Warmth was the first thing I noticed.

I wasn't awake enough to wonder where it came from. I only knew that something warm and reassuring rested against the right side of my body, close enough that, when I shifted towards it, the warmth seemed to welcome me.

An arm settled more comfortably around me.

Then fingers slipped gently through my hair.

I breathed out, sinking closer without thinking.

It felt good.

Safe, almost.

The kind of safe that only existed in those few seconds between sleeping and waking, before my mind had the chance to remember everything waiting for me.

So I let myself have it.

I pressed closer, breathing in slowly, selfishly wishing I could stay there just a little longer.

Before Seoul.

Before my family.

Before remembering what I had become in their eyes.

Just a little longer.

“Hey...” A voice brushed against my ear. “We need to go soon.”

My eyebrows pulled together.

English?

Why was someone speaking English to me?

“I'm going to make some breakfast. Take your time.”

The warmth shifted away.

“Mmh...”

My hand moved on instinct, reaching after it before I was conscious enough to stop myself.

I caught something soft.

A shirt.

A body beneath it.

Then fingertips brushed the side of my neck, travelling lightly towards the back of it.

Exactly where the bite was.

My eyes opened.

Oh, no.

Cheng was sitting beside me.

My hand was resting comfortably on his lap.

For a second, we simply stared at each other.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I snatched my hand back.

“Yeah. Yes. Sorry, I was half asleep. I didn't mean to—”

My brain was still trying to remember how English worked.

Cheng's mouth twitched.

“It's okay.”

I couldn't tell whether he was trying not to laugh.

“I hope you slept well.”

He stood and stretched lazily beside the bed.

Unfortunately, my eyes followed him.

His shirt pulled across his shoulders as he raised his arms, lifting slightly at his waist.

I stared.

Not intentionally.

Well—

Maybe a little intentionally.

Stop looking.

I looked away so quickly that it probably made everything worse.

“It's still early,” Cheng said. “Don't rush.”

“Okay.”

He disappeared into the living room.

The moment he was gone, I dropped my face into my hands.

My cheeks were burning.

What exactly was wrong with me?

I'd known him for what—one day?

One day, and I'd already passed out in his arms, slept in his apartment, apparently cuddled him in my sleep and then openly stared at his body first thing in the morning.

Fantastic.

At least he seemed open-minded.

Not that I wanted sexuality to become a conversation between us.

I didn't even know what I would've said. I barely understood that part of myself anymore.

I pushed the blanket away and sat up properly.

The oversized shirt Cheng had given me still hung from my body, but when I lifted the fabric, something underneath caught my attention.

Fresh gauze covered the wound below my ribs.

I touched the edge carefully.

Then remembered.

Somewhere during the night, Cheng had woken me because blood had soaked through the shirt.

Can I look at it?

I'd been barely conscious.

Still, I remembered him asking. I remembered saying yes. And I remembered his hands being strangely careful.

That part mattered.

More than I wanted it to.

I lowered the shirt.

Clothes had been folded neatly on the desk near the bathroom for me.

I walked towards them, but the moment my fingers touched the fabric, something inside my chest tightened.

Mother used to do this.

Fold everything perfectly.

Shirts first.

Trousers underneath.

Always neat.

Always waiting for me.

I pulled my hand away.

Don't.

I needed to think about something else, anything else, but memories didn't disappear just because I told them to.

My eyes burned.

“Mother...” I wiped my cheek angrily. Another tear replaced the first.

I wrapped my arms around myself, closing my eyes and then someone else's arms wrapped around me.

My breath stopped.

Cold hands slid over my bare chest from behind.

A body pressed firmly against mine.

No.

Something hard pushed against my lower back.

My lungs refused to fill.

One hand travelled down my stomach.

The other moved slowly across my chest, climbing towards my shoulder.

I couldn't move.

A tongue dragged along the side of my neck.

My stomach turned.

Then everything happened at once.

My body was forced forward.

My abdomen struck the desk.

Pain shot through my side.

“I'll always be with you.”

Every muscle in my body locked.

That voice.

“Nothing will ever stop me.”

No.

No, no, no.

It couldn't be him.

He wasn't here.

He couldn't be here.

This isn't real.

Fingers tangled violently into my hair and pulled my head backwards.

I gasped.

“You can't run away from me.”

Something sharp touched my chest.

Slowly, deliberately, it travelled downward.

I felt skin split beneath it.

Then warmth.

Blood.

“No...” My fingers gripped the edge of the desk “No, no!”

I squeezed my eyes shut.

My body already knew what came next.

The pain.

His weight.

The helplessness.

I waited.

Nothing.

No hand.

No blade.

No breath against my neck.

Nothing.

Slowly, I opened my eyes. The room was empty.

Morning light.

