t,” Taehyun replied.

You gathered the crumbs on your plate with the edge of your fork.

It was a known fact among your friends that Nara and Beomgyu left together every morning. Same car, same hour, every day. They came back the same way, too. They called each other ‘business partners’ and always giggled obnoxiously whenever anyone asked what they actually did.

“They are legal, though,” you said. “Right?”

Kai shrugged. “We hope so.”

“Hmm.”

You took another bite of your cake. It was still aggressively sweet and far too dense.

“Jun’s doing something with racing,” Taehyun said after a moment. He kept his gaze on his plate, but watched your reaction from the corner of his eye. “Actually think it might be something to do with data analysis, after all.”

“Mhmm.” You swallowed the chocolate. “He mentioned something.”

Taehyun lifted his head properly. “He did? To you?”

You looked up.

“He—yeah.” You paused, suddenly aware they’d both gone still. Something was rattling in the kitchen at the far edge of the canteen. “H-he lives in my building. I didn’t mention? Anyway. I think—”

“Whoa, hang on.” Taehyun raised a hand so abruptly that he nearly dropped his plate. “He lives in your building?”

Kai leaned forward, his eyebrows raised.

“Since wh—and you talk?” Taehyun added. “What the fuck?”

“What the fuck,” Kai echoed helpfully.

You reached for a napkin. The paper felt thin, almost useless, between your fingers, leaving a tear where your thumb pressed too hard.

“Yeah,” you said. “So, uh—funny story.”

Understandably, Taehyun and Kai ended up keeping you on campus a good half an hour longer than you’d planned. Your own fault, they’d said. Should’ve informed them about this Yeonjun development.

Swallowing your protests, you focused on answering their (many) questions without going into too much detail. The two of them already looked outrageously amused as it was.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 27, 2026. 4:35 PM

By the time you finally made it back to your building, the clouds had gathered overhead, thick and grey. It looked like it was going to pour.

You pushed through the lobby doors, quickening your pace. You were worried that Violet had started to feel abandoned in your flat. Or perhaps she’d already returned home through the gap in the window. Unless she got lost on the fire escape—

Yeonjun wasn’t in the lobby.

You stopped short and looked around, as though he’d decided to hide inside one of the letterboxes or behind the noticeboard.

He hadn’t.

You glanced at your phone.

To be fair, you were late. And you had told him to stop coming down here. Perhaps he’d listened.

A small flicker of disappointment tightened your chest. You clenched your hands into fists.

It annoyed you that you’d expected him to be here.

You’d never asked outright why he kept coming down in the first place. But he had, and now it had been over a week, and you found yourself lingering at the letterboxes, fingers brushing over the cool metal—waiting, without admitting you were waiting, in case he hadn’t noticed the time and was still on his way.

He was.

Not even two minutes later, the lobby doors pushed open again, the heavy frame resisting as usual. Yeonjun stumbled in, breathless, hair a mess over his forehead, one hand clutching a potted plant.

You straightened, stepping back from the letterboxes.

“Shit,” he managed between wheezes. His right hand was tangled in his jacket sleeve. “H—hi.”

“Hi,” you said, your gaze honing in on his hands. “You’ve got a fern.”

“I—” He bent slightly, bracing one hand against his hip as he lifted the small white pot, victorious. “I’ve got a fern.”

“Very nice,” you said, and waited, silently, until he’d recovered enough to move.

He pushed himself forward after a moment and joined you by the stairs. The two of you started up together, slower this time.

“Really think it’s nice?” he asked, drawing a steadier breath. His insides were burning. “Picked the greenest one.”

“Yeah,” you said, reaching out to brush your fingers lightly along one of the leaves. It was soft under your touch, but springy. “S’pretty much the main requirement.”

“I thought so,” he said, a flicker of pride in his voice. “Did you know they predate dinosaurs, by the way? Ferns. ‘Course they’ve evolved plenty since then, but still.”

“I didn’t know,” you said, a familiar smile settling on your lips. “Fascinating.”

“Hmm. There was a sale.” He tapped the yellow label on the edge of the pot. “S’why I went there—uh, today.”

He chose not to mention the calculations he’d performed to time his trip right, so he’d be back just when you returned home. The queue had ruined his plans. And the run back had nearly finished him.

You, in turn, chose not to mention waiting for him.

The two of you continued up the stairs in silence. By the time you reached the fifth floor, the rhythm of his breathing had grown unsteady again.

“Let me drop this off,” he said, hoisting the pot while his other hand rummaged through his jacket pocket for keys. “And we’ll go up for Violet.”

Nodding, you leaned against the railing, fingers tapping against the wood while he pushed the key into the lock.

You were waiting for him again, you realised.

That was not great.

“Actually,” Yeonjun said, opening the door. You looked up. “Would you mind coming in? Help me find a spot for the fern?”

You didn’t move straight away. You knew you shouldn’t.

Then you pushed off the railing anyway. “Sure.”

Yeonjun’s flat had the same layout as yours, but it felt noticeably larger. Your footsteps echoed once he shut the door.

It was the lack of furniture, you supposed. Aside from the standard built-in counters in the kitchen and a few chairs, the living room area stretched open completely bare. No sofas, no rugs, no tables. Nothing to fill the space.

The light fixtures on the ceiling looked new, though. That might’ve explained the noises you’d been hearing at night.

The curtains on the windows were in a terrible state. Half of them hung properly, but the other half draped over the frames and slumped to one side. He’d mentioned adjusting them for Violet. It looked like he’d started, then given up.

You found yourself wondering, without much reason, what Yeonjun’s parents thought about him living somewhere like this.

Then, as you turned your head towards the archway leading to the bedroom, you saw a piano tucked into the corner, partially obscured behind the wall. Its dark wood blended into the dark of the flat.

Something warm flickered through you.

“Oh.” The word slipped out before you could stop it. “You started playing again?”

Yeonjun followed your gaze as he set his keys down on the kitchen counter.

“Sometimes, yeah,” he said, shrugging out of his jacket. “Only when I’m in a good mood, though. Still pisses me off otherwise.”

You watched the piano for a second longer.

You hadn’t heard it once since he’d moved in.

“Uh…” You dragged your attention back to the living room. “Not many options where to put the fern.”

“Yeah.” He turned the pot thoughtfully in his hands. “I’m still moving in.”

“I can see that.”

Yeonjun hummed. He’d never lived alone before. Even after Soobin moved out, he’d kept to his room and didn’t touch the rest. This open space, this potential for other rooms, felt awkward to him.

He’d taken a few things from his old house—mattresses, mostly—but they hardly felt fitting here. He kept them all at the back of his bedroom.

“I don’t really know what living rooms are supposed to look like,” he admitted. “Never needed one.”

“Well,” you said, “they usually have a bit more furniture than this.”

“I assumed so.” He set the fern down on the counter and glanced towards his bedroom. “Hold on.”

He disappeared through the archway and returned a moment later, carrying a small metal table with golden detailing around the sides. It looked heavy.

“Got this in my bedroom,” he said, lowering it to the floor with a grunt. It landed with a loud thud. “The previous owners left it. Could put it here somewhere. By the curtains? I’ll sort those out, by the way, I know they’re a mess. Would that be a good spot? In the corner, there?”

You stepped closer. “Show me.”

He pushed the table across the floor. It moved with a jarring scrape that made you both wince. Abandoning the effort, he dropped it close enough to the corner and shoved the curtains aside with his forearm. Half of them shifted; the rest sagged further. One panel gave up entirely and slipped to the floor.

The room remained dim.

You stopped beside him to study the corner as he put the fern on the table. The green leaves seemed dull in the low light.

“This could work,” you said slowly. “But I hope you open the curtains in the morning. Fully, I mean.”

“Uh…” He glanced at you. “Well, what’s ‘morning’?”

You frowned. “What time do you usually wake up, then?”

“When you text me to say Violet’s at your place.”

“Oh—”

“Then I pick her up,” he continued, “and go back to sleep.”

Something in your chest clenched suddenly.

You were shaping each other’s routines now.

That was not great.

“Well,” you said, folding your arms, “it’d be good if the fern got some morning light. So maybe leave a gap in the curtains? Not directly on it, but just enough to let some light in.”

He turned back to the curtains.

They had been designed, quite deliberately, not to leave gaps—he’d made sure of that when he bought them.

He spent three minutes trying to find a way to make one. After that didn’t work, he dragged a chair over from the kitchen and wedged it between the drapes, forcing a narrow slit open.

“There,” he said at last, stepping back. “That alright? Kind of defeats the purpose of blackout curtains, but…”

“Looks okay,” you said.

A thin sliver of light cut into the room, catching the leg of the table. Small as it was, it changed the air immediately. The flat looked more alive.

“Why d’you even need blackout curtains in the living room?” you asked. “They’re meant to help you sleep.”

“I am very fascinated with the idea of living in a cave.”

You snorted. “Explains your obsession with Plato.”

He grinned, bringing a finger over the bruise Violet had left on his hand and instinctively searching for something to lean against. There was nothing.

He really didn’t have much furniture here, he realised. But, to be fair, he didn’t have many people over. He’d never needed to think about where to stand when talking to someone.

“I tried taking them down for Violet,” he said, nodding towards the uneven mess of fabric on his windows. “She didn’t care, so I hung—well, tried to hang them back up. In any case, I think I’ve got the disadvantage of that old billboard across the street. It blocks all the light.”

You glanced at the window, but the gap in the curtains wasn’t wide enough to show much.

You knew the billboard he meant anyway; it was an old wooden frame with peeling remnants of posters layered over each other. It had a habit of absorbing what little light reached it.

“Right,” you said, turning back to the fern. “Well, it should be fine here. Give it some time, see how it settles.”

He nodded. “Alright.”

You tapped your jacket pocket, searching for your keys. “Should we check on Violet?”

Yeonjun dropped his hands to his sides. “Yeah.”

The corridor was quiet when you stepped back out. The two of you moved upstairs, your shoulders brushing in the narrow stairwell.

For a few seconds, this felt perfectly normal.

The moment you noticed it, the feeling thinned.

It was really not great, you thought, this ease with him.

Not great, the way your breath kept catching in your lungs.

The last time that happened, it had taken you months to recover.

You jammed your key into the lock with unnecessary force, letting the resistance travel up your arm. The door stuck, as always. You lifted the handle and rattled it until it finally gave.

As soon as the door opened, Violet darted out of your bedroom, her paws quick and light against the floor. She locked onto Yeonjun, stopping abruptly at his ankles.

“Oh—hi, love.” He crouched down. “Have a nice day at kindergarten?”

She answered with a pleased little sound and pressed her face into his palm.

You looked past them.

The sky outside the windows was dark. Your bedroom door stood open. The sheets had been dragged halfway off your bed, trailing onto the floor. There were small holes, suspiciously shaped like paws, on your pillow.

An absurd smile pulled at your lips.

“I see she’s explored your place a bit,” Yeonjun said, glancing up.

“Yeah.” You looked back down at her. Violet blinked up, her blue gaze curious. “S’fine. I’m not hiding anything from her.”

