POV: Go I-ram

The laundry room always smelled like warm fabric and mild resentment.

I-ram had hoped to get in and out without encountering anyone—just a fast load of towels and shirts, no awkward eye contact or forced conversation. But the second he walked in, he knew his plan had failed.

Do-yun stood by the folding table, sleeves pushed up, neatly smoothing out a T-shirt like it owed him money.

“Hey,” he said with that easy tone I-ram was beginning to recognize. “Didn’t know we shared laundry days.”

“We don’t,” I-ram replied, flatly. “I just got unlucky.”

Do-yun chuckled softly. “Want me to move these out of your way? I’m almost done.”

I-ram gave a vague shrug and opened the lid of the second washer. Empty, thank the Universe.

As he poured in detergent and softener, he felt Do-yun’s gaze flick toward the bottle in his hand.

“Oh! I know that brand,” Do-yun said, picking it up briefly. “I’ve seen the commercials. Is it any good? I’ve been meaning to change mine.”

I-ram froze for half a second. It was a very specific kind—one designed to mask scent. Not obvious unless you were paying attention. Maybe Do-yun didn’t mean anything by asking… or maybe he did?

“Sure,” he said, too quickly. “Smells clean.”

Do-yun blinked at the dry answer and set the bottle back gently. “Good to know.”

I-ram dumped his laundry in the machine like he had a grudge against it.

There was a brief silence—just long enough to make things awkward, not long enough for either of them to pretend it wasn’t.

Do-yun folded the last shirt, placed it in his basket, and offered a faint smile. “See you around, 501.”

“Sure.”

As the door clicked shut behind him, I-ram stared at the washer’s spinning drum and wondered why innocent questions suddenly felt like interrogation.

The next day, the doorbell rang just as he was closing his laptop.

He opened the door to find a delivery guy holding a medium-sized box.

“Go I-ram?”

“That’s me.”

He signed for it and accepted the package—soil, for Mister Needle. Possibly fertilizer, too, but he hadn’t checked the cart before hitting “order” at 2:13 AM, so it was anyone’s guess.

Just as he turned to go back inside, footsteps echoed in the hallway.

Do-yun was walking in from the stairwell, key in hand, jacket half open. He looked like someone fresh off a commercial shoot—wind-ruffled, casual, just the right level of annoying.

“New project?” he asked.

I-ram looked down at the box in his arms. “Just keeping the cactus alive.”

Do-yun stepped closer, peering briefly at the label. “That one’s good. For succulents, I mean.”

“You garden?”

“I love to, that’s why I chose my job. The apartment is too small, though. I’ve been wanting to get more plants.”

“There’s a rooftop.”

Do-yun blinked. “There is?”

“Yes. Stairs at the end of the hallway. Door’s always open. No one goes up there.”

Do-yun’s face lit up like someone had handed him a blank canvas and too many paint colors. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“You’ve been holding out on me.”

“It’s not exactly a secret.”

Do-yun grinned. “Mind showing me?”

I-ram glanced at the box. “Let me drop this inside before it starts judging me.”

Do-yun laughed.

The rooftop looked like it belonged in a moody black-and-white photo series titled “Failed Urban Renewal.”

Old raised beds sat empty, a bench leaned sideways under the weight of its own neglect, and the gazebo lights were more rust than bulb. But the air was clean, the space was wide, and the sunset was generous.

“Wow,” Do-yun said, stepping into the space like he didn’t want to scare it.

I-ram pointed lazily. “Gazebo. The landlord once tried to turn it into a community spot.”

“What happened?”

“People.”

Do-yun chuckled and wandered over to the dusty garden beds, brushing his hand through the brittle soil. “This could be amazing with a little effort.”

“You sound like a motivational speaker for abandoned patios.”

“I just see potential.”

“Don’t expect me to join your gardening cult.”

“I wouldn’t call it a cult.” He paused. “Yet.”

I-ram shot him a side glance. “You’re way too cheerful. What’s your angle?”

“No angle.” Do-yun leaned on the gazebo railing, watching the sky. “You’re full of surprises.”

“I contain multitudes. Mostly spite.”

A slow smile tugged at Do-yun’s mouth.

They stood there a while longer, watching the sky turn soft at the edges. No pressure to speak. Nothing dramatic. Just... existing.

The walk down was quieter. A different kind of quiet. Not uncomfortable or awkward, but thoughtful. Like something had shifted and neither of them wanted to poke it too hard.

At their doors, they hesitated.

“Thanks,” Do-yun said. “For the rooftop intel.”

“Don’t start naming the plants after me.”

“No promises.”

He disappeared inside. I-ram stood for a second longer before unlocking his own door.

Inside, the apartment greeted him with its usual stillness... and something else. A faint trace of scent—not rosemary. Just something low, grounding, and hard to describe… Do-yun?

He closed the door quietly, dropped his keys in the bowl, and breathed in again.

It wasn’t overwhelming. It wasn’t intrusive.
It just was. And it made the silence feel... less empty.

He looked toward the windowsill. The rosemary sat next to Mister Needle, thriving like it had something to prove. I-ram leaned in slightly, examining them both with a wary eye.

“Guess we’re in it together now,” he muttered. “May the most passive-aggressive one win.”

End of Episode Four