[No-Ah]
By 7:45 p.m., No-Ah had already decided she wasn't going.
By 7:47 p.m., she was putting on her shoes.
By 7:49 p.m., she was trying to convince herself that walking to the park did not count as going.
It was simply...
Checking.
For safety reasons.
Obviously.
Nothing more.
Absolutely nothing more.
Which was why she was currently walking through the park in oversized pajamas.
Wonderful.
Very dignified.
☆ ☆ ☆
The evening air was cool.
The playground was mostly empty.
A few streetlights illuminated the paths.
And near the swings—
Someone was already there.
No-Ah slowed.
Kei sat on one of the swings.
Quiet.
Still.
A large black bag rested beside him.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Kei looked up.
And saw her.
Something in his expression softened.
Just slightly.
"You came."
No-Ah crossed her arms.
"You said eight."
"That's not an answer."
"You said eight."
A pause.
Then—
Kei laughed.
Quietly.
The sound surprised both of them.
No-Ah sat on the swing beside him.
The chains creaked softly.
Neither spoke immediately.
The silence wasn't uncomfortable.
Just...
Careful.
Eventually, Kei broke it.
"Mrs Yoon called me into her office."
No-Ah glanced at him.
"I figured."
"She told me she visited the café."
"...I figured that too."
"Hm."
A small smile appeared.
Then disappeared.
---
The swing moved gently beneath him.
Back, and forth.
Back, and forth.
"I thought I was in trouble."
"Were you?"
"Probably."
"Helpful answer."
"I try."
For a while, he watched the ground.
Then spoke again.
Quieter this time.
"She said you didn't ask about me."
No-Ah blinked.
"What?"
Kei immediately looked annoyed.
"Exactly my reaction."
"You expected me to?"
"No."
"Then why are you complaining?"
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm being professionally disappointed."
"That's not a thing."
"It is emotionally."
No-Ah rolled her eyes.
Hard.
Then her brows softened for just a fraction.
"I tried to. "
The corner of Kei's mouth twitched.
Then the smile faded.
Slowly.
His gaze drifted elsewhere.
"I've been making things difficult."
No-Ah looked at him.
"What things?"
"You know."
"No."
"You absolutely do."
"No."
"You found out about the melatonin."
"...Oh."
Silence.
The swing creaked softly.
Kei rubbed the back of his neck.
Awkward.
Uncomfortable.
Which wasn't something she saw often.
"I know that wasn't exactly..." He paused. "Ideal."
No-Ah stared.
"That's one way to describe it."
"Hm."
"You looked terrible."
"Hm."
"You weren't sleeping."
"Hm."
"You scared people."
That finally made him look at her.
Not directly.
Just enough.
A tiny pause.
Then—
"Hm."
No-Ah narrowed her eyes.
"Stop saying hm."
"I don't know what else to say."
"That's a first."
"It really is."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Kei reached down.
Grabbed the large black bag.
And placed it between them.
No-Ah frowned.
"What is that?"
Instead of answering—
He opened it.
Then turned it upside down.
Bottles spilled out onto the ground.
One.
Two.
Five.
Ten.
More.
Far more.
An absurd amount.
Enough that No-Ah just stared.
Speechless.
For once in her life.
Completely speechless.
"...Kei."
"..Yep."
"What is wrong with you?"
"There's a lot of things,actually."
"That's not funny."
"I wasn't joking."
The pile sat between them.
A physical representation of several terrible decisions.
Well, not exactly several. It was a lot of terrible decisions.
Kei looked down at it.
Then sighed.
Long.
Tired.
Honest.
"I don't even need them."
No-Ah said nothing.
He continued.
"But I kept buying more and more and more. "
"...Why?"
"I thought eventually one of them would fix the problem."
"The problem wasn't the melatonin."
"I know."
Silence.
A long one.
Then—
"I know."
The second time sounded different.
More genuine.
More painful.
Kei gathered the bottles back into the bag.
One by one.
Slowly.
Like he was finally admitting something to himself.
When he finished—
He tied the bag shut.
Firmly.
"I'm getting rid of them."
No-Ah studied him.
Trying to decide whether she believed him.
But eventually—
She did.
Just a little bit.
Not completely.
But enough.
Kei looked at her.
Then unexpectedly held out his hand.
No-Ah blinked.
"What?"
"Pinky promise."
"..."
"..."
"What are you, five?"
"I know, right?"
"You are an adult."
"I've been informed."
"You are asking for a pinky promise."
"Yes."
No-Ah stared.
Then laughed.
Like, actually laughed.
Briefly against her will.
Kei looked suspiciously pleased with himself.
A super terrible development.
Finally—
She hooked her pinky around his.
Maybe just this time.
Quickly before she could reconsider.
"Sleep properly."
"I will."
"No practice room floors."
"Fine."
"No replacing meals with supplements."
"Fine."
"No pretending you're okay when you're clearly not."
Kei paused.
"...That's a difficult one."
"Kei."
"Fine."
Their fingers separated.
But the warmth— it still lingered. It clung to them.
☆ ☆ ☆
Neither of them noticed—
The figure standing several meters away.
Hidden behind a line of trees.
Watching.
☆ ☆ ☆
[Run-Seo]
She hadn't meant to come.
At least—
that was what she kept telling herself.
Over.
