Hwang opened the wardrobe doors to once again analyze his reflection in the mirror attached to it. He straightened his black, elbow-length shirt, then tucked one end into his twill pants and combed his dark hair with his fingers, brushing a few strands to one side.

The scent of a fresh shower mingled with the hints of mint and naphthalene emanating from the sachets placed inside each compartment of his wardrobe, a habit Na-moo had developed since his grandmother was alive. It was a quirk she had, and he had grown accustomed to it—the aroma ingrained in his clothes was nostalgic and, in a way, comforting.

After nearly ten minutes contemplating his own appearance, he left the room and made his way to the kitchen. It was ridiculous, but he felt nervous—much more nervous than when Yvone had forced him to go on a date with the doctor at an upscale restaurant. Hence, he had spent a long time in front of the mirror thinking about his looks.

Na-moo didn't want to overdress; after all, it wasn't a real date, it was just something casual between two colleagues. Both trying to dispel the tense atmosphere that hung between them, stemming from the arranged encounter they had been forced into and the bitter taste it had left in his mouth—the taste that had led to his misbehavior on her first day at work. And precisely because he wanted to undo that terrible first impression, as he genuinely aimed to start anew, he couldn't greet her in a worn-out hoodie with an old t-shirt, as he would if he were meeting Hector.

Hector and he were close, but that wasn't the case with Amélie. The neatly wrapped dishes on the counter, recently delivered and placed beside the potent and expensive red wine he had won, were proof of that. Hector would never bring wine for them to drink together when there were beers available at half the price. Na-moo would have supplemented the crates brought by his friend with spicy snacks to be consumed as appetizers, not traditional tomato bruschettas to complement the wine's flavor.

The detective sighed and retrieved two wine glasses from the small cabinet next to the fridge. For some reason, his mind brought back the way Amélie was dressed at the police station that afternoon. The way her clothes accentuated her curves, combined with her piercing gaze, made her incredibly sexy. He didn't remember very well how the woman was dressed on the fateful meeting they had at their mothers' behest, but he was sure she must have looked stunning even in sweatpants and a t-shirt.

Na-moo shook his head, mentally scolding himself for such thoughts, when the shrill ding-dong of the doorbell snapped him out of his reveries.

He glanced at his wristwatch. 8:00 PM. Amélie Zhou was a punctual woman, the opposite of Sol, who arrived at places at least fifteen minutes late.

A small smile graced the corners of Amélie's mouth when he opened the door. The outfit she wore, a lacy tank top and skinny pants, indicated that, like him, she didn't view this “meeting” as an actual date—also reinforcing suspicions that she looked good in any outfit.

“If we had planned it, it wouldn't have worked,” she said, pointing to his clothes. Both of them were dressed in basic black attire.

“When things like this happen, some believe it's fate,” Na-moo commented, placing the glasses he still held on the circular coffee table. “Do you believe in fate, Dr. Zhou?”

Amélie stared at him, taken aback. She felt her face flush as she met the detective's gaze, who was looking at her with a friendly half-smile. She didn't have time to respond because afterward, he gestured toward the kitchen and asked her to fetch the wine left on the countertop. She nodded and moved away. Amélie didn't need to take many steps to reach the room, as the apartment was small, and that area was even smaller than the rest of the space. She grabbed the wine bottle and opened one of the drawers under the sink, searching for the corkscrew.

“And you, do you believe in fate, Detective Hwang?” she retorted absentmindedly, opening the second drawer. She hadn't quite gotten used to his gentler side yet, and had to remind herself that Na-moo wasn't flirting with his response to her matching outfit comment. The way he had smiled upon seeing her was also nothing more than a courteous gesture to a colleague.

“I like to think that we choose and create our own destiny,” Na-moo replied.

Na-moo moved closer to the cubicle where Amélie was. She took a step back, leaning against the cabinet, so he could open the drawers under the sink. The kitchen was too small for both of them, and even though she tried not to touch him, their arms brushed as he mumbled something quietly and turned to the side.

Hwang stood facing her, his chest just inches from Amélie's pink lips, and he reached up to grab something from the top of the cabinet, trapping her between his body and the piece of furniture behind her.

“I have no idea why I stored the corkscrew up here,” Amélie's heart skipped a few beats as Na-moo looked down, his lips curling into a smile that turned his eyes into thin lines. Realizing the proximity between them and feeling his heartbeats going haywire, he stepped back, looked to the side nervously, and scratched the back of his neck. The tension radiating from his muscles was at an all-time high.

Amélie moistened her lips and fixed her gaze on the three wrapped plates still on the sink. Her mind quickly found a way to use them to ease the blush on her cheeks.

Na-moo mentally thanked when he saw her stepping away with one of the plates in her hands. He took a deep breath, balancing the other two plates on one forearm. In the depths of his mind, he wondered if he was the only one who felt the heartbeats going haywire against the chest.

Maybe inviting her to drink, just the two of them in his apartment, hadn't been his best idea.

✛✛

As Amélie tilted the third glass of wine into her mouth, she no longer cared if her knee brushed against Na-moo's, who was sitting next to her on the couch. She hadn't even noticed they were closer than when they had first sat down, something she did to reach the wine bottle and the snacks on the table in front of them. She felt lighter and more at ease, as if she were drinking with an old friend. Not only that, she had even asked him to forget about formalities, at least when they were outside the police station—in case it was uncomfortable for him to call her by her first name in the workplace.

Amélie had taken the liberty of calling him Na-moo as they shared stories from the time they were studying to enter the field they now worked in. That's how she found out how he met Yohan Minho, when the man was renovating the building that would become the city's most frequented bar. It was also where the detective got drunk for the first time after high school, with his best friend from school, and where he took Hector when they became friends at the police academy.