“That’s good,” he said. “Because she will find it.”

You crouched beside him and ran your fingers over Violet’s back, her fur warm and soft. She leaned into you, inadvertently pulling Yeonjun closer. Your little finger brushed his. His hands were cold.

Swallowing, you drew your hand back.

“See you tomorrow, then,” you said, nodding at the cat. “Right, Vi?”

She turned her head towards you and let out a soft, agreeable meow.

You stood, brushing your hands lightly against your dark trousers.

Yeonjun gathered Violet into his arms and stood up, too. She rested her head against his wrist.

“Let’s see if I can recreate this setup,” he said, nodding towards your flat, “with my sole fern.”

“No direct sunlight,” you reminded him.

“I’ll try.” He pivoted towards the stairs. Violet blinked slowly at you from the crook of his arm. “If it’s dead tomorrow, though, that’s on you.”

“It won’t be dead tomorrow,” you called after him. “I trust Violet to keep an eye on it.”

Violet meowed obediently at the sound of her name. You snickered.

Yeonjun paused on the stairs just long enough to catch it, then gave you a brief wave as he reached the turn and continued down.

You watched him go.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 28, 2026. 6:55 AM

On Friday, following your newly established routine, you left Violet in her usual spot, pawing idly at your monstera. Her fur was a little wet; it was raining outside. You filled her bowls, checked the window latch, and set off for university.

Unlike your established routine, you were back two hours later.

Professor Lee had mentioned a book he needed for his research on incarcerated adolescents: Erikson’s Identity, Youth and Crisis. He said it’d been checked out of the library.

You had an interest in the formation of identity—less about being incarcerated, though—and happened to own a copy. Still too eager to be helpful, you offered to fetch it for him.

And so, you barged through the door of your flat just before midday, startling Violet out of her wits. She bolted from your bedroom—her new playground, apparently—back arched, eyes wide with alarm.

“Hey,” you said, breathless, as you shut the door behind you. “Did I scare you? I’m sorry.”

She stared at you from a careful distance, assessing whether you deserved her forgiveness.

You dropped your umbrella to the floor and lowered yourself into a squat, lungs still tight. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw that your wardrobe doors were open in your bedroom. You’d definitely closed them before you left.

“I just popped in to grab a book,” you explained softly, extending your hand. “S’why I’m back. And what’s your excuse for going through my wardrobe?”

Violet approached and pressed her face into your palm with a small purr. She accepted your apology and did not think she owed you any explanations.

You scratched under her chin, briefly captivated by the fine wisps of hair above her eyes. God, she was beautiful. Then you stood.

Once you stepped into your bedroom, you saw precisely what had kept Violet busy.

She’d found the box at the bottom of your wardrobe and lovingly redistributed everything across the floor. Old keychains, small trinkets, and empty picture frames were all scattered around your bed.

The black woollen scarf hung on the edge of the box. You could see the wrong side of the golden stitching on the corner.

The hippo plushie lay slightly apart from the rest. Its once vibrant grey had faded into a softer white.

You watched it for a minute.

It had been over a year now since Yeonjun had taken you to the zoo. And yet, you could recall that trip with near-perfect accuracy: the angry peacocks, the silly pictures with the camels, the gift shop.

And the giraffe, the other half of the pair.

He’d kept it.

Violet meowed questioningly behind you. You snapped out of the brief trance and turned to her, offering her a small smile.

“Right,” you said. The room was cold from the open window, a little drafty. “Let’s get the book, yeah?”

Violet followed you to the bookshelf. Your heart banged against your chest as you squatted to scan the lower rows.

Why had you kept the scarf and the toy?

It wasn’t because you loved Madagascar exceptionally much. And it definitely wasn’t because you’d wanted to wear Yeonjun’s scarf again.

It wasn’t because you’d forgotten them, either. You vividly remembered unpacking after New York, jet-lagged and disoriented, standing in the middle of your empty flat with your entire life still zipped into suitcases. You remembered finding the scarf—and remembered the brief flash of thought that followed: you’d wanted to run into Yeonjun.

You hadn’t been sleeping for those first two weeks back, and the noises in your head were very loud. You hadn’t been thinking clearly.

You supposed you’d wanted to see him just to reassure yourself that he had been real. Maybe to return the scarf, too.

You let out a deep breath.

Now that you’ve actually seen him, none of your thoughts made sense.

A little lightheaded, you finally spotted the red spine of the book and pulled it free from the shelf. Violet stepped closer, intrigued by the new object. You could still see the scarf out of the corner of your eye.

Had you kept it for the memories, then?

To relive everything now that it was safely contained inside a box that you could open and close at will?

But reliving everything meant reliving everything.

You sat down on the edge of your bed.

Back then, fresh from nine months in a city you didn’t know, you might’ve clung to everything that was familiar. Everything you could recognise without thinking about it. You’d even salvaged all of Reina’s doodles that she’d left on napkins all around your flat.

But you were home now.

And Yeonjun lived downstairs.

And you were seeing him in the lobby—and seeing him there again. And again, and again.

You were talking to him now.

Trying his peach cobbler.

Helping him with his fern.

Looking after his cat.

You inhaled sharply, your hand instinctively settling on Violet’s soft back. Your fingers moved slowly along her spine, tracing the soft brown patches, then the darker ones.

She shouldn’t have been here.

You thought you didn’t mind. Didn’t care.

But you did care.

Cared so much, in fact, that you could hardly take another breath.

It had been a monumental mistake, those two weeks with Yeonjun. Had they taken only your pride, perhaps you might’ve been fine now.

But they hadn’t.

You’d spent months thinking about his reasons for ending it and walking away. Months, thinking about what you could’ve done differently so that he would’ve stayed despite those reasons.

You felt uncomfortable about those thoughts now. You were supposed to be fine.

You sat on your bed for a minute longer, staring at the corner of the room, with Violet quiet by your side.

You wouldn’t relive it.

There wasn’t much you could do to change Violet’s ways—she was a cat, she went where she wanted—but you could still change yours.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 28, 2026. 1 PM

Your traditional lunch with Reina stretched far past the point of reason.

You’d gone over to hers to help her pick a dress for the engagement party tomorrow—quickly, before Soobin got home from work. Not long after, Nara came over to join you. She’d recently dyed her hair light pink and wore a golden necklace with a bear pendant. She’d made this one herself, too.

You spent the first half an hour eating noodles and talking about her jewellery. And, an hour later, the three of you were still sitting on Reina’s sofa, on your second glasses of wine.

Soobin had called Reina five times in the past twenty minutes. Reina’s uncanny sixth sense must’ve rubbed off on him; he sensed that she was planning some sort of surprise.

She let the first three calls ring out. Then she answered the fourth with a voice she assumed was casual, but actually sounded a little like she was being strangled.

By the fifth call, she admitted she was choosing the dress for the party.

Soobin said he was coming home immediately.

Laughing, you stood to gather the dresses and cram them back into her wardrobe. Nara, meanwhile, tried to help her hang up by feigning a crisis (dark red wine on Soobin’s grey carpet).

“I genuinely don’t know what we’ll do when it’s your actual wedding,” you said, once Reina finally tossed her phone onto the sofa. “When he’s not supposed to see you before you walk down the aisle.”

Nara picked up the glasses from the table and carried them to the sink.

“Maybe,” she said, “we could convince him to wear the dress instead.”

“Oh, yeah,” you said. “But then Reina will be the one trying to get a glimpse of him before the wedding.”

Reina sighed, slumping onto the sofa and holding out her wrists. “You’re right. We’re doomed. Just lock me up.”

You laughed again and joined Nara in the kitchen to finish tidying up.

By the time you left, you were in a good enough mood to forget the tremor in your hands.

Yet, back on campus, the day refused to settle.

Professor Lee’s office seemed to have a revolving door today. People came and stayed, stayed and talked, talked and drank coffee. They wanted to know how your first lecture went, how New York was, what the topic of your dissertation would be. You were fairly certain someone had asked about the colour of your socks, too, though you couldn’t remember.

When you finally staggered back home that afternoon, your hands were as heavy as the lobby doors. Your hair was wet from the rain (you’d left your umbrella at home when you stopped for the book), water dripping from your jacket onto the tiles.

Yeonjun was there.

He stood in his usual spot by the letterboxes, his phone pressed to his ear. He looked up as the door shut. No glasses today.

“Gotta go now,” he said into the phone, already turning towards you. “Yeah—sure. Yeah. Okay. Bye.”

He slid the phone into the pocket of his jeans before you could decide whether to acknowledge him or try walking past.

“Soobin,” he explained, tapping his pocket.

“Ah,” you said. “Getting ready for tomorrow?”

He exhaled and nodded. Ever since Soobin had determined that Yeonjun was functioning well enough, he’d been on the phone with him every day for at least forty minutes at a time.

“He’s spiralling about whether to wear a tie or a bow,” Yeonjun said. “Beomgyu voted tie, but Bin thinks it’s too much. It—it’s a whole thing.”

“Hmm.” You started towards the stairs. “Reina’s stressed about her outfit, too. It’s good, though, that this is their biggest problem.”

“Yeah.” He fell into step beside you, as easily as before. Something sharp pinched at your stomach. “M’happy for them. But, uh—still fucks with me that they’re engaged. I remember Bin losing it before their first date—he was dry-heaving on the bathroom floor. Feels like that was a few weeks ago.”

“Yeah.”

You remembered talking to Yeonjun about Reina and Soobin before. Remembered sitting across from him at that Italian restaurant—Linguini’s, your mind supplied helpfully. With Edgar, the waiter, and that piano player with hands growing out of his ass.

“Time’s strange like that,” you added, your throat dry.

“Mm.” Yeonjun’s throat felt dry as well, though for a different reason. “So, um—about tomorrow.”

You sensed the shift before he even said anything.

“Would you…” He trailed off, opting for a different approach. “I mean—we could, uh—go to the party together.”

Your heartbeat jolted, sharp against your ribs.

You reached out a hand to the wall to steady your balance.

“I’ve got to go there early,” you said, fingers tracing the uneven layers of paint. “Need to help Reina get ready. We’ve got a—kind of a ritual. Wouldn’t be good to break it on a day like this.”

“Oh, yeah,” Yeonjun said, nodding quickly. “Makes sense. Can’t break rituals. But I mean, I wouldn’t mind going early, too. Not to help Reina, but, uh—”

“Yeonjun.”

He looked up. “Hm?”

You’d stopped on the third-floor landing. Your hands, you realised, were shaking worse than before.

“Let’s not do this,” you said.

He visibly recoiled.

His jaw tightened, hands disappearing into the front pocket of his dark blue jumper.

“What are we doing?” he asked.

“This,” you said, gesturing between you. Your voice reached him as though from underwater: low and muffled. “Going places together. Let’s—let’s not.”

The landing felt smaller suddenly, and airless. The peeling paint on the walls beside you seemed to curl downwards in your peripheral vision.

“What’s wrong with that?” he asked.

