Chapter 2

I could feel it. The sun’s warmth prickling my skin as we basked under its golden glow, sweltering beneath the summer sky. The heat was both soothing and relentless, a contradiction I welcomed. Was this what it meant to feel alive? Who am I, really? Am I truly here, in this moment?

It felt like a dream—talking to you, existing in this space. The ability to feel, see, touch, and hear everything around me almost felt surreal. Oh, how blessed I am. How gifted. Yet, beneath that gratitude, something tugged at the strings of my heart—a deep melancholy, an ache so distant yet unmistakable.

Someone was calling me.

Who?

The aroma of freshly baked pastries enveloped the two young men as Leonis pushed open the door to the small café, the chime of the bell echoing softly. A staff member greeted them from behind the counter as Haneul stepped inside, inhaling the familiar scent.

Finding a seat, the darker-haired man sank into the cushioned chair, the softness welcoming his weary body. Across the room, the taller blonde approached the counter, placing their order with practised ease.

Mum’s favourite fried doughs are here too. Maybe I should bring some back.

Haneul's thoughts lingered on the kinds of doughs that she likes, as his gaze softened. He leaned forward, resting his head against the cold metal table, his eyelids growing heavier as he waited.

"Dude, you sick or something?"

A sudden force landed against Haneul, jolting him upright as Leonis shoved the receipt into his hands, completely unaware of how forceful his approach had been.

"Anaemic, actually," he murmured, straightening in his seat. "And sure, my treat."

He had lost a bet earlier—a silly game they played during their brief walk to the café. They’d seen a woman outside, yelling frantically into her phone, clearly distressed. Leonis had guessed it was work-related; Haneul was sure it was a breakup. As they passed her, scraps of her conversation filtered through the noise—something about an urgent meeting with the board and advisors.

Leonis had cheered at his victory. Haneul hadn’t minded.

After all, it had been a long time since he had someone to hang out with—his missed classes and frequent absences had distanced him from his course mates, leaving him isolated. A treat was nothing if it meant spending more time with someone interesting. Haneul was curious, perhaps eager, for the small sparks of dopamine ignited by their interactions—something he hadn’t felt in ages.

Leonis was definitely entertaining.

Condensation clung to the glass bottle of the soy milk, droplets gathering at the base while they chatted about school and hobbies, their voices threading between the distant chatter of lingering customers and the rhythmic chime of the entrance bell. The server approached them, setting down a tray of hot, freshly baked sardine and curry puffs alongside salted buns, the inviting aroma wrapping around them, filling the space with warmth and quiet nostalgia.

"My mum used to bake a lot. Especially these traditional salted buns—the plain ones and those filled with black sesame and red bean."

Haneul stilled, his fingers hovering over the bun in his hand.

Those words hadn't come from him. But they felt familiar.

His gaze shifted to Leonis, who remained animated, gesturing wildly as he spoke, slipping ridiculous jokes into the conversation.

"But honestly, her specialty was her croissants. Though, maybe that’s just my French ancestry talking. Could be a descendant or something—"

Haneul let out a sudden cough—half-laughing, half-choking as he took a bite.

Leonis immediately stopped, momentarily alarmed, before patting his back with a chuckle. "Damn, almost lost you there."

A faint smile lingered on his lips, though it faltered when he spoke again.

"My mum’s sick now, though. Hence, past tense."

A brief silence settled between them as they focused on their food, their momentary light-heartedness dimming under reality’s weight.

Leonis’ mother was in the hospital—hooked up to countless tubes and machines he barely understood, her presence growing more fragile each time he visited. Haneul's perception of him shifted.

Their glass bottles were half-filled, and the plate that had once been piled high with fried pastries was now half-empty. A reflection of how they saw their worlds—one clinging to what remained, the other counting what had already been lost.

The café operating hours were only half a day and closes at 4pm, and people are slowly leaving, the bells chiming not stop at each exit and entry as others try to quickly grab the last remaining pastries before closing for the day.

Haneul decided to share his story—how his mother used to bake too, how the warmth of her kitchen had faded into cold absence after his father passed. Leonis listened—fully, without interruption, as if each word carried weight.

Haneul blinked, watching him. The intensity in Leonis' expression was unfamiliar, his attention unwavering. His emerald eyes, reflecting the amber glow of the café' and Haneul's own reflection.

But honestly, this is depressing. Boring. Why would I even say it? Why share something so personal with someone I had only just met?

Then again, Leonis shared too. The details of his mother’s illness slipped easily from his lips, unburdened by hesitation. Haneul wondered—did he tell this to everyone? He was popular, after all. He spoke easily, laughed freely.

