[Kei]
Buzz.
Kei looked down.
And immediately regretted it.
No-Ah.
Then what is it?
His chest tightened.
Because there it was.
The question he'd spent twelve days avoiding.
Simple.
Direct.
Impossible.
Then what is it?
Kei stared at the screen.
Once.
Twice.
Longer the third time.
His thumb hovered over the keyboard.
Didn't move.
Because the answer existed.
That was the problem.
He knew exactly what it was.
Too clearly.
And if he could see it—
Sooner or later, No-Ah would too.
☆ ☆ ☆
The cursor blinked.
Waiting.
Kei typed.
Deleted it.
Typed again.
Deleted that too.
Every version sounded wrong.
Too distant.
Too honest.
Too dangerous.
The truth sat somewhere in the middle.
And he couldn't touch it.
☆ ☆ ☆
Buzz.
Another message.
Kei froze.
No-Ah.
Did something happen?
The words hit harder than they should have.
Not because of the question.
Because of what was underneath it.
Concern.
Real concern.
Not annoyance.
Not frustration.
Concern.
For him.
Kei closed his eyes briefly.
Because somehow that made this harder.
Not easier.
☆ ☆ ☆
[No-Ah]
Still nothing.
No-Ah stared at the screen.
The typing indicator had disappeared completely.
Which somehow felt worse.
She shifted on the couch.
Then checked the chat again.
As if the answer might magically appear if she looked hard enough.
It didn't.
Across from her, Yun-Ra finally looked up.
"You're worried."
"No, I'm not."
"You sent a follow-up text."
"..."
"Immediately."
"..."
No-Ah looked away.
"He keeps acting weird."
Yun-Ra was quiet.
No-Ah frowned at her phone.
"He disappears."
Silence.
"He barely talks."
More silence.
"And every time he replies, it sounds like someone pretending to be him."
Yun-Ra studied her for a moment.
Then returned to her laptop.
That was somehow more annoying than an actual answer.
☆ ☆ ☆
[Kei]
The cursor blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Kei stared at it.
Then finally typed.
Nothing happened.
The message sat there.
Unsent.
Because the truth wasn't something he could explain.
Not properly.
Not without changing things.
Not without making everything more complicated.
His thumb hovered.
Then moved.
Slowly.
Kei:
Nothing happened.
A pause.
Then another message.
Just a lot going on lately.
He stared at the words.
They weren't completely false.
Which somehow made them feel worse.
Before he could rethink it—
Send.
Delivered.
Read almost instantly.
Of course it was.
And for some reason—
That made his heart beat even harder.
Because No-Ah was still there.
Still asking.
Still waiting.
And Kei was running out of ways to pretend that didn't matter.
☆ ☆ ☆
Three more days.
Three days of successfully not texting her.
Three days of successfully not calling.
Three days of proving to himself that he could maintain distance if he wanted to.
Which would've been a lot more impressive if he hadn't spent all three days thinking about her.
By the fourth day, Kei stopped pretending he was going to stay home.
☆ ☆ ☆
He stood outside No-Ah's house.
Staring at the front gate.
"..."
This was a terrible idea.
Objectively.
A genuinely terrible idea.
He should leave.
Immediately.
Right now.
Before—
The gate opened.
Kei froze.
No-Ah stopped walking.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then—
"What are you doing here?"
Kei looked at her.
"...Good question."
No-Ah blinked.
That was not an answer.
Not even slightly.
And yet—
Something inside her relaxed.
Just a little.
Because he was here.
Alive.
Talking normally.
Looking like himself again.
Which was ridiculous.
She had been perfectly fine.
Completely fine.
Absolutely fine.
The fact that seeing him instantly made the last two weeks feel less irritating was completely irrelevant.
"Have you been standing there long?"
"A while."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
The annoying thing was that he sounded honest.
☆ ☆ ☆
Five minutes later—
No-Ah regretted every decision she had ever made.
"Take your shoes off."
Kei walked straight past her.
"No."
"What do you mean, no?"
"I mean no."
"That's not how houses work."
"It is today."
Before she could stop him, Kei pushed open her bedroom door.
Walked inside.
Ignored every social convention known to humanity.
And dropped face-first onto her bed.
No-Ah stared.
Actually stared.
"Get up."
"No."
"Those are outside shoes."
"I know."
"You cannot know and still do it."
"I can."
His voice was muffled by her blanket.
No-Ah considered throwing something at him.
☆ ☆ ☆
Then—
Silence.
A different kind.
The joking disappeared.
Kei rolled onto his back.
Staring at the ceiling.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
No-Ah sat at her desk.
Waiting.
Eventually—
"My company found out."
No-Ah frowned.
"Found out what?"
Kei swallowed.
Then laughed quietly.
Not because anything was funny.
Because it wasn't.
"My manager noticed I was spending too much time with you."
The room went still.
"They thought people might start talking."
No-Ah's stomach dropped.
"Oh."
"Yeah."
Neither of them looked at each other.
"Mrs. Yoon told me to put distance between us."
The words landed heavily.
Because suddenly everything made sense.
The silence.
The weird texts.
The disappearing.
The way every conversation felt unfinished.
"Oh."
Kei nodded once.
Still staring at the ceiling.
"I thought if I just disappeared for a while, it would be easier."
No-Ah looked down at her hands.
"Easier for who?"
Kei didn't answer immediately.
Because that was the question.
Wasn't it?
☆ ☆ ☆
After a long moment—
"For you."
No-Ah frowned.
"For me?"
"You're not part of this industry."
His voice was quiet.
"You didn't sign up for rumors."
Silence.
Then—
"That's stupid."
Kei looked over.
"What?"
"That's stupid."
No-Ah crossed her arms.
"You don't get to decide what's easier for me."
Kei opened his mouth.
Closed it again.
Because somehow she had found the exact flaw in his plan within thirty seconds.
Which was annoying.
And unfortunately correct.
☆ ☆ ☆
The room fell quiet again.
Not awkward.
Just thoughtful.
Kei stared at the ceiling.
No-Ah spun slowly in her desk chair.
For the first time in weeks, neither of them were forcing the conversation.
Neither of them were pretending.
And somehow—
That felt more dangerous than the silence ever had.
☆ ☆ ☆
Eventually, No-Ah spoke.
"You know..."
Kei hummed.
"You could've just told me."
A pause.
Then another.
"...Yeah."
No-Ah looked at him.
Kei looked back.
And for a second—
Neither of them looked away.
Not because it was romantic.
Not because either of them understood what was happening.
But because they both realized the same thing at exactly the same time.
The last two weeks had been awful.
And neither of them wanted to do that again.
Neither said it aloud.
They didn't need to.
Not yet.
☆ ☆ ☆