“Chin Mae!”

My name rang through the hallway loudly enough to make several students turn.

I froze.

For one stupid second, my body reacted before my mind recognised the voice. My shoulders tightened, my stomach dropped, and I searched the crowd for one of the faces that had been following me into my dreams.

Then I saw Cheng weaving between students with that impossible smile of his.

I exhaled. Of course it was him.

“I thought you’d left without me again,” he said when he reached me, slightly out of breath.

His hand started towards my shoulder.

I looked at it.

Cheng stopped halfway, fingers suspended between us for a second before lowering his hand.

Good. No touchy-touchy, please.

“I can’t stay with you today. I have things to do.”

“What things?”

“Things.”

“Very informative.”

“I need to go into town.”

“So I’ll come.”

“No.” I started walking.

Naturally, Cheng followed.

“Why not?”

“Because I said no.”

“That isn’t a reason.”

“It works perfectly well for me.”

Students moved around us in noisy groups. Every few seconds someone brushed too close to me, and without meaning to, I shifted slightly nearer to Cheng.

I noticed. I hated that I noticed.

“Chin Mae.” He’d stopped walking.

I turned reluctantly. For once, the smile was gone from his face.

“I know I’m annoying.”

“At least you’re self-aware.”

“I’m serious.” Something in his voice killed the joke.

He stayed where he was instead of moving closer. “You don’t have to keep trying to get rid of me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

His eyes held mine. “You barely know me. Give me a chance before you decide I’m someone you need to run from.”

My fingers tightened around my backpack strap.

He had no idea how close he’d come to something I didn’t want touched.

People left. Sometimes because you pushed them away. Sometimes because you trusted them enough to think they wouldn’t.

In the end, the empty space felt the same.

“You barely know me either.”

“True.”

“And yet you keep following me.”

“That’s because you’re interesting.”

I stared at him.

His mouth twitched, then his usual grin returned. “Besides, I’m obviously your best friend in this country.”

“You’re the only person I know.”

“Exactly. Undefeated.”

A laugh almost escaped me.

“Fine. I need a SIM card and I have CVs to drop off. You can come, but I’m doing that first.”

His face lit up. “So we’re spending the afternoon together.”

“That is not what I said.”

“It’s what I heard.”

I turned away before he could see me smile.

I didn’t want to admit that having Cheng beside me felt good.

That was the problem.

If he had been irritating all the time, keeping my distance would’ve been easy. Instead, he filled silence without demanding that I fill it too.

As we walked through the city, he told me about classes we didn’t share, a lecturer he was already convinced hated him, and the university sports competitions he wanted to watch. He talked enough for both of us, yet never made my silence feel awkward.

Most of the time, I listened.

Occasionally I answered.

Cheng didn’t seem bothered either way.

Slowly, the noise inside my head became quieter.

That frightened me.

Comfort became routine. Routine became expectation. Once you expected someone to be there, their absence could leave a space behind.

I already knew what that felt like.

Still, whenever Cheng walked ahead, I caught up. When he stopped, I waited. When he laughed, I looked at him before I could stop myself.

This is exactly what you shouldn’t be doing.

There was something addictive about being noticed by him.

The way he looked for me after class. The ridiculous excitement on his face when I agreed to spend time with him. The warmth in his voice when he said my name. I didn’t want to need any of that.

The first cold drop hit my cheek. I looked up. Another landed on my forehead.

Then the sky darkened.

“What the hell?!” Rain crashed down so heavily the street blurred around us.

Beside me, Cheng laughed. “Welcome to England.”

“This isn’t rain. This is attempted murder.”

He caught the sleeve of my jacket—not my wrist—and pulled me beneath the nearest overhang.

It barely helped. My hair was already plastered against my forehead, water running beneath my collar. Cheng looked no better, dark hair dripping over his eyes.

He pushed it back.

I stared a second too long.

Stop.

“Should we go home?” he asked. “My apartment’s near.”

Home.

Again that word.

I ignored the strange feeling it gave me and pulled my backpack around.

“I need the SIM first. And I need to drop off these CVs.”

“You’re job hunting?”

“That’s generally what CVs are for.”

“Smartass.”

“You can go home if you want.”

The words came easily.

The feeling behind them didn’t.

I didn’t want him to leave.

For a few seconds we stood shoulder to shoulder beneath the overhang, listening to rain hammer against metal and pavement. People hurried past with umbrellas bent against the wind, shoes splashing through water that had already gathered along the curb. The city looked completely different through the rain—lights blurred, shop windows glowed warmer, and everything beyond our little patch of shelter seemed farther away.

