[No-Ah]
Morning came too fast.
No-Ah didn't sleep a wink.
Not properly, at least.
She stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, eyes heavy but mind wide awake—replaying the same few seconds over and over again.
That look.
"...Kei." She tested the name on her tounge.
No-Ah kept warning herself to stop thinking about him anymore.
She grabbed her outfit for the day half-heartedly, movements sluggish. It was as if her body hadn't fully caught up with the day yet.
Her phone buzzed.
Yun-Ra, of course.
| MORNING, SLEEPING BEAUTY!
| Did you dream of him?
No-Ah snorted and typed back instantly.
| Morning. And I'd rather fail midterms, honestly.
| Couldn't sleep. That's all thanks to you.
She could feel that smug look on Yun-Ra's face radiate through her phone.
| SO YOU DID DREAM OF HIM!
No-Ah's lips couldn't help but curl up despite herself. But she stopped herself after she realized.
"...right." She tossed her phone on the bed and got ready.
☆☆☆
[Run-Seo]
The apartment was quiet.
The sounds of laughter, shouting, footsteps... all gone.
Not calm, not peaceful—just still in a way that felt almost unnatural, as if time itself had slowed down inside the room.
The curtains were drawn, allowing only thin streaks of light to slip through, barely touching the floor.
Ji Run-Seo sat on her bed, unmoving, her phone the only source of light against her face.
The video played again.
And again.
And again.
She didn't stop it.
Didn't need to.
Her eyes followed him carefully, tracing every movement with quiet precision, as though committing it all to memory.
"…You haven't changed," she murmured softly.
The clip restarted.
This time, she leaned in slightly, her gaze sharpening as she watched more closely—
not the performance, not the image everyone else saw—
but the parts that didn't belong.
And then—
There.
That moment.
His smile faltered, just for a fraction of a second.
Run-Seo's breathing slowed.
"…There you are."
Her voice dropped into something quieter, almost thoughtful.
Without realizing it, her hand lifted slightly.
Her fingers hovered over the screen for a brief moment—
before gently brushing against it.
Right over his face.
The movement was slow, almost careful, as if she were afraid of missing it again… or pressing too hard and breaking something that wasn't really there.
"You're tired," she whispered.
Her fingertip lingered there for a second longer than necessary before pulling away.
The video continued to play, but she was no longer watching the whole thing.
Just that part.
Only that.
Her thumb moved, dragging the timeline back.
Replay.
Again.
Again.
Then, she scrolled down.
Comments flooded the screen—bright, loud, repetitive.
"He looks so happy!"
"He's glowing today!"
"He loves his fans so much!"
Run-Seo's expression slowly stilled, the softness in her eyes fading into something more distant.
"…No."
Her voice was quiet, but firm.
Her gaze shifted downward—
and paused.
A single comment.
Buried.
Almost gone.
Kim No-Ah:
"He looks tired."
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"…Someone else saw it."
For the first time, something flickered across her face—interest, sharp and sudden.
Her finger pressed lightly against the screen, holding over the words as if trying to keep them in place.
But—
the screen refreshed.
The comment disappeared.
Run-Seo didn't move.
Her finger remained there, resting against empty space.
"…Deleted?"
She repeated softly.
Slowly, she lowered her hand, her gaze still fixed on the screen, unreadable now.
"…Why?"
The question lingered.
Unanswered.
Her head tilted ever so slightly, her thoughts shifting, connecting something unseen.
"…You saw it," she murmured.
A pause.
Then—
"…and you hid."
A faint smile formed on her lips.
Not warm.
Not kind.
Just… certain.
"No-Ah. Just who are you, hmm?"
Her phone dimmed in her hand, but she didn't lock it.
Didn't look away.
Because now—
she wasn't just watching him anymore.
☆☆☆
[No-Ah]
Voices overlapped, chairs scraped, laughter came too easily from people who didn't have to think about it.
No-Ah walked through the hall like it didn't belong to her.
"Hey."
Yun-Ra appeared beside her like she always did—uninvited, unbothered.
"You look like you fought a wall and lost."
"I'd win," No-Ah replied flatly.
"Mhm. Sure."
They walked together anyway.
☆☆☆
Classes dragged.
Teachers talked.
Pens moved.
Time passed.
At some point, Yun-Ra leaned over.
"You ever think about just… not coming back after lunch?"
"No." No-Ah replied blankly.
"That's depressing."
Though No-Ah didn't answer, she didn't disagree either.
By the time the last bell rang, the air felt heavier than it should have.
Yun-Ra stretched. "I'm going home. You?"
No-Ah adjusted her bag. "Walking."
"Of course you are."
A pause.
"…Don't disappear."
No-Ah glanced at her. "I won't. And I'm not a little girl, Yun-Ra."
It wasn't a promise, but it was enough. At least for her.
☆☆☆
The streets were quieter.
That was why she liked them.
No expectations. No noise that demanded anything from her.
Just the sound of her own steps, steady and unchanging.
She didn't have a destination. She never really did, of course.
It happened somewhere between one turn and the next.
No-Ah hadn't been paying attention.
She rarely did when she walked like this—no destination, no urgency, just letting her feet carry her wherever the streets felt quieter.
The sun had already begun to dip, light stretching long across the pavement, turning everything softer than it really was.
That was when she noticed it.
Not all at once.
Just… something out of place.
A figure.
Sitting near the edge of the sidewalk, partially hidden where the shadow of a street pole cut across the ground.
Most people would've walked past.
She almost did.
Her steps slowed.
Just slightly.
There was a stillness to him.
Not the calm kind.
The kind that felt… wrong.
No-Ah stopped and crouched down while gazing up to his face.
He was leaning forward a little, elbows resting on his knees, head tilted down just enough that his face was half-obscured.
But not enough.
The details came into focus slowly.
A split along his lip, dried but not fully.
Faint bruising spreading across his cheekbone, darkening unevenly under the fading light.
A thin line of red near his jaw—messy, like it hadn't been cleaned properly.
Who was this?
☆☆☆