[Kei]
The words were still hanging there.
Mrs. Yoon.
Distance.
Stop getting close.
Kei exhaled slowly.
"...So yeah."
He stopped himself there.
Because anything more would make it real in a way he didn't want.
Silence followed.
Then—
No-Ah moved.
Her hand lifted.
And rested on his shoulder.
Not playful.
Not accidental.
Intentional.
Kei froze.
"...Don't," he said quietly.
No-Ah blinked. "What?"
"This."
Her hand stayed.
"Why?"
Kei hesitated.
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not."
That was said simply.
Like a fact.
Not an argument.
Silence.
Kei looked away.
"...It's not a big deal."
Her grip tightened slightly.
Barely.
But enough.
"It is to you."
She didn't know what to say.
She just knew what she heard.
Mrs. Yoon.
Distance.
Don't make it complicated.
And suddenly his silence made sense.
Worse than before.
So she didn't move her hand.
Because if she did, he would go back to that version of quiet.
And she didn't want that anymore.
"...You don't have to do this."
"I know."
No-Ah didn't look away.
"I know I don't have to."
Kei went quiet.
Because that was the problem.
She didn't have to.
And she still did.
That made it worse.
And better.
At the same time.
He let out a breath.
"...This is stupid."
"What is?"
"This."
Her hand.
The silence.
Him talking.
Her listening.
No-Ah didn't move.
"It's not stupid."
Kei looked at her.
She was calm.
Too calm.
"You were alone with it."
A pause.
"And now you're not."
That landed harder than anything else.
Kei didn't answer.
Because he couldn't make it smaller than it was.
"...I hate this," he muttered.
No-Ah raised a brow.
"Me listening?"
"Yes."
That should've sounded rude.
But it didn't.
Not really.
Because he was still talking.
And she was still there.
And neither of them stopped it.
☆ ☆ ☆
It started with something small.
Too small to be dangerous.
"So then they changed the choreography again."
No-Ah looked up from where she was sitting on the floor.
"Again?"
"Again."
"How many times is that now?"
Kei stared at the ceiling like it had personally wronged him.
"I stopped counting after the fourth revision."
"...How many were there supposed to be?"
"One."
Silence.
No-Ah blinked.
"...So they changed it four times from nothing?"
"Yes."
"That feels inefficient."
Kei sat up immediately.
"It is not just inefficient."
No-Ah leaned back slightly.
"It is emotionally exhausting?"
"It is mentally destructive."
A pause.
Then—
"It is war."
No-Ah slowly nodded.
"I see."
Kei looked at her.
"You do not see."
"I see enough."
"You are not seeing enough."
☆ ☆ ☆
And then it kept going.
Like something had snapped loose inside him.
Not dramatically.
Not loudly.
Just quietly unlatched.
"So then the manager says I need to 'express more variation in my stage presence.'"
No-Ah tilted her head.
"Is that bad?"
Kei stared at her.
"That is like telling someone to 'run more creatively.'"
"That sounds kind of fun."
"No."
"It doesn't?"
"It means suffering."
No-Ah nodded again.
"Okay."
Kei squinted.
"You're agreeing too easily."
"I am listening."
"That is suspicious."
"I'm literally just sitting here."
"Exactly."
He didn't stop.
Once he started, it all came out too easily.
"They also scheduled interviews at 6 AM."
No-Ah frowned.
"That's early."
"It is not early."
"It is—"
"It is illegal."
No-Ah paused.
"I don't think that's how time works."
"It should be."
"Okay."
"And then they asked me to memorize three scripts overnight."
"Did you?"
"No."
"Good."
"I memorized two."
No-Ah stared at him.
"That is worse."
"It is efficient."
"It is not efficient if you are suffering."
"I was slightly suffering."
"That is still suffering."
Kei paused.
"...Fair."
☆ ☆ ☆
At some point, he realized he had shifted closer.
Not intentionally.
Just… sitting up more.
Talking more.
Hands moving when he spoke.
Like the words were finally allowed to exist outside his head.
He stopped noticing the room.
Stopped noticing time.
Stopped noticing that he had been quiet for two weeks and had suddenly turned into this.
Because No-Ah wasn't reacting like it was strange.
She was just there.
Listening.
Like it was normal.
[No-Ah]
She hadn't realized when it started feeling different.
At first, it was just funny.
Kei complaining like a person who had been personally victimized by schedules.
But then—
It didn't stop.
And somewhere between "choreography revision number five" and "interviews at 6 AM," she realized something:
He hadn't talked like this in weeks.
Not properly.
Not freely.
Now he was.
And it wasn't performance Kei.
Not idol Kei.
Just Kei.
Unfiltered.
Frustrated.
Very dramatic.
"And fans somehow know my schedule before I do."
No-Ah blinked.
"That sounds unsafe."
"It is."
"Do you have security?"
"Yes."
"Is it helpful?"
Kei paused.
"...Sometimes."
No-Ah nodded.
"That sounds like a problem."
"It is a problem."
"Have you told anyone?"
"I have told everyone."
"And?"
Kei looked at her.
"They said it is part of the job."
No-Ah went quiet.
Then:
"That is also a problem."
Kei exhaled.
"You are very good at identifying problems."
"I know."
"You should become a manager."
"No."
"Why not?"
"I enjoy peace."
Kei stared at her for a second.
Then—
He laughed.
Properly.
Not sharp.
Not tired.
Just real.
And that made him stop talking for a moment.
Like he had surprised himself.
Silence settled again.
But it wasn't the same silence as before.
This one didn't feel heavy.
It felt… full.
Kei leaned back slightly against her bed.
"...Sorry."
No-Ah looked at him.
"For what?"
"For talking too much."
She frowned.
"You barely talked for two weeks."
Kei hesitated.
"I might have overcorrected."
"No."
He looked at her.
She shrugged.
"You were just… talking."
A pause.
Then she added:
"I can handle it."
Kei went quiet at that.
Because she said it like it was nothing.
Like him talking wasn't a burden.
Just normal.
"...You're weird."
No-Ah blinked.
"I am not the one who calls choreographers criminals."
"I stand by that statement."
"You shouldn't."
"I should."
"You shouldn't."
Kei sighed.
Then, quieter—
"Thanks."
No-Ah paused.
"For what?"
Kei looked away slightly.
"For listening."
Another pause.
Then No-Ah just nodded.
"Yeah."
Like it was obvious.
Like it didn't need to be said.
And somehow—
that made it worse.
Not in a bad way.
In a way that stayed.
☆ ☆ ☆