And over.
And over again.
She had gone home after work.
Changed clothes.
Made dinner.
Watched half an episode of something she couldn't remember.
Everything had been normal.
Completely normal.
Until—
The words refused to leave her alone.
*Meet me at the park."
"Eight p.m."
Simple and ordinary.
Just three words and a time.
That was literally all.
Yet somehow—
they followed her everywhere.
She wondered why he'd said it so casually.
Why he'd said it in front of everyone.
Why he'd looked directly at No-Ah when he said it.
Just like the way he used to look at her when they were talking.
Why No-Ah had looked so confused.
Why Kei had looked so certain she would come.
But most of all—
she wondered if she actually would.
The answer should have been obvious.
She should have ignored him.
Rolled her eyes.
Gone home and gone to sleep.
At least that was what Run-Seo would have done.
Years ago.
But something told her No-Ah would go.
And that bothered her.
Far more than it should have.
☆ ☆ ☆
So now—
here she was.
Standing in a park.
Feeling ridiculous.
The swings came into view first.
Then Kei.
Already waiting.
Run-Seo's steps slowed.
For one stupid second—
a memory surfaced.
A younger version of herself.
Sitting beside him.
Talking about absolutely nothing.
Watching him swing his feet against the ground.
Listening to him complain.
Listening to him laugh.
The memory vanished as quickly as it appeared.
Leaving behind something sharp.
And unpleasant.
Then No-Ah arrived.
Run-Seo stopped walking entirely.
Instinctively stepping behind a tree.
Not because she had a reason.
Not because she planned to stay.
Just—
because she wasn't ready to be seen.
She watched them from a distance.
Telling herself she'd leave in a minute.
Just a minute.
Maybe two.
Then she'd go home.
She never left.
Because something felt different.
Not romantic.
Not dramatic.
Just...
Something comfortable. The air around them... It was relaxed and even comforting.
The way Kei looked up when No-Ah arrived.
The way his shoulders relaxed.
The way he seemed less tired.
Less guarded.
Run-Seo hated that she noticed.
She hated that she could still tell.
She despised every single action Kei did that reminded her of them from the past.
A long, long time ago.
The conversation continued.
Quiet enough that she couldn't hear every word.
But she could hear some.
See more.
She watched No-Ah roll her eyes.
Watched Kei say something.
Watched No-Ah argue back immediately.
And then—
Kei laughed.
Run-Seo froze.
Not because he'd laughed.
Because of how natural it sounded.
Even more because...
For months—
every single interview.
Every single performance.
Every single public appearance—
his smiles had looked practiced.
Perfect.
Controlled.
But this one wasn't.
And somehow—
that hurt more.
Her chest tightened.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Because she remembered a time when she had been the person sitting beside him.
It was supposed to be her.
Not anymore.
The realization shouldn't have surprised her.
The breakup had happened a long time ago.
She knew it was over.
Had known for years.
She was the one who wanted to breakup with him.
Then why did it still feel like this? Why did it still sting?
Run-Seo looked away.
Then immediately looked back.
A terrible decision.
Because now she noticed everything.
The way Kei listened when No-Ah spoke.
The way No-Ah listened when he was serious.
The way neither seemed to realize they were doing it.
The familiarity.
The ease.
The trust.
Everything.
Run-Seo swallowed hard.
Then the bag appeared.
She frowned.
Watched him dump dozens of bottles onto the ground.
Watched No-Ah stare.
Watched the conversation that followed.
Even from here—
she could tell it wasn't a joke.
Something about Kei's expression made that obvious.
And for a brief moment—
worry pushed aside everything else.
Idiot.
The thought came automatically.
The same way it always had.
Then she saw No-Ah's reaction.
The concern.
The frustration.
The relief when he promised to stop.
And suddenly—
the jealousy came rushing back.
Stronger than before.
Way stronger.
Before she realized what she was doing—
her phone was in her hand.
The camera was already open.
Her thumb hovered.
Just for a second.
Then pressed record.
The screen lit up.
Capturing everything.
The swings.
The conversation.
The bottles.
And finally—
the pinky promise.
Run-Seo stared at the screen.
Unblinking.
Because it was such a stupid thing.
Such a childish thing.
Such an ordinary thing.
Yet somehow—
it felt more intimate than a confession.
Why? Why did she even feel like this?
The question had ran through her head a million times.
The video kept recording.
Thirty seconds.
One minute.
Two minutes.
Run-Seo didn't stop it.
Couldn't stop it.
Wouldn't stop herself.
Because every part of her wanted to look away.
And every part of her wanted to keep watching.
Eventually—
their hands separated.
The moment ended.
Only then did Run-Seo lower her phone slowly.
The recording stopped.
The file remained saved.
Quietly sitting in her gallery.
Run-Seo stared at the screen.
Then locked her phone.
Her reflection briefly appeared in the black display.
She looked tired.
"...Pathetic."
The word slipped out before she could stop it.
She didn't know whether she meant herself.
Or the fact that she'd come here at all.
Neither answer made her feel better.
From the swings—
Kei and No-Ah still hadn't noticed her.
Still talking.
Still existing in their own little world.
Run-Seo looked at them one last time.
Then turned away.
But she didn't delete the video.
And for some reason—
that bothered her most of all.
☆ ☆ ☆