“If you don’t know, I doubt I can help yo—”

“You can,” he said, sharper now, “by answering the question. Why can’t we go places together?”

You felt a pang of irritation at his tone.

A torrent of words teemed on the tip of your tongue, all of your past history: from the casual we’re-just-playing dating, to the serious it-had-not-felt-like-a-bet goodbye.

You could have unleashed it, you knew.

But you also knew what it would sound like. Knew what it would reveal.

You didn’t think you wanted him to hear it.

“We’ve already tried that before,” you said. “Hasn’t gone well, has it?”

Yeonjun swallowed. His throat felt full of sand.

He watched your wet hair for a moment and couldn’t help remembering that last day he’d talked to you, in the parking lot by the Social Sciences building.

He’d left you in the rain and driven off.

“That—well, that was—” He tried to grab onto a sentence, or even a word, and took a sharp breath. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”

You turned towards the next flight of stairs. “Nothing to talk about.”

A frustrated breath left him. “Don’t do that.”

You scoffed. “What am I doing?”

“Acting like nothing means anything. Looking for some angle. Some ulterior mo—”

“No.” The word was clean and brittle. “I stopped looking when I found it.”

Yeonjun shut his eyes for a moment, pausing on the topmost step.

He knew the scheme would come up. He just hadn’t expected to be standing in the middle of the stairwell when it did.

“That’s exactly what we should talk about,” he said.

“Well, then already have.”

“No, we haven’t,” he insisted. “That wasn’t—I was just—there were things happening that aren’t… they’re not happening anymore. I can talk about them now.”

You stopped—abruptly enough that he nearly missed a step and landed at your feet.

“Can you?” you shot back. “What does any of that even mean, ‘there were things happening’?”

Yeonjun had wanted to have this conversation with you, but hadn’t planned for it to happen like this.

He wanted, a little bit, to back out now. To rewind the time. Honestly, to have never been born.

“It—it’s a long story,” he said. He pulled his hands from his pocket, then shoved one back in, restless. “But I want to tell you.”

You studied him for a long moment.

Then you faced the stairs again.

“No.”

He couldn’t process the word. “No?”

“Think I’ve heard enough of your stories.”

The finality in your voice startled him.

He’d known better than to expect anything easy from you. But you were talking to him now. Joking with him. Smiling sometimes.

He thought the two of you were better.

He bounded up three steps to catch up.

“But it’s important.” His hand shot out on instinct, fingers closing around your wrist. “It—”

You stopped mid-step, startled more by the coldness of his hands than the touch itself.

He let go right away, but the brief contact was enough to send something electric through you both. You resented that your first instinct was to reach back. To warm him.

You weren’t sure you were breathing.

“I want to explain everything,” he said.

Slowly, you folded your arms across your chest.

He looked unsure and a little scared. You felt something inside you waver.

Maybe you should talk.

Maybe he should explain, and you should listen.

“Why?” you asked.

“Well, because it—because everything that happened was my fault,” he said, and you heard it in his voice—the I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry he’d kept repeating as he walked away from you, without an explanation, the last time.

“And what is it that happened?” you asked, jaw tightening.

“Everything,” he said. He felt each of your questions like a punch in the gut. “Us. And—you leaving for New York.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What’s me leaving got to do with anything?”

Yeonjun blinked down at the stairs.

This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

“It—well, it was all happening at the same time, I don’t know,” he said, his gaze flicking, momentarily, to your face, then dropping again. “I—okay. Can we just talk about it? All of it.”

“We are talking about it.”

“No,” he said. “We’re talking around it.”

You dropped your hands to your sides.

“Right,” you said.

He looked up, hopeful despite his better instincts. You weren’t looking at him.

You didn’t want him to explain.

You wanted there to be nothing to explain. Wanted him not to have walked away that day.

You continued up the stairs. “Maybe we shouldn’t be talking about or around it at all, then.”

Groaning, he followed after you. “Why not?”

“Because I’m not doing this again.”

“Not doing what?”

“This.” Your voice rose despite yourself, instinctively matching his. “Arguing and explaining and playing games. I’m done wi—”

“I’m not playing games, though!” he cut in. His hands flew up, then faltered, fingers pushing back through his hair. “I—I’m not. I mean that. I meant it before, too.”

You paused again, your chest constricting, as if something inside was being forcibly pried open. It pinned you down to the floor. You could feel yourself start swaying faintly on your feet.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The stairwell did not know what to do with this silence. It stretched between you until it echoed in your ears.

You glanced up towards your floor, then down again, twisting the ring on your index finger.

This was enough.

“Look,” you said, in a voice so level and calm that Yeonjun didn’t recognise it at first. “Technically, we’re only talking because of Violet. Or because we’re neighbours. That’s all. And that’s all we’re ever going to talk about. Is that alright with you?”

For a second, Yeonjun simply stared at you.

He realised his mistake.

The more time that he’d spent around you, falling into these small routines, the more he’d taken it as a sign. Convinced himself that he could fix this. That you’d let him.

His wounds, he realised, had closed when he saw you.

But yours had opened.

“No,” he said finally. “S’not alright. But I get it. You don’t want to talk.”

You didn’t. But you found yourself itching to say something else. Felt the words rise, desperate and frightened on the tip of your tongue. You swallowed them down and turned back.

Quietly, Yeonjun followed.

At your door, he watched you wrestle with the lock. Watched the key catch, then slip out. Watched it struggle to turn. You adjusted your grip and pushed your shoulder into the frame.

The door opened.

Violet was already sitting on the threshold, as though she’d been listening. Her white tail flicked slowly side to side, her blue eyes bright and expectant.

You stepped back.

Yeonjun moved forward and scooped her up. He offered her no greeting. She didn’t dare breathe a meow in response.

You didn’t say anything else.

And this time, neither did he.

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✦ • ─── AUGUST 20, 2026. 11:30 PM

As Yeonjun tried to fall asleep that night, his thoughts stubbornly dragged him back to Monday morning.

He could see himself back at his window, shirt plastered to his back, sweat trickling down the nape of his neck. For hours, he’d been trying to wedge a rolling pin into the window frame to keep it open.

It hadn’t worked. The frame slipped; the window slammed—again and again and again.

He was exhausted. There was no air in his bedroom. At one point, he genuinely feared he’d suffocate and end up as Violet’s last meal on earth.

His wrist had throbbed from the exertion. It always did, even worse when the weather turned. He regretted tearing off the cast every time it rained.

He hadn’t slept properly in months. At least, the move had given his insomnia purpose.

Lost in the task at hand, he hadn’t even thought about the hour or the noise from the window. Or from the lamp shades he’d assembled earlier.

Then you’d knocked on his door.

He’d opened it.

And he’d seen you for the first time since you’d both finished grad school—one year, two months, and twenty-five days ago.

And he’d talked to you—one year, five months, and one day since he’d said he was sorry and walked away.

He’d tried to focus the rest of that Monday, but found himself pacing in circles around his empty living room instead. He’d decided he would clarify everything the next time he saw you. And that would be all. You wouldn’t want anything more to do with him; he knew that much.

So that first Monday afternoon in the lobby had been a coincidence; he’d really had a parcel to collect. The courier had been late. You’d returned home. It was great timing—or bad, depending on who was telling the story.

Tuesday had been a hopeful shot.

He’d climbed down to check his letterbox at the same time as yesterday. And you’d come home at the same time again.

Wednesday was planned.

He cut his visit to Beomgyu’s short, abandoning his half-eaten apple pie with a heavy heart, and sped back home. He made it just before four. You were there.

By Thursday, he’d developed a habit.

You’d called him out on it, unimpressed as always, and for a brief, inconvenient moment, he remembered Soobin telling him to behave around you. He hadn’t dared ask what that meant, exactly; Soobin had already sounded ready to come over and smack him on the forehead.

And he’d tried to behave in any case. He thought he did well, considering that every word he exchanged with you sent an electric current from behind his eyes all the way down to his toes.

He was talking to you again.

Teasing you and rightfully earning your irritation.

He’d almost forgotten what that felt like.

Now that he knew about the latch, he was able to open the window.

And, with Violet curled up beside him, he finally managed to fall asleep.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 21, 2026. 6:55 AM

On Friday morning, you were woken by a delicate tap-tap-tap against your bedroom window. You assumed it was the rain. Or a hapless pigeon trapped on the fire escape.

Turning on your other side, you dragged the duvet up higher and burrowed your face into the pillow. You hoped to return to your previous dream. Hoped to—

A sharp, insistent meow.

Disoriented, you blinked your eyes open and pushed yourself up onto your elbows. The window was right beside your bed, but you still had to squint to see—and then squint harder to make sense of what you were seeing.

Violet was perched on the deck of the fire escape, one paw lifted to the glass.

Tap-tap.

Her blue eyes locked onto yours. She meowed again, more demanding.

“What—” you huffed, leaning over to fumble with the latch before she fell into the gap in the railing.

The moment the window opened, Violet slipped in. She shook off the outside, sending wisps of her fur into the air, and set off across your bedroom.

You weren’t entirely convinced you were awake.

Standing from the bed, you glanced back at the window. The fire escape ran the length of the building in a narrow metal strip. Thankfully, there seemed to be no other cats on it.

When you turned back, Violet had already wandered into your living room. She meowed approvingly at your flowerpots by the balcony doors.

You picked up your phone from the makeshift bedside table (a tower of three cardboard boxes) and checked the time. Your alarm wasn’t set to go off for another half an hour.

Smashing.

You followed Violet into the living room.

She was conducting a brief inspection of the floor and sniffed at the suspicious brown stain by the kitchen island. Then she paused, whiskers twitching, and contemplated where to settle down.

The kitchen island was option one; it smelled nice and promising.

The floor by the window was option two; the plants were clearly up to something.

Neither spot seemed to have that specific je ne sais quoi she seemed to be looking for, however. She glanced at you for help.

“Oh, looking for more light?” you asked, reaching over to pull the curtains open.

Faint morning light seeped into the room, partially hidden behind a duvet of clouds.

Violet rose immediately.

She crossed the room, nosed at the curtains, and then, apparently satisfied, settled into a faintly sunlit patch between your plants. The leaves of your monstera brushed her sides.

You watched her with your eyebrows raised.

“You like the sun, then?” you asked. “Or the plants?”

Violet made a quiet, contented sound in response.

“Both, hmm.” You moved towards the fridge. One of your pyjama legs had ridden up, and you tugged it back down to your ankle. “I know I promised you something sweet, but I haven’t got much that’s suitable for you.” You scanned the shelves. “You can have a bit of turkey, okay?”

Intrigued, Violet joined you in the kitchen. She accepted the slice of turkey with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn’t eaten in a week. Then she turned around and dropped it to the floor.

You folded your arms. “Not good enough?”

She nudged the slice with her nose. Then, with a glance at you that felt especially performative, she picked it up and ate it properly.

You snorted under your breath and watched her saunter back to her previous spot. She curled into a little ball in between the two flowerpots, the end of her tail flicking lazily against the leaves.

You tried to decide what to do.

