Adrien hated packing.
Not because it was hard—he was meticulous by nature, careful with his things, precise—but because packing meant endings. Closets emptied. Shelves stripped bare. The quiet acknowledgement that whatever space he was leaving behind would no longer belong to him.
The apartment looked wrong half-empty.
Boxes littered the living room, labeled in black marker: BOOKS, CLOTHES, SHEET MUSIC, FRAGILE. His piano bench sat awkwardly against the wall, its twin already wrapped in layers of protective foam as the movers carefully angled the grand piano toward the door.
Adrien stood in his bedroom, folding sweaters with mechanical focus.
Ji-Won sat cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through her phone, occasionally tossing comments into the air like confetti.
"You own way too many books," she said. "Like… suspiciously many."
"They're necessary."
"For what? Emotional support?"
"Yes."
She laughed, bright and unbothered, and leaned over to peek into a half-filled box. "You even pack them by genre. Classical composers, philosophy, modern literature… You're insane."
Adrien hummed noncommittally and taped the box shut.
The penthouse his aunt had bought him loomed in his thoughts—vast, pristine, overlooking the city like it owned it. Glass walls. Marble counters. Silence that echoed. It was generous, absurdly so, but it came with expectations he preferred not to think about.
He reached for his phone, meaning to check the time.
A notification blinked onto the screen.
Zane: hi
Adrien froze.
The world narrowed to five inches of glowing glass.
Just one word. Lowercase. Casual. Dangerous.
His thumb hovered over the screen, pulse ticking loudly in his ears. He read it again, as if the letters might rearrange themselves into something less loaded.
Ji-Won's voice cut through his thoughts. "Adrien! Can you help me for a second?"
He locked the screen and slid the phone into his pocket, exhaling sharply. "Yeah. What's wrong?"
She pointed dramatically at the corner near the closet. "There's a spider. A big one. I think it made eye contact with me."
Adrien sighed. "You're an actress."
"Exactly. I'm paid to look beautiful, not brave."
He crossed the room, disposed of the spider with a tissue, and returned to packing like nothing had happened—except everything had.
Time blurred after that.
The movers wrapped furniture, lifted boxes, called out measurements. His piano was rolled out with reverence, strapped securely as if it were a living thing. Adrien watched it leave, chest tight, feeling like a part of him was being relocated without his consent.
By the time the last box was loaded, dusk had settled in soft shades of amber and blue.
"I'm starving," Ji-Won declared, stretching. "You owe me food for emotional trauma."
They ended up at a Chinese restaurant a few blocks away, warm and loud and comforting. Red lanterns glowed overhead. The smell of soy sauce and fried garlic clung to the air.
They slid into a booth.
Ji-Won talked. About a script she hated. About a director who didn't listen. About her mother's obsession with image. Adrien nodded at appropriate intervals, chopsticks moving automatically.
But his thoughts were elsewhere.
He pulled out his phone beneath the table.
The screen was still quiet.
He stared at it for a long moment, then typed.
Adrien: hi
Across the restaurant, sitting alone at a corner table with his hood half-up and a glass of water untouched, Zane noticed Adrien the instant he walked in.
It was reflex.
Like his body had been tuned to that frequency.
Adrien looked different out of the gym. Softer. Hair falling slightly into his eyes, sleeves rolled up just enough to show lean forearms dusted with fine hair. He was smiling at the girl across from him—pretty, poised, unmistakably elegant.
Zane's chest tightened.
His phone buzzed.
Adrien: hi
Zane's lips parted in surprise. He glanced up again, heart kicking hard, then typed back.
Zane: how are you doing?
His eyes drifted back to the girl.
She was beautiful. Not just in a polished way, but striking—long dark hair, sharp cheekbones, posture that screamed old money and discipline. She laughed, head thrown back slightly, hand brushing Adrien's wrist like it belonged there.
Zane swallowed.
He angled his phone subtly and snapped a quick picture.
Then another.
He opened Google Lens, hoodie lens overlaying the image.
The result came up almost instantly.
Ji-Won Han
Korean actress. Daughter of billionaire HanMin-Seok…
Zane's stomach dropped.
Before he could process that information, another buzz jolted him.
Unknown number.
Unknown: hiiii~
Zane's fingers went cold.
Messages from yesterday
Unknown: got home safely handsome?
Then—
Unknown: Don't you dare ignore me.
Zane stared at the screen, dread curling tight in his gut.
There was only one person who texted like that.
He typed back.
Zane: how did you get my number even?
The typing bubble appeared instantly.
Before the reply came, a new notification slid in.
Adrien: wtf are you doing here?
Zane's breath caught.
He looked up.
Adrien was staring straight at him now, expression sharp, jaw tight, eyes dark with something dangerously close to anger. Ji-Won had slipped out of the booth, heading toward the bathroom, blissfully unaware of the silent war detonating across the room.
Zane's hands shook as he typed.
Another message interrupted him.
Unknown: so you really are a stalker? Cute.
Zane's pulse roared in his ears.
He typed fast.
Zane: i am not!!! it was pure coincidence i was here before him!! And how do you know are you here too?
He sent it, then glanced back up.
Adrien was still watching him.
Seconds stretched.
Finally, Adrien looked away, dragging a hand through his hair, breathing out slowly like he was restraining himself.
Zane's phone buzzed again.
Evan: you always did have terrible timing.
Zane closed his eyes.
Of course.
Evan Cole—his past wrapped in pretty words and sharper claws. The man who never liked being left behind. The man who always found a way to reappear just when Zane thought he'd moved on.
Zane: leave me alone.
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Reappeared.
Evan: You're sitting alone in a Chinese restaurant, staring at someone else's boyfriend. Doesn't that sound lonely to you?
Zane's throat tightened.
Across the room, Adrien stood abruptly, sliding out of the booth just as Ji-Won returned.
"Bathroom line's insane," she said, then paused. "Adrien?"
"I need some air," he replied shortly. "I'll be right back."
He walked toward the exit.
Toward Zane.
Zane stood too, heart pounding, phone buzzing uselessly in his hand.
They met near the door, tension crackling between them like static.
"This is getting weird," Adrien said under his breath. "You keep showing up."
"I told you," Zane shot back quietly, "I was here first."
Adrien's eyes flicked to Zane's phone. "Then why do you look like you're about to bolt?"
Zane hesitated.
"Because my past doesn't know how to stay buried," he said finally.
Adrien searched his face, something shifting—uncertainty, maybe jealousy, maybe relief.
Before he could respond, Ji-Won's voice floated over.
"Adrien? Everything okay?"
Adrien straightened, mask snapping back into place. "Yeah."
He glanced at Zane one last time. "We'll talk later."
Then he turned and walked back inside.
Zane stood there, heart racing, Evan's unread messages piling up, Adrien's presence lingering like heat on his skin.
Coincidence or not, things were no longer simple.
And they were only getting messier.