Folded clothes.

The desk.

Me.

Only me.

I looked down frantically.

No fresh blood.

No new cut.

My hands flew to my neck.

I turned around, startled and panicking, but obody stood behind me.

My knees nearly gave way.

What the hell is happening to me?

I'd felt him. Not remembered him. Felt him.

His hands had been on me, his voice had been beside my ear.

For those few seconds, I'd been back there.

Was I losing my mind?

“Chin Mae?”

I jumped so violently that my hip struck the desk.

Cheng.

From the kitchen.

“You coming?”

I pressed a hand over my mouth and forced myself to breathe quietly.

Had he heard me?

God, please don't let him have heard me.

“Y-yeah!” I cleared my throat. “Sorry. I'm coming.”

My hands shook as I dressed.

Button.

Wrong hole.

I cursed under my breath, undid it and tried again.

It wasn't real.

I went into the bathroom.

Cold water against my face.

He's not here.

Toothbrush.

Water.

Breathe.

You're far away.

I raised my head and stared at my reflection.

Pale.

Terrified.

But here.

You're safe.

I held my own gaze.

All I had to do was stay quiet, keep my head down.

Don't attract attention. Don't let anyone know too much.

Eventually everything would settle. It had to.

I've got this.

I repeated it until I almost believed it.

Then I walked into the kitchen—

and smelled something burning. I stopped in the doorway: smoke curled lazily above a frying pan.

Cheng stood in front of it, staring down at what appeared to be the remains of several innocent eggs.

“What happened?” 

He turned.

His expression was so genuinely offended by the pan that for a moment I forgot what had happened in the bedroom.

“Breakfast.”

I looked at the pan. Then back at him. “That was breakfast?”

His eyes narrowed. “Don't.”

“Don't what?”

“Laugh.”

I pressed my lips together. “I wasn't going to.”

“You are literally trying not to.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

The corner of my mouth betrayed me. Cheng looked personally wounded.

And I laughed.

It slipped out before I could stop it. Small and quiet, but real.

The sound surprised both of us. For a second Cheng only looked at me.

Something about his expression made me suddenly self-conscious.

I cleared my throat. “Sorry.”

He sighed and dropped the ruined pan into the sink. “I don't think it's edible.”

I stepped closer and inspected the damage. “No. I think you've successfully invented charcoal.”

“Very funny.”

“Thank you.” He shot me another look.

I smiled despite myself. “Why don't you try again? Eggs are easy.”

The change in him was subtle, but immediate.

His shoulders stiffened. “Well, sorry if I can't do something so easy.”

I blinked. “I didn't mean it like that.”

“My parents travelled for business all the time when I was growing up. Other people cooked for me.”

He turned off the stove harder than necessary. “So no, nobody taught me.”

The warmth disappeared from the room.

“Cheng, I wasn't making fun of you.”

“Forget it.” He moved past me.

“We'll buy something outside.”

I watched him walk away. For once, I recognised the reaction.

Not the reason behind it.

But the reaction.

I'd spent years hearing innocent sentences as accusations. Maybe he did too.

“Cheng, wait.” I caught his shoulder before thinking better of it.

He turned around.

I immediately reconsidered every decision that had brought me to that exact moment.

He looked genuinely offended. Like a grumpy puppy trying desperately to convince the world it had teeth.

Yesterday he'd called me a puppy.

Hypocrite.

“I can make breakfast,” I said.

He said nothing.

“And I can teach you, if you want.” His expression softened by approximately one percent.

“I know some easy recipes.”

Still nothing.

“My dad taught me.”

That got his attention.

“He was a chef.”

“Was?”

One word. That was all it took.

My stomach sank.

Damn me and my mouth.

“Yeah.”

I turned towards the kitchen before he could see my face change.

“He died.” Silence settled behind me.

I opened the refrigerator.

Waited.

People always reacted the same way.

Their voices softened. Their faces changed. Then came the pity.

I'm so sorry. You poor thing.

Instead, I heard a chair move. I glanced over my shoulder.

Cheng sat at the counter.

“Okay.”

I frowned.

He rested his elbows against it.

“You're teaching me, then.”

That was it.

No questions.

No pity.

No careful look.

Something inside me loosened.

I turned back towards the ingredients before he could notice.

“Fine. Watch.”

“Yes, chef.”

“Don't call me that.”

“Yes, chef.”

I rolled my eyes.

This time, when I smiled, I didn't immediately stop myself. Cooking gave my hands something familiar to do.

Eggs into the bowl. Seasoning. Tomatoes. Heat.

Simple movements I'd watched hundreds of times before I was old enough to understand why Dad loved feeding people so much.

I could almost hear him.

Lower the heat, Mae.

I adjusted it without thinking.

Don't rush.