Yeonjun was probably looking for her. But the thought of knocking on his door again this early in the morning was deeply unappealing.

If you hadn’t deleted his number—and blocked him everywhere else for good measure—you could’ve just sent a text.

Well, then.

You figured you could spare a minute to brace yourself and left Violet to nap while you showered and dressed.

Twenty minutes later, you were crouched by your door, making increasingly undignified ps-ps-pss sounds at Violet. You didn’t dare grab her; the two of you weren’t that close yet.

She ignored you.

You stood. Your legs were numb. Water trickled from the ends of your hair, sliding down your back. You glanced at your black shirt and almost considered changing again.

“Violet,” you said. “Please.”

Mid-groom, Violet paused. Now that you were standing, she seemed to consider you respectable and therefore worth acknowledging.

You hissed some more.

She rose, slow and graceful, and padded over.

You opened the door. She stepped into the corridor and waited, tail flicking, while you locked up.

Her tail gained momentum as you stopped outside Yeonjun’s door. She seemed to know this was home. Seemed excited to return, even. You couldn’t figure her out.

You took a breath—God, let this be the last time—and knocked.

Something clattered inside, followed by a muffled curse.

Then the door swung open.

“Oh—shit,” Yeonjun breathed, blinking at you, then down at Violet as she slipped past him into the flat. “Was she—was she bothering you? Hi, by the way.”

“Hi,” you said, keeping your eyes firmly above the grey shorts he was wearing. “She wasn’t bothering me. Did break into my flat through the fire escape, though.”

His eyes widened, cheeks still puffy and soft with sleep. You turned your gaze to the butter-coloured paint beside his door frame.

“She—I thought she was just sitting by the window,” he said, turning halfway to look into the dark of his flat. “I didn’t—didn’t realise she’d gone up to you.”

“Does she wander off a lot?”

“I guess,” he said, turning back to you. “Not on the fire escape, though. And she always comes home. Shit—don’t know if she’s tried visiting any of the other neighbours.”

“Hmm.” You stepped back, fingers finding the bannister. “Well, she’s home now. So I’ll go.”

He still looked mildly startled. “Sorry about her.”

“S’fine.” You waved a hand without looking back and started up the stairs. “She’s good company.”

His gaze stayed on your back until you disappeared on the landing upstairs.

Violet was good company, then.

Perhaps, Yeonjun thought, shutting the door, the next time he went down to the lobby, he should bring her with him.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 21, 2026. 12:30 PM

Ever since you’d returned from New York, you and Reina developed a tradition to grab lunch together every Friday. Her office was just off campus, so she could easily nip out between meetings, and you still had a forgiving schedule before classes started for undergrads.

She’d picked a new restaurant for the day. Found it on Instagram, she said, and was taken by the picturesque stained-glass windows and the many comments about the comforting food. She spoke about it as though eating here was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

It might’ve really been. Half the city seemed to have decided to try it.

The two of you stood in a warmly lit corridor that smelled of pastries and potatoes, and listened to the faint rattle of cutlery inside. The queue refused to budge.

Reina’s stomach voiced its discontent with a loud rumble.

“If this doesn’t live up to my expectations,” she mumbled, hand pressed to her abdomen, “think I’m leaving my first-ever Google review.”

“Do it right now,” you said, slipping off your jacket. “Maybe that’ll speed things up.”

“I might.” She checked the time on her phone again. “M’thinking I’ll start with, ‘I starved to death before I even got inside.’ Oh—should I actually faint? For more credibility.”

You waved it off. “They won’t know anyway.”

“We could add pictures.”

You snorted. “You could also mention that at least it smelled nice here.”

“Oh, that’s the worst thing about it.” She groaned. “My stomach’s about to start eating itsel—”

The hostess finally caught your eye and waved you over.

Reina gritted her teeth. “Finally. I know it’s not her fault, but I still feel like—”

You steered her forward by the elbow before she could growl at the young hostess.

Inside the eating area, waiters swept past you with trays of huge plates—glossy cuts of steak, vibrant peas, majestic pyramids of mashed potatoes. The couple at the table next to yours was sharing a massive slab of tiramisu. You considered ordering all of it, one after another. Perhaps even all at once.

The two of you settled at your table. The stained-glass window beside it was green and red and yellow in colour. It seemed to depict some sort of woods, or perhaps the sea.

You leaned back in your chair and exhaled wistfully.

“Reckon I could live here,” you said, dropping the paper menu onto the table. Your palm caressed the side of your velvet armchair. “This chair is divine.”

“We’re here for the food,” Reina said. She was about to eat the chair. “Not the furniture.”

“Speak for yourself.”

Before she could unleash a hunger-fueled barb in response, the waiter finally approached for your orders. Then, perhaps prompted by the sounds of Reina’s stomach, he returned a moment later with a jar of complimentary breadsticks.

Reina brightened at once.

“Knew this place was worth it,” she said, reaching for the jar. The ring on her fourth finger caught the sun outside the colourful windows. “Maybe Bin and I should host the party here.”

Grinning, you took a breadstick as well. You’d expected to taste garlic, but found it surprisingly sweet instead. It seemed to be glazed with honey.

“I see the vision,” you said, glancing around. “The windows do remind me of a church.”

She gave an eager nod. “Exactly, yeah.”

“Have you decided on the date, then?”

“Oh, right!” She wiped her hands, scattering crumbs over the table, then reached for another breadstick. “We’re thinking next Saturday. Does that work for you?”

You’d have happily rearranged the entire universe to make room for Reina and Soobin’s engagement party; you didn’t know why she’d even asked. For about two months now—ever since Soobin had nearly fainted mid-proposal—you’d been looking forward to it.

“Of course,” you said. “I’ll make anything work.”

Chewing hurriedly, she leaned back in her chair. “Great.”

With the breadsticks soothing her hunger pangs, she began to reconsider her earlier stance on the furniture. This really was a ridiculously comfortable chair. She wondered if she could find out where they’d got it from. Perhaps smuggle it home in her bag.

“My parents can’t do any other day, actually,” she added, “which is crazy, because my mum drives up every weekend to get lunch with Bin’s mum. But for her daughter’s engagement party, she can’t make time.”

You snorted, grabbing another breadstick. “She’s probably still processing it. Her little girl’s engaged, that must be a lot.”

Reina exhaled, softening.

She remembered calling you after Soobin proposed. You cried for a good ten minutes (her mother only made it to five), stuttering through endless oh my Gods—never mind that you’d known it was coming.

For weeks leading up to the proposal, Soobin had consulted you on everything: from what colour socks he should wear (black) to the ideal kneeling posture (just keep your back straight; everything else won’t matter). Apparently, you weren’t his first choice for advice, but everything he’d heard from Taehyun and Kai was questionable.

“I should warn you, though,” Reina said, toying with the delicate golden pendant at her neck, “Yeonjun’s probably going to be there, too. Don’t want that to be a surprise.”

You dropped your gaze to the table. The breadstick seemed to glue itself to your throat as you swallowed.

“It wouldn’t be,” you said. “He’s Soobin’s friend.”

“Right.” Her gaze lingered on your hands as you traced the grain of the table. “Yeah.”

The waiter, a great man with a great sense of timing, returned with your cutlery, two glasses, and a carafe (that looked more like an extravagant flower vase) of sparkling water. It took him a moment to arrange everything on the table. It was a long, blissfully silent moment.

Reina waited until he’d gone before continuing: “He’s talked about you, actually. To Bin.”

You reached for the carafe and poured her glass first, steadying your hand on the spout before filling your own. The water was cold enough to bite at your teeth when you took a sip. You didn’t take another.

You cleared your throat. “Yeonjun?”

“Yeah.” She lifted her glass, but didn’t drink. The bubbles sparkled on the surface. “He, um—he hadn’t known you were back. Soobin hadn’t told him.”

“How come? He knew I’d left anyway.”

Reina rotated her glass idly, the ice ticking against the sides.

“Bin’s come to treat Yeonjun a bit like a wild animal since then,” she admitted. “Doesn’t even bring you up unless Yeonjun does first.”

You leaned back into the lush softness of your chair.

“And Yeonjun hasn’t exactly been around much anyway,” she went on. “Missed most of the birthday parties this year, never explained anything—and thank God, honestly. S’been nice not seeing him so much. Just that Bin’s been upset.”

You nodded faintly.

Then you found yourself thinking of all the parties you’d skipped before New York, in case Yeonjun would be there.

He hadn’t been.

“Right,” you said. The velvet of the chair darkened as you traced circles over the plush armrest. “Doubt he’d skip your engagement party, though.”

“Hmm.” Reina finally took a sip of her water. “Well, anyway—he called the other day, told Bin you live upstairs. Bin told him to behave or—”

You snorted.

She grinned. “Yeah. He’s very committed to this Older Brother Figure bit.”

“He’s younger than me.”

“He’s decided it’s not enough to count,” she said, shrugging. “Anyway. He told him to behave, and Yeonjun, apparently, promised he would. So, uh—that’s that.”

You took a long sip of your water and set your glass down.

“Very reassuring,” you said, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Not like Yeonjun has ever changed his mind overnight or anything.”

Reina sucked her lips in. “Right.”

You tapped your fingers against the table.

You appreciated Soobin’s support, but couldn’t help remembering the last time you’d talked to him about Yeonjun. He must’ve still felt guilty about inadvertently becoming part of Yeonjun’s scheme.

“I’ve got no plans to speak to him at your party anyway,” you said. “So it doesn’t make much difference.”

Reina watched you and tried to sort all the questions she had by importance. She knew there were doors you wouldn’t let her open.

“Have you seen him much, then?” she tried. She hadn’t blinked in a minute. “Around the building?”

You ran a finger along the rim of your glass, then down the side, clearing a thin path through the condensation.

You didn’t want to recount the string of alleged coincidences of running into Yeonjun in the lobby every single day. Reina would likely have an opinion about that.

“I’ve seen his cat, actually,” you said.

“Violet,” Reina supplied, with far too much delight.

“Right,” you said. “That was her name at the shelter, by the way. He didn’t name her.”

“No?” she said, growing more amused. “Bet he took it for a sign, then.”

“He—” You frowned. “He also said—what sign? It’s a pretty name. I named my cow that once. Someone else named their cat.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “He said it was a sign?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged, sharper than usual. “He was just saying shit.”

She turned towards the window, but you still saw her smile stretch across her cheeks. The red and yellow stained glass painted her face.

Unable to hold it in any longer, she chuckled.

You sighed. “What?”

“Nothing.” She looked back at you, her head tilting. “Just feeling nostalgic. S’comforting you’re still making excuses for him when he says things like that.”

“I’m not making excuses.”

“Oh, wow.” Her exhale turned into a scoff. “Really does feel like we’re back in grad school now.”

You clicked your tongue and snatched a napkin from the dispenser to fold and refold it between your fingers.

“Right, then,” you said, glancing up just long enough to signal the end of the conversation. “Have you decided what you’ll be wearing at the party?”

“Oh!” She leaned forward, her eyes glistening. “I haven’t, but this reminds me—are you free tomorrow?”

