POV: Cha Do-yun

The lab always felt different on Saturdays.

Quieter. Slower. Like the equipment was just as tired as the people who came in to use it.

Cha Do-yun slid his badge across the scanner and stepped inside, balancing two sample trays and a neatly labeled folder under one arm. The lights flickered to life one by one: white, sterile, humming faintly. He liked mornings like this. Just him and the low rhythm of machines coming online.

He moved with ease, unpacking the trays, setting up the centrifuge, calibrating his notes with practiced precision. The lab was cold, but he didn’t mind. The silence felt earned.

Ten minutes in, the door creaked open.

“Late again,” Do-yun said without looking.

“Fashionably,” Jae-min replied, holding up a plastic bag filled with a tragic combination of triangle kimbap, yogurt drink, and honey butter chips. “Don’t act like you weren’t missing my charm.”

Do-yun raised an eyebrow. “Charm’s in short supply today.”

“And yet you missed me.”

Jae-min flopped into the desk chair like his bones were optional and set the snacks down with a thud. “What’s got you in a good mood? You’re humming. That’s usually reserved for when you win a funding grant or someone confesses they like cilantro.”

“I wasn’t humming.”

“You were. Don’t make me mimic it.”

Do-yun shook his head, a quiet smile tugging at his mouth. He adjusted a glass slide, peered into the microscope, and didn’t answer right away.

Jae-min stretched, long and lazy. “So? Spill it. Are you seeing someone?”

Do-yun let the question hang.

“I knew it,” Jae-min said, triumphant. “I knew that smug, peaceful aura had nothing to do with the new cold brew machine.”

Do-yun clicked something into place. “It’s not like that.”

Jae-min leaned forward, grinning. “But there is someone.”

A beat passed.

“...There’s someone,” Do-yun said, soft but clear.

Jae-min didn’t gloat. He just watched him with a sharpness that had nothing to do with teasing.

“Tell me,” he said, nudging a yogurt drink toward Do-yun like it was an offering. “We’re scientists. We observe. We document. Who is this mysterious catalyst?”

Do-yun took the yogurt drink. Twirled it slowly in his fingers.

“He lives in my building. Next door neighbor. We kept running into each other by accident—hallways, laundry room, rooftop... And somehow, we just kept talking.”

Jae-min raised an eyebrow. “Rooftop romance?”

“Not a romance,” Do-yun said. “More like... quiet company. Gardening. Tea… Sarcasm.”

“Ah. The sacred trifecta.”

Do-yun smiled, eyes flicking toward the window. “He’s... different. Closed-off, but not unkind. Like a book with half the pages glued together. And the more time we spend near each other, the more he starts to open... Just a little.”

Jae-min tilted his head. “Sounds like a slow burn.”

Do-yun’s smile didn’t fade. “It’s not about pace. It’s about presence.”

And for a moment, the lab felt warmer.

“So, what’s his name?” Jae-min asked, chewing noisily on his second kimbap triangle like the fate of the nation depended on finishing it.

“Go I-ram,” Do-yun said, sorting through a few labeled vials with gloved fingers. “He writes for a magazine. Doesn’t really talk about it much.”

Jae-min snorted. “Mysterious… Brooding. Does he wear oversized sweaters and sit by rainy windows?”

Do-yun side-eyed him. “Only sometimes.”

“I knew it. You’ve got a type.”

Do-yun took off his gloves and leaned against the counter. “He reminds me of a cat.”

“Oh no...”

“Not the kind that curls in your lap and purrs at strangers. The kind that lives on the edge of your porch for a month before letting you feed it.”

Jae-min grinned. “So you’re telling me he’s feral.”

Do-yun didn’t laugh, but there was warmth in his voice. “No. Just... Cautious... Wary. But not without curiosity. The kind of person who peeks through the fence before stepping into your yard.”

“Is he the reason you’ve been glowing like a person who uses skincare and has good boundaries?”

“I am a person who uses skincare and has good boundaries.”

“I know. That’s why I hate you.”

Do-yun chuckled and tossed a half-balled-up paper piece at him.

Jae-min deflected it with the grace of a man used to surprise projectiles. Then he propped his chin in his hand and said, more gently now, “You like him.”

Do-yun didn’t answer right away. He thought of the first time I-ram had passed him a planter on the rooftop. Of the thermos of tea he drank slowly just to stay longer, and Bori curled between them like some small diplomatic bridge.

“I don’t know if it’s like that yet,” he said honestly. “But I don’t mind being around him. I like who I am when I’m near him. And I’m curious about where that could go.”

Jae-min blinked. “That might be the healthiest thing I’ve heard anyone say about another person since... Ever.”

Do-yun smiled softly. “I’m not rushing it. If it’s anything at all, it’ll have to happen on its own.”

“Consent king. Rooftop gardener. Lover of feral men.”

“Stop.”

