POV: Go I-ram

The sky was in its golden hour mood.
It wasn’t dark yet, but the light had softened. Warmer, lower, kinder. Go I-ram pushed open the rooftop door and stepped into the stillness.

He told himself he came to water the marigolds… yet he hadn’t even brought the watering can.

Do-yun was already there.

He was near the far planter bed, gloves on, carefully snipping dead leaves from a row of basil. The motion was calm, steady. Like he’d done this a thousand times.

I-ram watched him for a moment before stepping fully outside. The breeze shifted as he walked, brushing his sleeves, tugging softly at his collar. The garden had grown. Not wildly, but noticeably. The mint had spread, the rosemary was thicker, and the lavender had started leaning toward the sun like it had made up its mind.

“Hey,” Do-yun said, glancing up, smiling like he’d been expecting him.

“Came to check on the prisoner,” I-ram said, nodding at the marigold.

“She’s behaving,” Do-yun replied. “Thriving under pressure, like someone else I know.”

I-ram rolled his eyes and wandered over to one of the smaller pots. He crouched beside it, poking gently at the soil. “Overwatering her would be a real shame.”

They worked side by side in companionable silence. I-ram pulled a few weeds from the edge of the bed while Do-yun gathered trimmed leaves. The sun sank lower… the shadows stretched.

“When I was a kid,” Do-yun said quietly, “I used to hum to my aunt’s plants. I thought it made them grow better.”

I-ram didn't look up. “Did it?”

“No idea. But it made me feel useful.”

That made I-ram pause. He glanced sideways, then said, “Mister Needle only responds to sarcasm and filtered neglect.”

“Sounds like you found your soulmate.”

They both smiled, eyes not quite meeting, but the warmth was there, lingering in the space between their shoulders.

Later, they sat under the gazebo. The garden beds glowed dimly in the evening light. A soft breeze tugged at the string lights above them, flickering gently, not quite committing to brightness.

Do-yun passed I-ram a thermos. “Mint and citrus. From the rooftop harvest.”

“So we’re living off the land now.”

“Just trying to impress the neighborhood.”

They drank in silence for a while.

Then I-ram said, almost casually, “I used to think rooftop gardens were a waste of space.”

“What changed?”

“The view.”

Do-yun didn’t respond. Just leaned back, sipping his tea.

I-ram continued, quieter now. “You ever notice how still it gets up here? Like the world paused.”

“Yeah,” Do-yun said. “It’s like... things get to breathe.”

A beat of silence passed.
Then Do-yun asked, gently, “Do you?”

I-ram stared into his cup. “Sometimes. Not often.”

They sat with that… Let it settle. Let it be enough.

The breeze grew cooler. I-ram crossed his arms. Do-yun shifted, unzipping his jacket slightly, offering it with a raised brow.

“I’m not cold,” I-ram said.

“You’re shivering.”

“That’s emotional damage.”

Do-yun laughed. Then draped the jacket over I-ram’s shoulders anyway.
I-ram didn’t protest. He adjusted it wordlessly.

The warmth soaked in slow.

When they finally stood to leave, the sky had faded to dusky blue. Bori was curled near the door, having joined them sometime between confessions and silences.

Do-yun walked I-ram to his door. No words were exchanged at first. Just a quiet pause, a shared moment.

“Thanks for coming up,” Do-yun said.

I-ram hesitated.
Then, with a softness that surprised even him, said, “Thanks for... staying.”

He stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind him.

The apartment smelled like soil and citrus and something else. Not quite tea. Not quite him. He leaned against the door and closed his eyes.

Under the window, the rosemary and Mister Needle sat close together, their green edges almost touching.

I-ram walked over and grazed his fingers along the edge of a leaf.

“Don’t read too much into it,” he whispered.

But he lingered. And that, somehow, was everything.

End of Episode Nine