[Kei]
The rain had thinned into a cold drizzle by the time someone stopped in front of him.
Kei barely noticed at first.
His forehead still rested against his arm on the metal convenience store table, fingers loose around a half-finished bottle. The fluorescent lights above buzzed softly, too bright against the dark street beyond the awning.
Then came the sound of heels against wet pavement.
Measured.
Quick.
Familiar.
"…Seriously?"
A woman's voice.
Sharp with irritation.
Kei opened one eye slowly.
Run-Seo stood a few feet away, rainwater darkening the sleeves of her coat. Damp strands of hair clung near her cheek, and her expression looked dangerously close to anger.
Not dramatic anger.
Worse.
The controlled kind.
Kei blinked at her for a second before letting his eyes fall half-shut again.
"You found me."
"You say that like it was difficult."
Her gaze dropped to the bottles scattered across the table.
One empty.
One half-finished.
One untouched.
Run-Seo stared at them in silence for a moment.
Then:
"You look awful."
Kei let out a tired hum.
"You always know how to comfort people."
"That wasn't comfort."
"I noticed."
She stepped closer to the table, arms folding tightly across herself.
"You vanished halfway through the evening."
"I walked outside."
"In the rain."
"Very observant."
"And somehow ended up drunk outside a convenience store."
"You make it sound dramatic."
"It is dramatic."
That finally made him look at her properly.
Run-Seo rarely sounded this openly irritated anymore.
Not with him.
Not since they ended things.
The rain tapped softly against the awning overhead.
Kei leaned back slowly in his chair.
"…Why were you looking for me?"
Run-Seo's expression flickered briefly.
Too quick for most people to notice.
Kei noticed anyway.
"You disappeared," she said finally. "People noticed."
Kei gave a quiet laugh.
"People."
"You know what I mean."
"No," he replied lazily. "Actually, I don't."
Run-Seo exhaled slowly through her nose.
Then her eyes dropped toward the bottle in his hand again.
"How much did you drink?"
"Enough."
"That isn't an answer."
"It is emotionally."
She stared at him for a long second.
"You're impossible."
"And yet you still came looking."
The words slipped out softer than intended.
Run-Seo stilled slightly.
Only for a second.
Then she looked away.
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"You know exactly what."
Kei's expression faded slightly.
The tension between them shifted quietly.
Older now.
Sharper in a different way.
Rain slid down the edge of the awning in silver streams.
Run-Seo pulled out the chair across from him and sat down.
"You want to explain this?" she asked.
Kei glanced at the bottles.
"I was thirsty."
"You're exhausting."
"You used to tolerate it better."
That landed.
He saw it immediately in the way her jaw tightened.
A mistake.
Or maybe not.
Run-Seo looked at him steadily now.
"Don't say things like that when you're drunk."
Kei tilted his head slightly.
"Why? The truth?"
The silence after that stretched too long.
Kei looked away first this time.
The alcohol made everything feel slower around the edges, but not enough to miss the tension settling between them.
Finally, Run-Seo spoke quietly.
"…Did something happen today?"
There it was.
Careful wording.
Controlled tone.
But concern underneath it anyway.
Kei stared out toward the rain-blurred streetlights.
For a moment, he thought about brushing the question aside.
Instead, he muttered:
"Someone told me to stay away from someone."
Run-Seo went still.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Kei noticed instantly.
"…Interesting reaction."
Her eyes flicked back to him too quickly.
"You're imagining things."
"Am I?"
A pause.
Then she asked, carefully neutral:
"Who?"
Kei studied her for a second.
Then looked down at the bottle again.
"…No-Ah."
The silence afterward changed shape immediately.
Run-Seo's fingers tightened once against the sleeve of her coat.
Small movement.
Big reaction.
Kei saw it.
And suddenly the alcohol haze didn't feel nearly as thick anymore.
"…You know something," he said quietly.
Run-Seo looked away.
"No-Ah isn't someone you should get involved with."
Kei laughed softly.
There was no humor in it.
"See? That's exactly the kind of answer I'm tired of hearing."
"Kei—"
"No. Everybody suddenly acts cryptic the second her name comes up."
Run-Seo stayed silent.
Wrong choice.
Because silence always told him more than words did.
Kei leaned back slowly in the chair, studying her carefully now.
"You're worried."
"For good reason."
"That isn't a denial either."
Run-Seo's expression tightened.
The rain softened outside, quieter against the pavement now.
Then she spoke more carefully.
"The less involved you are, the safer things stay."
Kei scoffed quietly.
"That's not an explanation."
"I know."
"Then explain it."
Run-Seo looked at him for a long moment.
And for the first time all night, something vulnerable slipped through the composure she kept wrapped tightly around herself.
Not fear for herself.
Fear for him.
"…I don't want you dragged into something ugly," she said softly.
The honesty in it caught him off guard.
A pause settled between them.
Then Run-Seo stood slowly and reached for the unopened bottle beside him.
Kei caught her wrist before she could take it.
Not rough.
Just enough to stop her.
Their eyes met.
Too close suddenly.
Too familiar.
Run-Seo's expression shifted slightly at the contact.
Something old.
Something dangerous.
"You're done drinking," she said quietly.
Kei didn't let go immediately.
Rainwater dripped steadily from the awning beside them.
The city blurred around the silence.
Then Run-Seo spoke again.
Softer this time.
"Come with me."
The words landed differently than they should have.
Not because of what they meant now— but because of what they used to mean.
Kei felt it immediately.
So did she.
That old instinct.
That old gravity.
Run-Seo held his gaze for half a second too long.
And Kei saw it.
The hesitation.
The almost.
The part of her that still reached for him automatically when things went wrong.
His fingers loosened from her wrist.
Then fully let go.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like handling something fragile he no longer had the right to keep.
"No," he said quietly.
Run-Seo went still.
Kei leaned back again, exhaustion returning to his expression.
"You don't get to do that anymore."
The words weren't cruel.
Which somehow made them hurt worse.
Run-Seo looked at him silently.
Rain filled the space between them.
Kei looked away toward the streetlights.
"We ended already," he murmured.
"Remember?"
A faint flicker crossed her face.
Gone almost instantly.
But real.
☆ ☆ ☆