Cheng shook water from his sleeve and glanced at me. “You look miserable.”

“I am miserable.”

“You’re very dramatic.”

“I’m soaking wet in a country I moved to three days ago, carrying CVs in my backpack and following a man who thinks pumpkin belongs in coffee. I’m allowed to be dramatic.”

His laugh came out before he could stop it.

I hated how much I liked being the reason for it.

Cheng checked his phone. For a moment, concern crossed his face before he slipped it back into his pocket.

“Nah. Some rain won’t kill me.”

Were you supposed to be somewhere else?

“Are you sure?”

He looked at me. “Worried about me?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

I rolled my eyes, but relief settled quietly inside me.

“Also,” he said as the rain weakened, “we need to plan our assessments.”

“You really know how to make an afternoon exciting.”

“You like studying.”

“How do you know?”

“You take colour-coded notes.”

I stared at him. “You’ve been watching me?”

For once, Cheng looked caught. “Maybe.”

Heat climbed my neck.

Studying with friends used to be one of my favourite things. Libraries, food scattered between books, someone always complaining, someone inevitably falling asleep.

For months I’d treated every good memory like something dangerous, as if missing those moments meant wanting everything else back too.

Maybe it didn’t.

Maybe I could keep the good pages.

Maybe I could even write new ones.

The thought was terrifying.

It was also the first hopeful one I’d had in a while.

Without Cheng, finding the phone shop would’ve taken me half the day.

With him, we reached it quickly, got a new SIM, then found a print shop for more copies of my CV.

When I stepped outside with the papers safely inside my backpack, I felt strangely accomplished.

A working phone. Applications. Normal things.

Recently, even normal things had required effort.

For the first time since arriving, I felt as though I had moved one inch closer to the life I had imagined before actually getting here. Not a good life. Not yet. But one that belonged to me.

That mattered.

I took out my phone to check the signal.

Full bars.

Finally.

Before I could put it away, Cheng stole it.

“Hey!”

He stepped backwards, grinning.

“Give it back.”

“I’m improving it.”

“Cheng.” I reached for it. He lifted it out of range. “I need ten seconds.”

I moved closer and he instinctively pushed his free hand against my chest to stop me.

Pain tore through my side.

“Agh—!” I stumbled backwards, one hand flying beneath my ribs.

“Fuck.”

Cheng’s smile vanished.

“Chin Mae?” I leaned against the wall. Heat was already spreading beneath the dressing.

Probably blood.

“Stupid! Why did you do that?” He shoved the phone back towards me.

I glared through the pain. “Why did I do that?”

“You pushed against me!”

“Because you stole my phone!”

“I was putting my number in!” He stopped arguing when he saw my face. “Is it bleeding?”

“Probably.”

“Can I see?”

“No.”

His hands immediately dropped.

“Okay.” That single word took some of the anger out of me.

I closed my eyes and concentrated on breathing.

“You okay?” he asked after a moment. “Does it still hurt?”

When I looked at him again, the concern on his face was so genuine that irritation became difficult to hold onto.

Sometimes being with him felt too easy, as though we had somehow skipped being strangers.

“Why do you always have to behave like this?” I muttered.

“Like what?”

“Like... you.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“You steal my things, follow me everywhere, shout my name across buildings—”

“You forgot charming.”

“I intentionally omitted it.”

His mouth twitched.

Good.

Then his expression softened. “I’m sorry. I was trying to be playful. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He glanced towards my side. “I’ll be more careful.”

Guilt settled in my stomach.

I wanted to tell him he didn’t need to apologise for being himself. The problem was that I’d become so used to expecting danger that sometimes even harmless things made me defensive.

I couldn’t say it.

Cheng hesitated, then held his hand between us, palm up.

An invitation instead of a touch.

“You know... you can relax around me.”

My throat tightened.

“I know you don’t trust me yet. That’s fine.” His voice was unusually quiet. “But I won’t hurt you.”

The words landed somewhere they shouldn’t have.

There was no teasing in his eyes. Nothing except an uncomfortable sincerity that made me want to run and move closer at exactly the same time.

Don’t look at me like that, you punk.

I ignored his open hand precisely because part of me wanted to take it. “And why do you want my number anyway?”

He blinked. “What?”

“My number. You were committing theft for it.”

“Oh.” He looked almost embarrassed. “In case something happens.”

My expression must have changed.

“I mean—if you need anything. Or want to hang out.”

“Or get lost?”

“That too.”