But no. Leonis wasn’t dumb enough to spill something like that to just anyone. Or was he? Haneul felt the thought border on condescension, and he retracted it before it could settle.

Leonis lifted his glass bottle for one final sip, draining it in one swift gulp. The amber hues of the afternoon sun shimmered against the transparent surface, casting golden reflections across his fingertips.

Haneul turned his gaze to the sky through the café’s wide glass walls, waiting patiently for Leonis to finish his last puff.

"Come on. Listen to me, Felix—it's coming sooner than predicted!"

Both Leonis and Haneul turned toward the entrance as a young woman in a lab coat stormed inside, her heels clanking sharply against the tiled floor, each step amplifying the urgency in her voice.

"Ayo, that’s the same lady from earlier… pfft—"

Leonis struggled to hold back a laugh while Haneul sighed, visibly exasperated. Can’t she hear herself right now? Does she not feel even a shred of embarrassment? Leonis giggled more as his friend threw her a glare, his irritation growing as the woman strode to the counter, still deeply engaged in her phone conversation. She seamlessly alternated between snapping orders at the staff and whoever was unfortunate enough to be on the other end of the call.

"Look, I may sound crazy to you, but we don’t have much time! The calculations are off, and no one is even batting an eye over this!?"

Haneul observed her closely—her bobbed hair perfectly smooth, her rimmed glasses perched with precision. The turquoise blouse, tucked neatly into a black pencil skirt, complemented the crisp lines of her lab coat that draped over her petite yet imposing frame. Then there were the heels—red, loud, commanding—not just amplifying sound, but embodying the force of her entire presence.

What stood out most to Haneul, however, was her purple-tinted lips, glossy and striking, paired with a tiny mole just below the corner of her mouth. It wasn’t the mole itself that caught his attention, but perhaps the fact that he, too, had one—hidden beneath his bangs, resting just under the right side of his eye.

Well, that was just a random fact.

"It’s a large meteor we’re talking about. We need to check the data again to be sure."

She was fuming. After hastily paying for her order, she grabbed a curry puff from the paper bag and shoved it into her mouth, finally putting her phone away.

Large meteor? Miscalculations? What is she even saying?

As she stomped toward the exit, she suddenly glanced in their direction—her sharp eyes locking onto them.

Haneul jolted in his seat. Had she noticed them staring this whole time?

"Sorry, ma'am! We’re just laughing at—"

Haneul elbowed the blonde hard, cutting him off before he could make things worse. My dear Leonis, now is not the time to provoke an angry woman who looks like a mad scientist!

Her brow twitched slightly before she turned away and exited the café.

Haneul lingered on the moment—something felt strange. But he shrugged it off.

"Let’s call it a day," Haneul muttered, already pushing himself up from the chair.

Leonis stretched lazily, as if debating whether to stay or follow. He didn’t seem tired at all—his energy still lingering even as the café emptied out.

"I’ll walk with you."

Haneul blinked but said nothing, merely nodding as he slung his bag over his shoulder and stepped out into the golden hues of the late afternoon. Leonis strolled beside him, hands shoved into his pockets, making occasional comments about the weather, the café’s food, and whatever other thoughts spilled from his mind.

The bus stop wasn’t far, just a couple of streets away, and the walk stretched into a comfortable silence. The chatter of distant pedestrians filled the spaces between them, along with the hum of engines passing on the road.

As they approached the bus stop, Leonis glanced sideways, tapping his fingers against his phone. "You on socials?"

Haneul hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to, but because it was… unexpected.

"Yeah. You want to exchange?"

Leonis grinned. "Obviously. Makes it easier for me to annoy you outside of class too."

Haneul rolled his eyes but pulled out his phone anyway, typing in his handle and watching as Leonis immediately followed him back. The notification popped up—a new connection, a small tether between them.

And strangely, beneath his neutral exterior, something flickered in his chest. A jolt of something faint, fleeting—joy.

He didn’t let it show.

Leonis waved, stepping back as his friend's bus slowed to a stop. "See you around, Claude Monet!"

Haneul exhaled sharply—half sigh, half scoff—as he stepped onto the platform, an irritated half-smile tugging at his lips. Well, at least he paid attention during the art class. And he remembered my favourite painter.

He stepped onto the bus, the doors hissing shut behind him. As he moved toward an empty seat, his gaze drifted to the window—Leonis still stood at the stop, phone in hand, his expression unreadable.

A few people called out to him from the passing crowd, familiar faces trying to catch his attention. But instead of responding, he kept his eyes down, fingers idly scrolling, as though he wanted to tune out the world around him.

Haneul watched for a brief moment before turning away, settling into his seat. He didn’t say it aloud, but for the first time in a while, he actually looked forward to seeing someone again.