Na-moo also talked about Dr. Go, and how they had become close by working together on some “cases” during his time at the police academy. Apparently, Dae-young was one of the volunteer doctors who helped the new recruits with their activities, juggling the rookies' tasks with his medical residency at the Longino Forensic Service.

Calling Na-moo by his first name and listening to his personal stories in a relaxed and spontaneous manner only made Amélie feel more comfortable in that setting. It was a fact that Na-moo and she had a lot in common—far beyond the ill-fated encounter they had.

Or maybe it was the wine's fault, which had a higher alcohol content than the wines she enjoyed alone on Friday nights in her own apartment. And even though it wasn't in her plans to drink so much, she couldn't resist when she combined the wine's flavor with that of the Bruschettas—the bread with tomato and basil enhanced the notes of red fruits present in the drink.

Amélie leaned in to pour herself another glass and inhaled the wine's aroma, closing her eyes for a moment. She didn't want to think about the situation that brought them together, but she had to. That was the reason she bought the wine and the blazer.

She shifted her gaze from the wine, thinking about broaching the subject. This was the perfect moment, as they were drinking in silence.

Her eyes met Na-moo's, only then realizing he was watching her over the rim of his glass. The detective's dark locks were still well-groomed, and the kitchen's orange light painted his olive skin in a golden hue, much like the lights that illuminated the night through the open window behind her.

Na-moo had already noticed that she no longer felt shy in his company, no longer seemed like a bomb could explode at any moment. The wide smiles, displaying her white and aligned teeth, and the hair flips she did as they talked made that obvious. The two of them had taken a step together, with the right foot, amidst so many lefts. It was inevitable not to think about how their meeting at the restaurant could have been different if he had chosen the place himself, instead of accepting the reservation made by Mrs. Hwang at a restaurant that made him seem desperate for a relationship—something that could be said about his mother, as her mission was to find a girlfriend for her youngest son.

If Na-moo had selected the location for their first date, perhaps they would be on a second date at that very moment. Maybe the days they worked together would have been spent secretly flirting at the police station. Because, despite what he had thought of her two days ago, Amélie was a pleasant company.

However, before his mind could delve even deeper into the “what if” trap, he reminded himself that he had already met this woman before. Their true first encounter, though not in a friendly and conducive situation, hadn't been a bad experience. It had been quite the opposite, actually. So, he sat sideways and stretched his arm along the back of the sofa, watching her take a bite of the bread with flushed cheeks under his intense gaze.

It wasn't intentional, but Amélie looked cute with her rosy cheeks while complimenting the choice of snacks, just to disguise her blush—he knew that the Bruschettas would go well with the wine she had bought. He had researched online before buying it because he didn't want her to be the only one giving him things, especially since he hadn't been very friendly on her first day at the police station…

However, at that moment, as he watched her tuck a wavy strand behind her ear, with her slightly parted crimson lips and her penetrating gaze never leaving his; it seemed irrelevant to dwell on the flavors of what they were drinking and eating.

Amélie had whiskey-colored eyes capable of intoxicating anyone who dared to stare into them with the same intensity they possessed. Eyes so beautiful they shouldn't be covered.

Na-moo felt bad for acting hostile when they first reunited—because of the accident at the restaurant—since he had discovered that she was the girl he had met twelve years ago. Maybe her reaction to having her eyes covered was related to some past trauma.

Because Amélie and Mahalina were the same person.

He had already apologized for his behavior countless times since they sat down and started talking, yet he said it again:

“I really am sorry for my behavior. I was a real jerk to you.”

“I think this is the thousandth time you've apologized for this,” Amélie laughed. “And I'll have to say, for the millionth time too, that I don't hold grudges, and I forgave you on the first apology.”

Na-moo sighed, shaking his head lightly before taking another sip of wine.

“You were that girl,” his voice sounded muffled by the glass, so he placed it on the coffee table. “This world is really too small, don't you think? What are the chances of bumping into each other again, and always in weird situations?” To avoid saying tragic or almost…, he thought, remembering the burned jacket. “You've changed a lot; I remember you used to wear glasses and braces, had acne, and your hair…”

“Ugh, I get it,” Amélie cut him off, pursing her lips, recalling the time he was referring to.

She had cut her own hair, alone in the hospital bathroom after being rescued with her father and Hannah—Hannah no longer alive. The only pair of scissors she found in the hospital reception, without the nurses noticing she had taken them, were dull. Because she had practically chopped her hair to neck-length, she ended up having to cut it to ear-length to even it out when her father took her to Mayumi, the hairstylist back then.

That's how her father met his current partner. And how Mayumi made it her mission to turn the daughter of the man she was interested in into an even more beautiful young woman than she already was, according to her stepmother's words. It was also thanks to Mayumi's sincerity in her actions, not just towards Yan—because she made him smile when his daughter couldn't—but for taking care of a teenager who wasn't even her daughter, that the doctor grew fond of her over time.

“I believe you could pull off any kind of haircut, and still look cute, don't you?”

“Oh, come on.” She rolled her eyes, and Na-moo chuckled. “Are you teasing me again, Na-moo Hwang? I looked like a troubled boy. You even said you thought I was a boy!”

“A very handsome boy. Handsomer than me, I felt threatened!” he joked, widening his eyes and making her laugh.

“If there's one thing you never were, it's ugly. I'd say we both changed quite a bit. You were thinner and shorter. You also had much shorter hair, if I remember correctly. I remember finding your smile enchanting,” Amélie confessed and pouted. “I wasn't at my best, and seeing you smile at me, encouraging me to keep going, is what helped me not to give up.”

Na-moo gazed at her through his thick eyelashes, feeling immersed in the burning brown that colored Amélie's gaze. Memories of the day he found her at the collective memorial came flooding back to him.