“Whatever.” I started walking before he could see how hard I was trying not to smile.

Every time I met Cheng, the wall around me cracked a little more.

And I was beginning to wonder how long it had before it collapsed.

By late afternoon, I’d finished my last CV drop-off, as Cheng insisted on calling them.

He’d waited outside every place without complaining.

When I emerged from the final one, he raised both arms.

“The future working man!”

“Please stop.”

“We need to celebrate.”

“We absolutely don’t.”

“Something warm.”

“Cheng—”

“Coffee.”

“No.”

“Tea?”

I paused.

His smile widened. 

“Tea.”

A few minutes later we were standing outside Costa while Cheng passionately defended some pumpkin latte as if his life depended on it.

“You need to try it.”

“I really don’t.”

“You haven’t tried it.”

“I don’t need pumpkin in my coffee.”

“You have no culture.” 

His enthusiasm made me laugh.

He stopped.

“What?”

“Nothing.” His eyes stayed on me. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Smiling.”

It vanished immediately.

Cheng laughed and opened the door.

Warm air wrapped around us. Then the smell hit me.

Coffee.

Strong. Bitter. Overwhelming.

My stomach turned.

I stopped near the entrance.

That was strange. Cafés had practically been my second home in Seoul. The smell had never bothered me before.

“You okay?”

“Fine.”

Cheng clearly didn’t believe me, but he didn’t push.

We ordered—tea for me, pumpkin monstrosity for him—and waited at the counter.

Cheng started tapping his fingers against it.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound drilled into my head.

Without thinking, I put my hand over his.

The tapping stopped. So did I.

My palm rested across his fingers.

Cheng looked down. Then at me.

I should’ve moved. Instead, I noticed his scent.

Clean skin. Rain. Something warmer underneath.

I breathed in.

Then again.

My mouth watered.

I moved closer without realising it, my chest brushing his arm. The scent was stronger near his neck.

A pleasant shiver travelled down my spine.

Closer.

My lips parted.

I inhaled deeply, almost leaning into him.

For a few seconds, that was all I wanted.

More.

There was something almost metallic beneath the sweetness of his scent, so faint that I couldn’t tell whether I was imagining it. The moment I noticed it, the back of my tongue tingled and my stomach tightened in a way that had nothing to do with attraction.

That frightened me enough that I finally forced myself to step back.

Cheng had gone completely still.

I looked up.

His eyes were wide.

Reality slammed into me and I jumped backwards. “Oh my God.”

Heat flooded my face. “I—”

“I thought you were going to bite me.”

My head snapped up. He was trying not to smile.

“Shut up.” That only made it worse.

What is wrong with me?

This wasn’t the first time.

The wine. The steak. Blood.

Now his scent.

Maybe I was hungry even if it doesn't make any sense.

That had to be it. I hadn’t eaten properly. I was exhausted, and my wound still wasn’t healing.

Food. Sleep. Nothing more.

Our drinks arrived and I grabbed mine immediately.

Cheng headed towards a table at the back, removing his jacket as he walked.

My eyes found his neck and stopped there. The faint movement when he swallowed.

His skin. That scent.

I could still smell it, from here.

My mouth filled with saliva.

I swallowed. It came back. A violent shiver passed through me.

No.

My stomach contracted.

Pain twisted through my abdomen so suddenly I stopped walking.

The cup trembled in my hand.

Heat rose through my chest and crawled towards my throat.

Not warmth.

Burning.

My vision blurred.

Coffee. Voices. Cheng.

Everything became too much.

I covered my mouth as nausea surged. Someone bumped my shoulder.

The cup slipped from my fingers and struck the floor and the tea splashed across the tiles.

Cheng turned immediately. “Chin Mae?”

His voice sounded far away. “Did you burn yourself?”

I stared at the cup.

“Chin Mae.”

He was beside me now. His hand started towards mine, then stopped. “Can I?”

I barely nodded. He checked my fingers.

“No burn.” Relief crossed his face, then disappeared as he looked at me properly. “You’re pale.”

His hand lifted towards my face.

Again, he waited.

I didn’t pull away. His palm settled against my cheek.

Cool. Gentle. “You don’t look well.”

“I’m okay.” Even I didn’t believe it.

I moved his hand away and crouched to pick up the cup.

The floor tilted. Nausea ripped through me and my legs gave way.

“Chin Mae!”

Then gravity took me. For a second I felt Cheng trying to catch me. Then everything began to disappear.

And just before the darkness swallowed me, one thought came with terrifying clarity.

It wasn’t the coffee making me sick.

It was him.