The next day, Kei paced around his studio confused and distracted.

Sung had barely answered his messages all night and day. That was so unlike him. And yesterday too, even after Ethan left the gallery, Sung was just—off.

"Maybe he's tired from his schedules," Kei mumbled aloud.

Ethan raised a brow from where he was thumbing through one of Kei's art books. "Your boyfriend?"

Kei blinked. "Sung? He's not my boyfriend."

"Could've fooled me. The way he looks at you."

Kei rubbed the back of his neck. "What do you mean... he looks at me?"

Ethan laughed but chose not to elaborate. "My genius artist... you really are clueless outside the art world."

Later, Kei visited Sung and Finnian's dorm. He found Sung half-asleep on the dorm sofa, hood up and earbuds in. Finnian waved him in.

"He's been brooding all day on our rare day off. You guys should talk. I am going off to our Leader's dorm for dinner."

Kei sat beside him. "Sung, are you ok?"

Sung didn't answer right away. Then he pulled out an earbud. "Didn't think you'd notice. Thought you were busy with your business partner."

Kei frowned. "Ethan? No more than usual. He's headed back to Hong Kong tonight after his meetings. The gallery plans are progressing well... Why would that make you—"

Sung exhaled, cutting him off. "Because you smiled with him. Because he has so much in common with you. Maybe more than me."

Kei blinked. "Wait... you're jealous?"

Sung stared at him. "You really didn't know?"

Kei looked down, then laughed softly, like it had just started to make sense. " Oh, I thought you were mad at me for some reason. And that you didn't like Ethan much."

"I wasn't mad," Sung said, his voice quieter now, like he wasn't sure if he should even admit it. "I was scared. Scared that someone else was more important to you than me."

Kei tilted his head slightly, taking in Sung's face like it was a puzzle he was just starting to piece together. He reached over and touched his hand—tentative but warm. "You've got to be clearer with me next time. I sculpt clay for a living, Sung. I can read clay but I don't always read people well."

And for a moment, something warm passed between them—not loud, but unmistakably real, like the hush before a kiss or the shared breath between stars.