I stirred more slowly.

And taste your food before you serve it.

My throat tightened.

But strangely, the memory wasn't painful enough to make me want to run from it.

Not this one.

“You've gone quiet.”

I glanced at Cheng.

“Concentrating.”

“You said it was easy.”

“It is.”

“Then why are you concentrating?”

“Because apparently your kitchen is dangerous.”

He laughed. And just like that, the heaviness eased.

When everything was ready, I placed the plate in front of him.

Scrambled eggs, seasoned tomatoes on the side.

Nothing impressive.

Dad would've probably criticised the presentation.

“Here.”

Cheng stared at it. Then at me. Then back at the plate.

“What?”

“You made that look ridiculously easy.”

“Because it is.”

He pointed his spoon at me. “Careful.”

I smiled.

“Eat.”

He did.

His eyes widened slightly after the first bite.

I waited.

“Well?”

He took another.

Then another.

I leaned against the counter.

“I'll assume that means it's edible.”

“This is unfair.”

“What is?”

“You can cook.”

“Yes.”

“And apparently you're smug about it.”

“I just saved you from eating carbonised eggs. I think I've earned it.”

He kept eating and I kept watching.

The happiness on his face was simple.

Unprotected.

There was something almost childish about it and suddenly I wasn't looking at Cheng anymore.

I was sitting at our old table.

My legs were shorter.

Dad was standing beside the stove.

There was too much food in my mouth because I'd refused to wait for the first bite to cool.

He was laughing at me.

Slow down, Mae.

I remembered the way he used to watch me eat.

As if my enjoyment were enough payment for everything he'd done.

My chest ached. But I smiled.

“Something wrong?”

I blinked.

Cheng was staring at me now. He touched his cheek.

“Do I have something on my face?”

“No.”

He wiped his mouth anyway.

“Then why are you looking at me like that?”

“Just... memories.” The smile remained on my lips for another second.

A good memory. I hadn't realised how much I'd missed having one.

Then I noticed the time. “We should go.”

I took his empty plate before he could protest.

“We're going to be late.”

“You should do that more.”

I stopped halfway towards the sink.

“Do what?”

“Smile.”

I turned.

Cheng wasn't teasing.

He looked at me for a moment longer than necessary. “It suits you.” Then he walked out of the kitchen.

I remained completely still.

The plate suddenly felt very interesting.

Don't.

I turned towards the sink.

Water on.

Plate underneath.

Don't make something out of it.

Soap. Sponge.

He's being nice.

That was all. Except the morning had felt...

Normal.

Dangerously normal.

Waking beside someone.

Making breakfast.

Laughing.

Talking about Dad without falling apart. Being told I looked good when I smiled.

I didn't want to admit how much I'd liked it because liking something meant wanting it again.

And wanting people had never ended particularly well for me.

I began washing the pan.

A hand closed around my wrist.

My entire body locked.

Cheng released me almost immediately.

“Sorry.” I looked at him.

He stared at my wrist for half a second before meeting my eyes.

“You don't need to wash those.” His voice was different.

Flat. Controlled.

“I'm almost finished.”

“Leave them.”

“It's okay.”

“Chin Mae.”

I turned off the water. Something was wrong.

“Someone will take care of them.” I glanced towards the sink. Then back at him.

“Someone?”

His jaw tightened.

There it was.

Not anger exactly.

Something underneath it.

Something I didn't understand.

“But this is the least I can do. You brought me here, gave me clothes, took care of my wound—”

“Just don't.” His voice was quieter now.

I stopped.

Cheng took a slow breath through his nose.

“Don't ask, okay?”

I stared at him.

Yesterday he'd spent half the day asking questions I didn't want to answer.

Where I lived.

Where I came from.

Why I behaved the way I did.

Now there was something in his own kitchen he couldn't bear to explain.

For the first time since meeting him, I wondered whether all that confidence was simply another way of hiding.

I put the sponge down. “Okay.”

His eyes met mine. Something passed between us.

Recognition, maybe.

Two people agreeing not to open doors the other wasn't ready to walk through.

“Let's go,” he said.

I nodded. Cheng collected our things while I put on my jacket.

When we stepped into the corridor, he locked the apartment behind us and started down the stairs.

I followed.

Normally, silence was exactly what I wanted. This one felt different.

Heavy.

I watched his back as he walked one flight below me.

Had I crossed some invisible boundary?

Had I become too comfortable?

Maybe I'd mistaken kindness for closeness.

Maybe breakfast had meant nothing.

My stomach cramped halfway down the stairs. I pressed a hand against it.

Probably the wine.

Probably the wound.

Probably because I still hadn't eaten anything.

But when Cheng glanced back at me and then quickly looked away—

something else hurt too.

Something I had absolutely no intention of naming.