“Ye—”

“Come shopping with me.”

The corners of your lips lifted.

You and Reina had gone shopping ahead of every important event in your lives: first dates, graduations, birthday parties, job interviews. You cherished the tradition—particularly Reina’s commentary as you went from shop to shop (‘why the fuck does that jumper just say I am? What if I’m not?’).

“Sure,” you said. “My grandad’s coming to take a look at my washer, but I’m free after that.”

“Perfect. I’ll text you.” She leaned back, curling her fingers around her glass. “Still fighting with the washer, then?”

You propped your elbow on the table, resting your cheek against your palm. “Yeah. The whole plumbing’s fucked, to be honest. Can’t wash more than two plates in one go, or the sink clogs up.”

“Hmm.” She smiled into the rim of her glass. “I did say Yeonjun could help you with that.”

You raised your eyes, slowly. “He’s very far from a plumber.”

“Not that kind of help.”

Your loud groan earned you a glare from the elderly couple at the next table. They were done with their tiramisu.

Reina barely managed to swallow her water before she broke into laughter, bright and careless. Your own lips stretched despite yourself.

“You know what,” you said, pointing at her feebly, “I prefer Bin telling him to behave.”

She snickered one last time, then raised a hand and inhaled dramatically.

“I’m joking,” she said, her expression decidedly grim. “You know I’d still slice him in half if he hurt you again.”

You wanted to argue the again, but took another sip of your water instead. The ice melted against your tongue.

There wasn’t much point in defending your dignity anyway. Reina knew you better than anyone.

“Oh.” She nodded her head at something behind you. “Here we go.”

You followed her gaze. The waiter approached, carrying two trays with plates of chicken, enough mashed potatoes to drown in them, salad bowls that looked like they’d need their own table, and a glorious basket of bread.

You reached for the cutlery holder and picked up a fork.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 21, 2026. 4:25 PM

When you returned home that afternoon—later than your usual time, you’d needed to detour for groceries—Yeonjun was in the lobby.

He turned from the noticeboard when the door shut, his fingers slipping off the corner of a peeling advert. He wore a red, oversized jumper with the word ‘blessed’ stitched in white letters—Reina would’ve loved it—and looked as though he’d only just woken up.

You stopped inside the doorway and exhaled.

“You again,” you said.

He grinned. “Been expecting me?”

“Had a feeling you might be here.”

He snickered, his gaze drifting to the bags in your hands. “Need help with those?”

You glanced down, as if to reassess the weight. The handles bit into your palms.

“No,” you said. “I’ve got it.”

Yeonjun gave an easy nod in response—he didn’t expect you to accept anyway—and pivoted towards the stairs.

“Oh,” you called from the door. “Done loitering, then?”

The sound of your voice made his blood rush in entirely unhelpful directions.

“Yes,” he said, turning back. “But I can stay longer, if you’d like?”

“I wouldn’t.”

The grin on his face was pathological.

He jerked his chin towards the stairs. “Home, then?”

You gave him a long look. He held your gaze for every second of it, his cheeks lifting further.

Already at the edge of firing back, you swallowed it down. “Home, then.”

Yeonjun turned back to the stairs. You followed a second later, your footsteps falling into involuntary rhythm with his.

You hoped he’d veer towards the lift at the last second.

He didn’t.

There was a faint smell of chlorine in the stairwell; it had recently been cleaned. The air dried your throat halfway up the first flight.

“Violet,” Yeonjun said, knowing it was the only topic of small talk you’d accept, “was very happy after she got back from yours.”

You coughed lightly, eyes dropping to your hands.

“I gave her a bit of turkey,” you said. “Hope that’s okay.”

“Oh.” His brows lifted a fraction. “Yeah, of course. Explains why she was so excited.”

“I actually got the feeling she only ate it out of politeness,” you said. “Does she prefer fish?”

“She likes everything,” he said, glancing at you over his shoulder. “She was just playing, so you’d offer something more. She’s very spoiled.”

You smiled.

He caught your lips stretching and promptly missed a step.

“Shit—”

You looked up just in time to see him grab the railing. He felt your gaze in his peripheral vision and cleared his throat.

“Slipped,” he said, gathering his legs together. “M’fine.”

“Mhmm.” You lowered your gaze back to the stairs. “Should’ve taken the lift.”

“And miss our delightful conversation?” He tried to catch his breath. “Never.”

“Rather break your neck, then.”

“I’ll be okay. Thanks for worrying about me, thou—”

“How long have you had her, then?” you cut in before his earlier grin could return.

He pulled on the laces of his jumper. “Violet?”

“Yeah.”

“About four months.”

Your brows lifted. It had taken your cousins close to a year to get their rescue cat—Pistachio—used to them. She still hissed every time she heard her name (rightfully so). And she still occasionally dragged all their shoes out of the house in the middle of the night (less rightfully).

Then again, Pistachio might’ve just had a spiteful nature to begin with. You loved her.

“She adjusted to you very quickly,” you said, recalling how Violet had pressed into him on the stairs yesterday.

Yeonjun nodded; he was very grateful for that. The woman at the shelter had warned him to be patient.

“She was at the shelter for less than a month,” he said. “So I guess I got there early enough.”

You shifted the bags, easing the pressure on your palms. “Did they tell you how she ended up there?”

“Someone tried to drown her.”

You paused mid-step.

He noticed the silence and turned around.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding at your wide eyes. The two of you came to a stop between the third and fourth floors. “This brown bag washed up by a pond not far from here. Some people were walking by and got suspicious. Not the first time it’s happened in the area, apparently—people drowning kittens. So, they opened the bag and found her, soaked through and barely moving. She was—”

A door shut somewhere below. You both quieted, listening to the rattle of the keys, then the whir of the lift.

Yeonjun’s jaw was tight, lips pressed tightly together. He fixed his gaze somewhere over your shoulder.

“She, uh—she washed up onto a patch of violets,” he continued after a minute. “S’why they gave her that name. And they took her to a vet. She survived, but they couldn’t keep her. They had two dogs, I think—or three. Either way, she ended up at the shelter.”

He glanced at you. The horror in your eyes had melted into something painfully sympathetic.

You held his gaze for a second, then blinked down and started up the stairs again. The fresh scent of your perfume gathered around him as you walked past. He tried not to breathe too deeply.

“Poor thing,” you said. Your voice carried over to him in a whisper. “I’m glad she made it.”

Yeonjun glanced up and finally pushed himself into motion.

“Yeah,” he said, swallowing. “Some people are just evil.”

Your fingers skimmed the bannister. His gaze followed the glittering pendants on your bracelet.

“Well,” you said finally. “Never thought I’d say this about you, but, uh—she’s lucky to have you.”

His heart was convinced he was currently headed down the stairs on his ass, apparently, judging by the sudden increase in tempo. He could taste all of his teeth.

“Yeah?” he said, hoping you’d elaborate.

You didn’t. “Yeah.”

He pursed his lips, nodding to himself.

“I’ll tell her you said that,” he said, “the next time she mistreats me.”

You scoffed. “How could she mistreat you? She’s just a little baby.”

“Oh, no—” He tipped his head back in exaggerated despair. “She’s got you fooled, too.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself.

The sound struck him right in the chest.

In just a few steps on this stairwell, the void he’d grown used to seemed to close inside him—just like that. No more cracks, no jagged edges. As whole as it’d always been.

“She, um—she doesn’t really like people much,” he said, fingers tapping against the bannister. “Scratched Bin right across the back of his hand the first time she met him, even drew blood. Then she peed in Gyu’s shoe while we were out on the balcony.”

This time, your laughter came easier. Lighter.

He grinned.

“M’sure she just sensed their sinister thoughts,” you said.

“Probably.” He glanced up at the turn of the stairs. “But she liked you straight away.”

Something sharp twitched in your chest.

Your fingers slipped on your bags, and you lowered them to the stairs for a moment to readjust your grip.

“I’m honoured,” you said, gaze fixed on your boots. “She’s wonderful.”

Yeonjun hummed. He remembered you telling him about Britney, the cat back at your village. He wanted to ask you about her, but couldn’t bring himself to. Your laughter was still ringing somewhere inside him, and he worried that one wrong question would be enough to shatter it.

“Tell Violet I said hi,” you said, stepping onto the fifth-floor landing.

He hadn’t realised he’d reached his flat.

Before he could think of anything to keep you there another minute, you were already heading up the next flight.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, still faintly dazed. “I will.”

✦ • ─── AUGUST 22, 2026. 6:40 AM

Early on Saturday morning, your grandfather announced himself the way he always had: by rapping his knuckles against the door three times. He considered the bell both rude and unnecessary.

Unsure whether you’d imagined the sound, you lay in bed for another minute.

Then came another three knocks.

Yawning, you threw on your robe and opened the door. Your grandfather smiled sheepishly in the dim corridor, his jacket slung over one arm. He held a bouquet of sunflowers.

He never forgot flowers when he visited.

You greeted him the way you always had: by gently scolding him for being so quiet and hugging him—indoors, never over the threshold. He insisted that was bad luck.

“Come in,” you said, stepping aside. “Keep your shoes on. The floor’s—”

He was already taking his shoes off.

Sighing softly, you took his jacket and hung it by the door, on top of yours. You still only had the one hook.

Your grandfather settled on the stool by the kitchen island and ran a hand over the marble countertop, a small, pleased smile on his lips. He liked the counters, then. That was good. He hated everything else about the building.

You took the flowers from him and started the coffee machine. “I’ll show you the washer after coffee, yeah?”

“Of course, dear,” he said, watching you cross the living room to open the curtains. The flat remained dim as the sun slowly inched up from behind the buildings across the street. “Did I wake you?”

You turned to him with a self-conscious smile. It was too early to lie.

“It’s okay,” you said instead. “Happy you’re here. How was the drive?”

You found a vase for the sunflowers while your grandfather recounted his thoughts on the peculiar intersections in the city and the two individuals in jet-black BMWs who honked at him.

“Why were they honking at you?” you asked, shutting off the tap once the vase was halfway full.

“Suppose I wasn’t going fast enough by their standards,” he said. “That’s okay, though, because I started going at twenty per hour after that. They got it.”

Chuckling, you placed the flowers on the kitchen island. “Serves them right.”

“Hmm. What about you, sweetheart?” he asked. “Getting settled? Aside from the washer, of course.”

“Yeah,” you said. “It hasn’t been bad. I finally put up my bookshelf yesterday. Want to see it?”

He wanted to see it.

The bookshelf stood against the wall opposite your bed, still smelling of polished oak. You’d sacrificed your blood, sweat, and tears for it last night—three of your fingers were now bandaged—and you were very proud of it. (It still didn’t fit all of your books, but that was beside the point).

Your grandfather stepped closer, pressed his palm against the side frame, and gave it a small, testing nudge. It did not sway.

He nodded and turned to you—then paused.

“T-that’s a very nice job,” he said. “But—ah, are you aware you’ve got a cat on your fire escape?”

“A ca—” You turned.

