The short corridor was empty. The yellow lights flickered due to the thunders, and the lightning was a prelude to a storm in the early hours.

Na-moo glanced at the watch strapped to his wrist, while Amélie staggered towards the neighboring apartment, laughing.

“Oops, the exit's not here!”

The doctor's laughter was the only internal noise that could be heard, echoing in the empty walls of the corridor. The strap of the small bag she carried slipped off her shoulders, and she stumbled while trying to adjust it.

Na-moo caught her by the waist, preventing her from hitting the ground. Amélie's back thumped against his chest, as she couldn't stay still. Guilt compressed his stomach. He didn't know Amélie would get drunk from the wine, as he only drank with Hector, Yohan, Sol, and Dae-young—all accustomed to stronger drinks.

Still, he should have stopped her from drinking so much. Or from leaving the apartment, since she seemed unable to walk properly.

“Amélie, I think it's better to wait inside until the taxi arrives…”

“I drove here,” she retorted, dragging out the syllables.

“But you can't drive drunk.”

“I'm not drunk… you…” She spun around, brushing her chest against the detective's body as she faced him, his hands still holding her by the waist.

Amélie's lips formed a perfect “o”. Her forehead wrinkled, and she looked down. Her fingers lightly touched Na-moo's skin, tracing the bulging veins.

“You have a strong grip, huh?! And it's quite hot. Gosh!” She exclaimed, rolling her tongue and squeezing his biceps. He looked at her wide-eyed for a moment before bursting into amused laughter.

“You won't believe you said that tomorrow when you're sober, and I tell you.”

“Maybe I will…” She lifted her face and, at the same time, stood on her tiptoes, gazing deep into his eyes.

Na-moo swallowed hard, pulling back slightly as the doctor pressed her body against his. Amélie was too close. Too close to certain parts of his body—parts that seemed to have a life of their own, even though that wasn't his intention, nor hers.

“I hate having my eyes covered. No matter what it is, hands, cloths… I hate it,” Amélie whispered suddenly, with a choked sigh. “It reminds me of that day. That's why I panicked at the restaurant.”

Na-moo felt his heart squeeze. His suspicions were correct; the past had left scars that terrified her. Just like how Seung didn't like wearing ties, bracelets, or anklets because he felt tied down, Amélie didn't like having her eyes covered.

“Don't worry, I'm not angry with you.”

A small smile curved her lips. Only a few centimeters separated their faces; their breaths entwined, much like Amélie's fingers on the sleeves of Na-moo's shirt. The brown in her eyes intoxicated him with the intensity in which they observed him.

“Hmm… I think it's better…” The detective's eyes widened as he felt something soft touch his lips.

Amélie Zhou had pressed her plump, rosy lips against his.

The softness of her lips against Na-moo's lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to stir a strange sensation in his stomach just before Amélie fell asleep in his arms, a soft snore escaping her slightly parted lips.

A few strands of hair fell across her face, and the alcohol-induced flush on her cheeks highlighted the freckle on her cheekbones. Na-moo found himself imagining what it would be like to run his fingers through those locks and hold her tightly, as he unconsciously longed to do all night, without hesitation, feeling her velvety skin against his.

Ever since he was cheated and dumped by his ex-girlfriend, before graduating from the police academy, Na-moo used to believe that passions ended as quickly as they began. Because they were ephemeral, he kept in mind that he shouldn't waste time on superficial snares.

However, at that moment, with Amélie in his arms, a fleeting thought made the detective reverie about what it would be like to let himself be carried away by the intense feeling that overcame him thanks to the brief touch of the doctor's lips against his.

With his heart pounding and thoughts racing, Na-moo slid his arm beneath her legs, pushing open the apartment door with his hip. He'd have to cancel the taxi, as he couldn't send her home alone and unconscious.

After all, Amélie was his responsibility.

✛✛

The rain was pouring heavily. Daylight seeped through the cracks in the gray fabric covering the window, irritating Amélie's eyes.

She rubbed her eyelids. Her head felt heavy, sharp stabs pierced her skull like sledgehammers. As she adjusted to the brightness, she sat up abruptly with wide eyes, only then realizing it wasn't her room, and certainly not Winnie's.

Amélie scanned the room. It was much smaller than her apartment. The space between the double bed she was on and the wardrobe to the left was so tight that if she were to drag her legs off the mattress and reach out, she could touch the mahogany wood and open the doors. The distance between the bed and the window on the right was the same.

Her eyes caught the time on the clock on the bedside table. It was 8:05 AM. A glass of water had been placed on the furniture, along with a hangover pill and a note, where the words “drink me” were written in beautiful handwriting.

