Sung woke up to an unusually quiet morning. No rehearsals, no video shoots—just an open day. Pleasant. Last time, he would have spent the day rolling in bed. But recently there was one thing always on his mind. Or rather, one person.

He typed out a quick message: “Dinner tonight?”

Sent.

He expected Kei to reply quickly, with his usual short, concise texts. But minutes passed. Then an hour. He tried again, this time with a cheeky follow-up: “I’ll bring dessert.” Still nothing.

By early afternoon, he dialed. Straight to voicemail.

Something didn’t sit right.

Kei wasn’t the type to ignore people. He could be engrossed in his work and absentminded, yes—but never rude. And lately, they’d been spending more and more time together whenever Sung wasn’t swamped by schedules. Dinners, tea at Kei’s house, wandering through back alleys to find old pottery shops. Their conversations had turned softer, more personal. Kei certainly seemed to enjoy his company.

Sung frowned and grabbed a hoodie and cap. Before heading out, he stopped by the small bakery near Kei’s studio—the one where Kei always bought chestnut cake when he wanted a small treat.

“One chestnut slice. To go.”

As he stepped into the cool spring air, Sung texted one last time.

“I’m coming by your studio. Hope that’s okay!”

He didn’t wait for a reply.