Violet sat behind the glass, centred in the window, her blue eyes bright against the dull morning.

Scoffing in disbelief, you crossed the room and unlatched the window.

“This is Violet,” you said, resigned. The cat slipped inside and made straight for your grandfather. “She’s my neighbour’s cat.”

Your grandfather’s expression relaxed at once. He had always been a friend to all animals; even the neighbouring sheep in your village seemed to favour his fields.

He bent, despite his notoriously stiff knees, and offered her his hand. Violet leaned into it without hesitation, arching her back to make it easier for him to touch her.

“Must be friendly neighbours,” your grandfather observed, scratching under her chin, “if their cats visit uninvited.”

“Uh—more of a friendly cat, really,” you said. The smile on your lips felt a little uneven. “She keeps turning up.”

“Isn’t her owner worried?”

“Probably,” you said. “If he’s even awake.”

Your grandfather straightened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. He’d assumed, you could tell, that the neighbour was a woman.

“Oh,” he said, clearing his throat. “Right. Well. Best let him know, then.”

He didn’t seem to know where to put his hands anymore. Violet dug her nose into his palm, helping him with this problem.

“Yeah.” You stepped back towards the kitchen. “You’ll be alright for a minute while I take her home?”

“Of course, of course.” He pushed himself upright, bracing a hand against your bookshelf for support, and followed you back into the kitchen. “Don’t fuss about me. Have you got something for her? For her trouble?”

You snickered, turning back over your shoulder. “The trouble of running away from home, yeah?”

Your grandfather shrugged. “She chose you to run to.”

Unreasonably warm all of a sudden, you handed him his coffee. He accepted it with a small nod and took a sip immediately, seemingly immune to the heat. He was a lot like Reina in that regard.

The coffee machine sputtered again as it began to work on your mug.

In the meantime, Violet drifted along the edge of the living room, searching for sunlight. She was already quite familiar with the way your floor smelled, but figured she could still help you with that. Several more wisps of her hair scattered onto the tiles.

The moment you opened the fridge and lifted the plate with the last of the turkey, she snapped to attention and trotted over.

You squatted, smiling, and offered her a small slice.

She sniffed it first. Gave it a cautious lick. Then, with her ears twitching in approval, she grabbed it in one decisive bite.

“Think she likes it,” your grandfather said, grinning.

“Mhmm.” Violet nudged the plate in your hands before she’d even finished chewing. “That’s enough, little one. Don’t want you thinking I’m rewarding bad behaviour.”

She drew back and gave you a questioning meow. She was not familiar with the concept of bad behaviour.

“That’s right,” you reiterated. “You’re not supposed to run away from home like that.”

Another meow, strongly disagreeing.

You chuckled, standing up. Violet lost interest at once and padded back towards the window.

Your grandfather snickered—and burst into a cough.

You turned for the sink. “Water—?”

He placed a palm on your shoulder.

“M—I’m f-fine,” he managed, breath catching again before it settled. His soft smile returned. “D-don’t think that one realises she’s run away. Looks to me like she thinks she’s home.”

You followed his gaze to Violet, who was pressing her nose to the glass. She jerked back, startled by the cold.

She already reminded you a bit of Yeonjun, now that you thought of it.

“She’s very curious,” you said. “Think she just likes exploring.”

“Oh, no.” Your grandfather shook his head. “Cats are particular. They choose where they go, and they choose where they stay.”

As if to prove him right, Violet sprawled onto her back, paws reaching up to swat at the edge of the curtain.

Your chest warmed all over again.

“I don’t mind her here,” you said, “but I should take her back. Drink your coffee, alright? It’ll only take a second, she lives just downstairs.”

“Of course,” your grandfather said, lifting his mug. “Take all the time you need.”

You did.

It took a solid five minutes just to persuade Violet to come to the door. She had evidently decided you needed to work for it.

Another slice of turkey convinced her.

She really was spoiled, you realised as she chewed the turkey and stepped into the stairwell. She paused every few steps, as if pondering whether she could negotiate another snack for her had work. You were already completely smitten with her.

You stopped outside Yeonjun’s door.

Maybe, you thought, hand stretching over the back of your robe, you should knock and run back home. He might think Violet came back on her own.

Unfortunately, the door opened the moment your knuckles touched it.

Violet sat down on the threshold, reporting back for duty.

“You’re out again,” Yeonjun said to her, the reprimand softening into affection halfway through. Then he lifted his eyes to you, and something in his expression softened further. “I’m really sorry. I was about to come up and check if she was with you. Fire escape again?”

“Yeah,” you said, shifting on your feet. “My grandad noticed her.”

“Oh.”

He remembered your grandfather from your graduation—remembered your whole family, really. All the aunts, uncles, and cousins you’d told him about. You’d been smiling the whole ceremony, even as you tried to keep them all in line. He’d known better than to approach.

Swallowing, he looked down at Violet again.

“Haven’t we talked about this?” he said. “You don’t leave without my permission.”

She answered with a small meow and slipped past him, her tail catching on his ankle.

“Don’t talk back to me, young lady—” he started, louder now, but whipped his head back to you the moment he heard your quiet chuckle.

There was flour on the tips of his fingers, he realised. He brushed it off on his sweatpants.

“Anyway,” he said. “Thought I left a smaller gap, but she slipped out anyway. Wants me to have a heart attack, I s’pose.”

Your mouth tilted. “Guess she likes visiting.”

“Goess so. Sorry about that.”

“S’fine,” you said. “I wouldn’t have minded if she’d stayed for a bit, but I’ve got plans.”

“Oh.” He leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. “Yeah? What plans?”

He thought he sounded very casual. Neighbourly.

You recognised the brightness in his gaze at once.

“If I tell you,” you said, dry, “you might start showing up there, too.”

He grinned, glancing down at your hot pink robe. He liked this colour on you. Liked, especially, how bright you looked against the subdued corridor.

He thought you’d look even better if you told him more about your plans.

“Hmm,” he said. “Gonna be back by four, then?”

You pursed your lips. “Why don’t you go down and check?”

“I will.”

“Mm.”

You took a step back. Your left slipper snagged on the uneven edge of the linoleum by his threshold.

“Oh, wait—um,” he said, stepping out onto the landing.

You straightened and took another instinctive step backwards. He pretended not to see it.

“Can I—I’ll give you my number, yeah? I mean, I’ll try to sort the window, but in case this happens again, you could just text me, and I’d come get her. You wouldn’t need to—” he gestured vaguely at the stairs, “—run a delivery service.”

Your gaze dropped to your slippers. The cotton was beginning to crease at the bend.

“Uh—sure,” you said, pushing your hair back over your shoulders. The bandage on your middle finger caught on a strand.

Yeonjun pulled his phone from the back pocket of his sweatpants.

“Your number still the same?” he asked, thumbs hovering over his screen.

“Yeah.”

“Cool. I’ll just send a text, then, yeah?”

“Sure.”

You waited while he typed, staring at the scuffed linoleum. The stairwell was quiet around you, amplifying the soft tap of his screen. A sweet, fruity scent seemed to hang in the air.

Yeonjun heard you sniff and looked up.

“I’m—uh, baking,” he said, gesturing behind himself. “Peach cobbler.”

You lifted your chin slightly. “Oh.”

You hadn’t known he baked, and the new information landed uncomfortably heavy in your mind.

Before you could say anything else, your phone buzzed in your pyjama pocket. The vibration travelled down your leg.

UNKNOWN [7:27 AM] hi it’s me

His number seemed to be the same as last year.

“If—if you stop by after your plans,” Yeonjun said, forcing your attention back up, “you could try some. As, uh—as a thank you for Violet.”

You stared at him for a second.

He baked, then. And you could try some.

Maybe he smoked something before opening the door. You’d love to try some of that.

“That’s alright,” you said, slowly. “I’ll probably be out the whole day.”

Something tightened behind his eyes.

He did not like that, but couldn’t figure out how to ask you about it without reminding you of his clinical insanity.

Who’re you going with?

Is it a date?

Can I come?

Yeah, you’d call the police on him.

“Well, not a problem,” he said. His eye threatened to start twitching. “Another time.”

Swallowing thickly, you turned for the stairwell.

“Right,” you said, hand gripping the bannister. “I’ll go, then.”

“Yeah. Of course.” Yeonjun stepped back into his flat and lifted a hand in a small wave. “Thanks for bringing the troublemaker back.”

Already on the stairs, you returned the gesture without thinking.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 22, 2026. 8 AM

It had taken your grandfather a mere half an hour to tighten the hose and change the gasket—would’ve taken him less if his glasses hadn’t kept sliding down his nose. Twice, they dropped onto the tiles and slipped under the washing machine.

“You would think,” he muttered, fishing them out with two fingers, “that after almost seventy years, I’d have mastered the art of wearing glasses.”

You snickered and switched off the torch you’d been tasked with holding.

Glasses on, your grandfather stood to wipe his hands on an old rag he’d brought with his tools. He gave the machine a firm pat.

“Should be alright now,” he said. “But I don’t know for how long.”

“That’s alright,” you said. “I’ll just have to invite you over again.”

He huffed a quiet laugh and wiped his nose with the same rag before you could scold him.

He stayed for another half an hour for breakfast, then left, unnecessarily secretive about the rest of his plans. You suspected it involved more flower seeds, and, almost certainly, a box of chocolates for your grandmother. He never returned home empty-handed when he knew she was waiting.

You spent the rest of the day with Reina.

The shopping centre was packed. You nearly lost her three times—by that point, you were not above tying a helium balloon to her wrist to keep track of her. Thankfully, she had an uncanny ability to sense when you’d fallen behind and always circled back to find you.

After three hours, she picked out four dresses.

Naturally, that meant you’d have to have another meeting to decide on the best option. You didn’t mind, even if it meant finding ways to keep Soobin out of their house. You already knew Reina would want her outfit to be a surprise, and he would take that as a challenge.

“We could do it at my place,” you suggested. “Although I don’t doubt Soobin would still try to climb in through the window.”

“Yeah.” She exhaled, her paper bags knocking lightly against her legs. “I’ll try not to mention what I’m doing. Maybe that’ll work.”

You snorted.

She gave you an indignant look. “What? I don’t tell him everything.”

You snorted louder.

“Fine,” she conceded, fighting back a helpless grin. “I’ll just tie him up for an hour, then.”

The sky was dark once you and Reina finally emerged into the parking lot. Your lower back ached, and every step felt heavier than the last.

Normally, you refused her offers to drive you home. Having learned how to drive from her dad, Reina was extremely precise on the road, but also had the road rage of a middle-aged man. Sitting beside her was a test of endurance.

Today, however, you agreed without hesitation.

Her Audi—red, to match Soobin’s—moved through the streets with growing impatience. The drive that should have taken twenty minutes took ten instead. All through it, Reina honked at any man behind the wheel (men shouldn’t drive) and at anyone who missed the traffic lights by even half a second (are they fucking asleep?).

By the time she pulled up outside your building, you felt mildly carsick.