Amélie ran her fingers through tangled strands of hair and pressed her temples. The hangover-induced haze in her mind gradually lifted. Images of her sitting on the living room sofa, just as tiny as the room, flickered into her brain. Na-moo's laughter as they shared stories from their days in school and the memories they had of the first time they met—twelve years ago—were the first recollections that came to her. Then, the friendly atmosphere between them, sitting side by side like old friends… the intense way the detective looked at her as he glided his fingertips, softer than they seemed, over her skin… All these moments bombarded her hippocampus like a jumbled sequence of images.

Amélie closed her eyes and muttered softly as the last memory flashed in her mind. The coffee-brown in Na-moo's eyes—as warm as a sip of a hot coffee on a cold morning—combined with his well-defined plump lips and the scent of red fruits emanating from his breath, made him inviting enough for her to imagine what it would be like to feel his mouth against hers. Would his lips be soft? Would the taste be as good as her tipsy mind made it seem? In a sudden impulse, driven by alcohol coursing through her veins, she had kissed him, confirming the softness of Na-moo Hwang's reddish lips.

“Ugh. Shit.” She grumbled, pushing the sheets away.

She was barefoot, still dressed in last night's clothes. Unfortunately, there was no mirror in sight to check her own reflection before leaving the room—and she didn't want to touch anything without the apartment owner's consent.

His absence could only mean he had slept in the living room.

Maybe he was already up.

Amélie glanced at the glass on the bedside table again. If Na-moo had left it with a friendly note, perhaps he wasn't upset about what she had done before passing out. Ugh.

She took the pill and the water and combed her fingers through her hair using the window glass as a makeshift mirror while pondering how to apologize for the kiss. Even if it had been just a mere peck on the lips, she should apologize, right? Right.

Amélie straightened up and took a deep breath. Her heart was racing, eager to see the detective, as much as she feared she might have ruined everything. But she tried to stay calm and positive—what she least wanted at that moment was to blush and make a big deal out of her slip-up.

The scent of coffee hit her nostrils as soon as she opened the bedroom door. The hallway was narrow and short, so she could see Na-moo with his back to her in the living room even before she fully left.

Droplets of water dampened the collar of his white t-shirt, the wet brown strands indicated it hadn't been long since he'd taken a shower, and the loose flannel workout shorts accentuated the toned muscles in his legs. A smile spread across her cheeks, and for a moment she wondered if the scent of the shower was still clinging to his skin or if the aroma of coffee, permeating the air, had overridden it.

Still smiling, Amélie closed the door and approached.

“Good morning, Na—” she halted in her tracks, mid-sentence.

Her eyebrows shot up as she saw the figure standing in front of Na-moo, with the elbows propped on the counter that separated the living room from the tiny kitchen.

The petite woman with small eyes and well-defined lips raised her right eyebrow, highlighting a mole there. Her blonde, straight strands cascaded to the side as she tilted her head, studying Amélie from top to bottom.

She was beautiful. Very beautiful. And undeniably elegant.

Amélie swallowed hard. A bitter feeling constricted her insides as her gaze flicked between Na-moo, who was staring at her wide-eyed and slack-jawed, and the stunning blonde.

“Sorry if I interrupted something… I'll just grab my bag…”

“No!” Na-moo rushed to say. “This is Sol, the friend I told you about yesterday. You didn't interrupt anything, don't worry.”

Sol clicked her tongue against her teeth, rolling her eyes at the detective's exaggerated reaction. The blonde wasn't sure what surprised her more, seeing a woman emerge from his room—someone with a sun-kissed brown skin, not the usual blonde with a pale skin—or the evident concern about how this woman might interpret their situation.

“Ah…” Amélie gave a small smile and extended her hand. “I'm Amélie Zhou—”

“The woman who set your jacket on fire?” the blonde asked, a crease forming between her brows as she fixed her eyes on Na-moo.

Amélie felt her face grow warm and pressed her lips together, rubbing the hand she had extended on her pants.

“I guess that's my cue. Thank you for last night, Na-moo,” she expressed, turning to reach for her bag at the other end of the couch.

Na-moo's long fingers gripped the strap of the bag before she could sling it over her shoulder.

“Leaving without coffee? I can't let you go without eating,” he said, pointing with his index finger to the sink. There was a coffee pot and a bowl of soup covered in plastic wrap. “It's hangover soup. Sit down and eat. Sol is already on her way out.”

He glanced at Sol, who raised an eyebrow. Her lips, painted in a deep crimson, matching the long dress she wore, pressed into a straight line before she turned her back to her friend and said, “Walk me out at least, Moo.”

Na-moo looked at Amélie with an apologetic smile gracing his lips.

“If you want to take a shower, there are towels in the cabinet under the sink in the bathroom. I'll be right back, make yourself at home,” he said before following Sol, closing the door behind him.