“Right, then,” you said, carefully opening the door, “you’d make a great pilot.”

Grinning, Reina pointed to the airplane-shaped air freshener clipped to her dashboard. Kai got it for her after the first—and last—time she’d driven him home from his classes.

You nodded and stepped out into the crisp evening air, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself. Reina leaned across the centre console, reaching her hands out through the open window.

Laughing, you leaned in to meet her halfway for a hug—only to be met by her elbow right on your forehead.

“Oh—I’m so sorry,” she spluttered, hands flying to her mouth as she tried to suppress a laugh. “I was—was trying to pull you closer.”

“I’ll live,” you muttered, rubbing the spot. “Get home safe, yeah?”

She gave you an affectionate salute, still giggling, and rolled up the window.

You stepped onto the pavement. Her car slid back into traffic, taillights glowing bright, then disappearing into the dark of the night.

Five floors above, Yeonjun stood at his window, watching you heave the lobby doors open. He hadn’t meant to be watching, but he’d come to close the curtains and recognised Reina’s car. By then, it was too late to turn away.

As he watched you enter the building, the tension in his chest eased.

Not a date, then. You’d just been out with Reina.

He nearly tossed Violet into the air in absurd relief.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 23, 2026. 6:55 AM

On Sunday morning, Violet was back on your fire escape, punctual as always. She watched the window and patiently waited for you to stir.

Your breath caught when you saw her.

She meowed supportively.

Groaning—you’d only gone to sleep five hours ago, waiting for the final spin cycle of your washing machine—you pushed yourself out of bed and stumbled to the window. Your fingers slipped on the latch before finally yanking it open.

“M’starting to think I should install a bell here for you,” you said as she slid in through the gap. “Aren’t you cold out here? Why don’t you stay home?”

Violet declined to comment.

Brushing past your legs, she headed straight into the living room. First, a quick sniff at her chosen patch between your flowerpots. Then, a demanding meow.

The curtains.

Obeying, you walked over to open them. Violet shuffled a few centimetres to the left, settling directly in front of the rising sun.

She didn’t seem to want anything to eat. She just really liked your windows. And your plants. Possibly your rug, too, though the tassels hadn’t passed the inspection yet.

You turned towards the kitchen and started the coffee machine. While it whirred and warmed the flat, you leaned your hip against the counter and pulled out your phone to text Yeonjun.

Just then, Violet folded into a perfect loaf, her paws tucked tight beneath her, and let out a small, satisfied breath.

Lips stretching, you closed your contacts and opened your camera instead.

She looked cinematic in the picture: her fur catching the sunlight, her little ears poking out from behind the fluff of her body, plants on either side of her.

You sent it to Yeonjun.

By the time he replied, you were already halfway through your coffee, scrolling absentmindedly through Instagram.

YEONJUN [7:16 AM] ??? convinced she learned to work the latch can i come up?

You glanced at Violet once more. She was lying on her side now, her body rising and falling softly in time with her breaths. The sun caught on her white paws.

YOU [7:17 AM] i’ll be home all day, so she can stay for a bit if you’re ok

The three dots appeared and disappeared on your screen. Then appeared again.

Finally:

YEONJUN [7:18 AM] i’m ok

You set your phone aside and returned to your coffee. It was already lukewarm.

After breakfast, you found an old, dark-blue ceramic bowl in your kitchen, probably something you’d taken from your grandmother’s. You filled it with water for Violet and brought it closer to her spot by the window. Her tail twitched.

The rest of your Sunday morning went on as usual.

You triple-checked the washing machine for any leaks—all good—and moved on to fold your clothes. Despite last night’s effort, the laundry basket was still only a third empty.

Violet, in the meantime, migrated slowly across your flat, following the sun as it moved from your rug to the back of your sofa, then back to the floor again. She’d climbed onto the kitchen island once, to get acquainted with the sunflowers there, but quickly decided she preferred being closer to the windows.

It was nice, having her here.

You caught yourself glancing at her every now and then as you settled in the living room with your laptop. She rarely looked back at you, but made her presence known with the occasional thunderous snore that was absurd for someone her size.

By the time you finished revising your notes for tomorrow’s seminar, your living room had turned golden. Sunlight stretched across the floorboards, the shadows of your window frames shifting over the rug.

You shut your laptop and leaned back for a stretch. Your spine cracked.

Then the doorbell rang.

Surprised, you checked the time on your phone and pushed yourself off the sofa.

Noticing your movement, Violet lifted her head, ears perked.

“I have a feeling that’s for you,” you said.

She licked her nose and settled back down, unfazed.

You stepped over her outstretched tail and went to answer the door.

Yeonjun stood in the corridor, holding a plate with two uneven slices of pie—peach cobbler, by the look of it. He looked faintly winded, as though he’d sprinted upstairs. One of his sleeves was rolled up.

“Hi,” he said, exhaling with a slight wheeze. “Came to—to pick up Violet. And—um.” He lifted the plate. “This is for you. Still good today.”

You stared at the plate for a second, unsure what to do with it until he pushed it closer.

“Oh—” You took it from him. “Thank you. Violet’s right there.”

Yeonjun leaned over, careful not to cross the threshold, and glanced past you.

“In the sun,” he said, nodding at her. “Of course.”

You set the plate down on the kitchen island next to the sunflowers. “She stayed there nearly the entire time.”

“Yeah,” he said. “She’s been scratching at my curtains, so I suspect that’s her problem. She loves the sun.”

You crouched beside Violet, the late afternoon light painting the brown patches on her back golden. She was busy lying on her side and pawing at a leaf of your monstera, and did not bother to look up at you.

“Come on, baby,” you murmured, reaching under her chin. “Your ride’s here.”

Your touch intrigued her. She abandoned the plant and leaned into your hand. You’d discovered she had a favourite spot—the small white patch on her neck, just beneath her whiskers—and lingered there for a second longer.

Then her ears flicked. She heard Yeonjun calling for her in the doorway.

You let your hand slip away.

She rose, stretching, then made her way over to him, her tail held high.

“Hi, love,” Yeonjun said, bending to scoop her up. She chirped against his chest, and he reached out to rub the top of her head. “Had a nice day?”

She tucked herself into his arms.

You stepped back towards the door.

“I’ll try to sort out the curtains,” he said, glancing up at you. “Maybe s’why she runs away every morning.”

“Yeah.” You ran a hand over the side of your doorframe. “Or maybe she doesn’t like you that much, after all.”

His mouth twitched. “Mhmm. I did close the window overnight, to be fair. Nearly suffocated in my sleep, and still she got out.”

“Maybe you didn’t tighten the latch properly.”

“Maybe.” He glanced down at Violet, bringing a hand over her back. “Went ahead and opened it yourself, did you, then?”

She nestled her head into the crook of his arm. You looked down as a small smile found its way onto your lips.

“How’s your grandfather?” Yeonjun asked.

Your smile slipped.

For a moment, you watched his hand move along Violet’s back. There were white hairs clinging to his black shirt.

“He’s good,” you said finally. “Came to fix my washer.”

“Yeah? What’s wrong with it?”

“He thinks it was the gasket or the hose,” you said, the words no longer foreign. You suspected you’d acquire all the skills for a qualified plumber by living here. “He had to come and fix it because his granddaughter was too scared to go near it.”

Yeonjun snickered. “Is it working now?”

“Yeah.” You flicked a glance towards the bathroom. “Should be anyway.”

“The plumbing’s shit here.”

“It is, yeah.”

You turned back.

He was already looking at you.

“Uh—thanks again for the pie,” you said, glancing towards the kitchen. “It looks good.”

“S’nothing.” He continued to stroke Violet’s back. “Let me know if you like it. Think I overdid it with the sugar.”

You turned back to him. “I don’t mind sugar.”

“Yeah.” The corners of his lips lifted. “Me neither, actually.”

Another quiet moment passed.

You hardly noticed the way the two of you began to linger again.

Drawing in a breath, you forced your gaze past him, towards Mr Jung’s door in the corridor. “Right, then.”

“Right,” Yeonjun echoed. He adjusted his grip on Violet. “Thanks again for looking after her.”

“No problem.”

You watched him start down the stairs, Violet’s tail flicking from the cradle of his arms. Then you eased the door shut.

✦ • ─── AUGUST 23, 2026. 9:20 PM

The pie was excellent.

The last time you’d had peach cobbler, your grandmother had baked it for your grandfather’s birthday—years ago now. She only made it on special occasions, which was all the better, given her merciless standards: that’s too much sugar, why do peaches taste like that, I am never making this again.

She would have approved of this one.

You set the empty plate down on the floor by the sofa and pushed it away.

Grabbing your phone from the armrest, you sank back into the cushions. The flat was quiet, save for the distant hum of cars out on the street.

You hadn’t bought a TV yet, so your options for entertainment were limited: scrolling on your phone or watching the night sky through the dark window.

You glanced down at your phone.

There was another option. Yeonjun had asked whether you liked the pie.

You figured you could answer this much.

YOU [9:26 PM] your pie was great i’ll return the plate tomorrow

His reply came immediately.

YEONJUN [9:26 PM] don’t worry about it, i’m glad you liked it

That should have been the end of it.

Your screen lit up again less than a minute later.

YEONJUN [9:27 PM] never thought i’d hear you admit you enjoyed something i made though must’ve caught you on a good day

You smiled, then immediately chastised yourself and pressed your lips flat.

YOU [9:27 PM] you must have don’t get used to it

YEONJUN [9:28 PM] etching this into my memory as we speak

A familiar restlessness stirred in your stomach.

YOU [9:28 PM] better not

YEONJUN [9:28 PM] too late :)

You began to type, but paused after the first word, thumb rubbing the edge of your phone case.

You inhaled, staring at the screen, then exhaled.

Then you continued to type.

YOU [9:29 PM] still won’t listen to warnings i see

It was Yeonjun, this time, who started to type, then stopped.

For the second time that day, you found yourself hypnotised by the three dots pulsing on your screen.

YEONJUN [9:30 PM] still won’t but to be fair neither do you :)

A siren wailed somewhere a few streets over, shrill but too distant to really register. You leaned back against the sofa, the soft suede brushing your arms.

YOU [9:30 PM] never too late to start

He answered at once:

YEONJUN [9:30 PM] we were never great at starting things

You inhaled sharply, but none of the air made it to your lungs. Your fingers moved over the keyboard faster.

YOU [9:30 PM] even worse at ending them :)

The three dots blinked back, more persistent now, as though trying to match your pulse.

YEONJUN [9:31 PM] true that part’s shit i miss all the rest though

You were on your feet before you realised you were moving.

Your vision darkened for a moment. You braced a hand against the back of the sofa until the living room stopped swimming around you.

Your last text was more reflex than conscious thought.

YOU [9:33 PM] goodnight, yeonjun

You dropped your phone screen-down on the sofa before it could light up again.

Pointedly ignoring the plate you’d left on the floor, you returned to the kitchen to wipe down the counters for the night.

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taglist:

@eleni-cherie @enhastolemyheart @beestvng @tomorrowbytgt @insaniteez @sorikkunhwangpil @yaintpaint @ohsowoozi @di3t-w0ter @virgopotterhead @beomgyusluver @pagesoobinie @champagne1221 @jammerhammerbanger @reiofsuns2001 @belabobanana @hheerrmmiitt @myglogic @mountyuki @adoresjjk @hueningsgirl @gunsfave @nanilis @yjcam @human-misery @angelgraphica @sooberriesx @yystarz @4wkjun @xjunniee @littlemoasoobin @kkyubear @proudsolarpunk @hyukalife @grogwrites @tarahardcore @jaegerbombin @danjakz @i4tzy @llvcyj @kookieterry @b9oms @starstrucktae @apriglw @mo0nstardust @koobiiiistar @unfiirt @yawnjjunnie @usuallyunlikelyfox @isakwon

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! BEOMGYU who has the tips of his ears pierced and looks like the most evil pup ever but he's actually the sweetest thing when you get to know him.

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! BEOMGYU who bites you when you try and take off his one million necklaces because you can't clip his leash on.

i need to take at least 2 off, i cant see your collar beomgyu.

so you hate me? you want me to die? you want me to have no swag? you want me to get no bitches?

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! BEOMGYU who is an actual bastard. he will go through the cupboards whilst everyone is asleep and eat all of the treats you had bought him; in the morning he'd play sly, acting all innocent and batting his eyelashes. the worst part is: all of you fell for it, every, single, time.

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! BEOMGYU who has his tongue pierced and runs it along your neck to tease you.

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! BEOMGYU who buys a vibrating tongue bar for when he goes down on your, rubbing it against your clit and holding it there whilst his fingers vigorously pump in and out of you.

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! BEOMGYU who loves your boobs and could spend HOURS sucking on them. he gets very upset when one of the members drags him away from them.

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! BEOMGYU who often needs to be settled because he can become so bratty. it usually ends with him bent over one of his hyung's laps (hyuka or tyun are very likely too) with his boxers around his ankles as he gets spanked. his tail never stops wagging though.

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! BEOMGYU who uses you and the members as his own personal chew toy. the 5 of you are constantly covered in his slobber.

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! BEOMGYU who attacks other dogs in the dog park when they get near any of his owners because they're his and he doesn't like to share.

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! BEOMGYU who uses the fact that he's a pure bred wolf to his advantage. he walks with his head held high and tail pointed to the sky.

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! BEOMGYU who has a bad habit of humping pillows. when he misses someone, the first thought of his is to go to their room and hump their pillow, rubbing his cock all over the soft fabric and staining it with his cum. he never changes the cover. why would he ever do that?

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! BEOMGYU who has peed all over yeonjun more than once because he's come home from a night out smelling like a different man/woman. it makes his skin crawl.

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! YEONJUN who begs 24/7. it doesn't matter where you are, in public or not, he's not afraid to drop to his knees and give you the puppy eyes to get what he wants. even if he has to droop his ears and rub his cheek against your thigh.

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! YEONJUN who has a hard on 99.9% of the time and will walk around naked until someone takes care of it. it could be you or one of his members. if yeonjun's turned on its everyone's problem. if no one wants to offer their tight, warm holes, he has no shame in going to go and hump bedsheets and plushies.

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! YEONJUN barks at the birds. he sits in the window of the apartment, tail thumping against the ground as he watches the birds fly around.

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! YEONJUN chases all sorts of animals when you take him out on a walk, not because he wants to hunt but because he wants to be their friend!

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! YEONJUN is extremely friendly but every one thinks he's dangerous purely because he's a wolf :( he goes out of his way to custom make a harness which says im friendly! please give me belly rubs and wears it when you go out in public.

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! YEONJUN is ladies man and often has omegas crawling all over him. you can never walk him on your own due to this and another member often has to come and help you tug him away from them.

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! YEONJUN who loves to make out. with you, with soobin, with kai. he doesn't care. he grabs you by the front of your shirt and pulls you into a messy kiss. his long tongue going down your throat as his tail thumps against the wind.

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! YEONJUN who loves to give you head. its canon, every form of YJ wants to give head. he'll do anything just to taste to, sometimes he'll get on his knees in public and try tug your pants down!

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! YEONJUN pees when he gets excited, he cant help it! when you give him belly rubs his tail wags and the front of his pants get a little damp. poor pup, he really needed to be toilet trained again!

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! YEONJUN often comes home with new piercings and tattoos that no one had consented to. he'll come home holding his ribs in an awkward way and when gyu tickles him he bursts into tears of pain. its not until soobin yanks the pups shirt up they see the tattoo.

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! YEONJUN who has his tongue pierced. a pretty bone resting on the top of his tongue. it looks adorable and feels even better.

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! YEONJUN is MEAN during his ruts, he has no idea what hes doing. he just wants to fuck. hell bend you over when ever, however he wants. for hours on end you're on his cock, riding, missionary, doggy, all of it.

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! YEONJUN who eats his cum out of you. puppy always cleans up his mess!

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! TAEHYUN who often walks behind his group, even when he's hanging out with just you, he lurks behind to ensure that no one is coming to attack you. he's protective of what's his.

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! TAEHYUN who has bad food aggression and can not share anything. it gets to the point where yeonjun has to muzzle the pup during eating times because he's attacked the group one two many times.

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! TAEHYUN who is a creature of solitude and hates when people are in his room. the only person who goes into his room apart from himself is kai.

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! TAEHYUN who accidentally imprints on soobin and refuses to leave his side for a month straight. they sleep, eat, shower together, they do everything together. during the month no one could even look in soobin's direction without getting mauled by the wolf.

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! TAEHYUN who uses your thighs as chew toys. you're constantly covered in bite marks from all of his chewing!

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! TAEHYUN who has a terrible habit of peeing in places he's not meant to cough cough, beomgyu's closet. every time he gets caught he just bats his pretty eyelashes with his pretty puppy eyes and is immediately forgiven.

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! TAEHYUN who wears his collar around the house because he humps people when he gets too excited. when the 6 of you are all watching a movie and he's really enjoying it: taehyun often ends up rocking his hips against the couch. or when he sees you after a long time of being apart he's immediately rubbing his dick against your ass.

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! TAEHYUN who knots his fleshlight during every rut on accident and has to shamefully ask for help to get it off.

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! TAEHYUN who eats twice as much as everyone else in the dorm but makes it for it by doing double the household chores!

ᯓ★ wolf hybrid! TAEHYUN who wakes everyone up at 2 am by howling at the moon which in return, makes the rest of the wolf hybrids in the area howl - setting off an entire howl. you all have to leave the dorm with your heads ducked, apart from taehyun, who looks very proud of his work.

Yeonjun's heat was impending, the way his attitude had become almost become intense; it was impossible to even hold a conversation with the omega without fire huffing out of his nose or his wings flapping in annoyance.

It was horrible to say the least; living with a dragon that was constantly on the verge of exploding into a mountain of flames was terrifying, especially since he was your boyfriend, the love of your life.

"Yeonjun, sweetheart, can I have my plush back?"

That was your first mistake: asking for your plush that Yeonjun had clearly taken interest in due to its position in his arms. The dragon barely pays your question any mind, only glaring at you as he wraps his dark red leather-like wings around the plushie - a few sore spots around the bases of them due to his over-pruning of himself.

"Baby - that's my favourite one," You try to argue with him but its futile, you already knew that. The smoke was already starting to dribble from his nose, dark red tail swishing behind him in annoyance as he continues to glare at you.

"Okay, yes whatever. It's your plush now." You grumble, watching a smug smile tug over the omega's lips, his eyes fluttering close as he finally settles down enough to sleep.

The sleep only lasts a solid hour before Yeonjun is tossing and turning again, his nostrils flared as he huffs a rather large flame - one which easily sets his entire nest a light.

Initially, you feel panicked like any girlfriend would but Yeonjun can't feel heat. He can't feel anything warm nor hot, so there was nothing to worry about.

"Get up baby, we'll have to find somewhere else for you to rest hm?"

"He's good, just make sure you keep the muzzle on him or he'll set your house on fire too," You half joke to Taehyun but he doesn't even crack a smile, only turning on his heel to go and help the omega set up his nest on the alpha's bed.

You shrug, not thinking much of it, and decide to go to the store to go and get your boyfriend some new blankets and plushies to nest with.

Nothing wrong could happen, right?

Except Taehyun had maybe 1/80th of the amount of patience you had for Yeonjun.

"Omega stop whining, get comfortable and sleep," Taehyun's horns dig into the side of Yeonjun's neck as he attempts to settle the omega's, as he tries to break his heat even by a fragment to reduce his whimpers.

"I need an alpha," Yeonjun huffs, a bead of sweat running down his chest and pooling on his stomach. His sharp claws dig into the flesh of his thighs, trying to supress the feeling of wetness that was starting to run down his thighs.

"I'm right here," Taehyun smirks, his long dark tail wrapping around Yeonjun's left leg to pull his thighs apart. "Alpha's here, submit to me baby, I'll make you feel so good,"

“Alpha no, I don't wan you. want a real alpha,” the omega whines, his wings flapping against the cooling pad the alpha had kindly laid out on the bed. “want fire alpha not… not you! I'm not into.. dirt” Yeonjun's nose scrunches up in disgust, a few huffs of smoke coming out to emphasise his point.

Taehyun laughs, sharp fangs glinting in the soft light of the apartment. “I don’t care if you don’t like my kind,” Tyun's sharp claws run down the omegas front, ripping off his clothes in the process. The flimsy white tank top was torn to shreds, barely holding on by the time the alpha was at the soaked red lace on the fire dragons hips.

“I don’t like brats yet you’re here. in my bed. in my house. Rubbing your slicked up pussy all over my sheets like a bitch. Are you trying to mark me as yours little hatchling? Is that it?” Tyun grabs a fistful of the omegas hair, rubbing his cheek into the puddle of slick on the sheets.

“You smell that? my scent mixed with yours?” Yeonjun growls, attempts to flee from the situation but it’s futile.

Taehyun yanks his shirt off, sliding off his sweatpants all whilst he leaves the omega with one simple command.

"Present for Alpha."

All earlier fights Yeonjun had with Taehyun over being a different type of dragon immediately dissolve into nothing but slick between the omega's thighs, his cunt pulsating and throbbing in attempts to suck in the alpha's cock.

Taehyun laughs roughly at the sight of the blonde's ruffled hair, how his nose was now covered in his own slick. Yeonjun's hips go up in the air as he attempts to escape, soft whimpers and pouts rubbing his ass over the Alpha's bulge.

"You already like it don't you?" Taehyun rubs his fingers over Yeonjun's pretty slit, spreading his puffy pussy lips apart to pinch at his clit; the mewl the omega lets out makes Taehyun's cock throb, his hips bucking up into the wet mess.

"You want it? You want this cock? Beg for it."

"Alpha!" Yeonjun's whines are high pitched, airy and barely there with how fucked out he is from doing nothing but spreading himself open for the alpha. "Please, please fuck- oh GOD!"