“Fine, fine.” Jae-min held up both hands. “But I’m just saying… I’ve seen you around a lot of people. You’re polite. You’re professional. You’re warm. But you never linger. And you’ve clearly been lingering.”

Do-yun looked down at his hands. The faint smell of mint and potting soil still clung to his skin from that morning’s rooftop check.

Jae-min grinned, triumphant. “Don’t worry. I’ll officiate the rooftop wedding when the time comes.”

“There’s no wedding.”

“Yet.”

A couple of hours later, Jae-min tapped a pen against his thigh, staring at the ceiling like he was trying to telepathically remember whether he’d left the stove on.

“So?” he asked, voice more level now. “If things are that good, what’s with the forehead crease? You’ve been fidgeting with the same pipette for ten minutes.”

Do-yun set it down. It clicked softly against the steel.

He leaned back on his stool, arms crossed, gaze fixed somewhere past the lab window. “Things were good. They were becoming something. Not anything defined. But… warm.”

Jae-min said nothing, he just listened.

Do-yun rubbed his thumb along the edge of his index finger, a habit he thought he’d grown out of in college. “But lately, he’s been pulling back. Like he is avoiding me, I think.”

“You think?”

Do-yun looked at him, then away. “I saw him earlier this week in the hallway. He didn’t even take out his headphones. Just nodded and left. No eye contact. No sarcasm. Nothing.”

Jae-min’s brows pinched. “Was it something you said?”

“I don’t think so. Nothing happened between us… I can’t shake the feeling that something did happen to him. I can tell. He looks exhausted. Thinner. Like he’s... shrinking.”

He let that word settle, and it tasted wrong in his mouth.

“He hasn’t been to the rooftop in days,” Do-yun added. “I’ve still been going. Tending the basil, watering the rosemary. Just in case.”

“Okay,” Jae-min said. “So you care. That’s clear. What are you gonna do about it?”

Do-yun shook his head. “I want to give him space. Pressing too hard could push him further.”

“Sure,” Jae-min agreed, “but people also drown in spaces where no one checks on them. You don’t have to barge in. Just knock. Preferably with food.”

Do-yun huffed a laugh. “That’s your solution to everything.”

“You’d be surprised how often it works.” Jae-min leaned forward, elbows on knees. “You show up with intention, not obligation. Bring him something warm. Sit next to him, even if you don’t say a word. That kind of thing stays with people.”

Do-yun nodded slowly. “I just don’t want to make him feel cornered.”

“Then don’t.” Jae-min’s tone softened. “But if you want to be there, be there. Don’t ghost out of fear of being too much. That’s how people end up lonelier than they need to be.”

Do-yun stared at the floor for a moment. Then he straightened, picked up his water bottle, and stretched.

Jae-min smiled. “You’re gonna bring him soup, aren’t you?”

“I’m gonna bring him tea,” Do-yun corrected.

“Same thing. It’s soul water.”

POV: Go I-ram

Go I-ram woke up to the sound of wind nudging the edge of the gazebo roof. The sound was just a whisper that meant: you’re still here.

He blinked slowly, eyes gummy, breath a little heavier than usual.
The sky above him was pale gray-blue, the kind of morning that felt like it hadn’t decided what it wanted to be yet: sunny or overcast, warm or cold.

His limbs ached. Not with sleep, but with the kind of chill that seeped in overnight when you pretended you didn’t need warmth.

Then he realized...

There was a blanket over him.

Thick. Heavy. Tucked gently around his arms and shoulders. He hadn’t brought one last night. He hadn’t brought anything.

He sat up slowly, and the scent hit him before the memory did:
Soft detergent. Clean fabric. And underneath it… him.

Do-yun.

I-ram froze.

The blanket smelled like the rooftop at golden hour. Like the way the basil leaves warmed under Do-yun’s touch. Like the silence that felt less empty when they shared it.

He didn’t remember being covered. Didn’t hear footsteps. No dreams, no interruptions. Just this, evidence that someone had seen him curled up like a worn-out question and thought: you deserve comfort anyway.

His throat tightened. Not from emotion, but from the sharp burn of rawness in the back of his mouth. He coughed once. Then again.

His nose was getting stuffy. His skin felt warm in the wrong way. The cold from last night had settled into his bones like it had signed a lease.

“Oh...” he muttered, clutching the blanket tighter even though the damage was done. He pushed himself up from the bench with sluggish movements, joints creaking like badly-oiled hinges.

He didn’t fold the blanket. Just wrapped it around his shoulders and shuffled toward the stairwell like a ghost wearing someone else’s skin.

The descent felt longer than usual. His body heavy, his breath catching in his throat every third step.

When he finally reached 501, he fumbled with the keys longer than he should have. The lock stuck for no reason. Or maybe his hands were just shaking.

Inside, the apartment was too bright and too quiet.

He dropped the keys in the bowl. Kicked off his slippers without looking, but he didn’t remove the blanket. It brought him something he needed at that moment… Was it warmth what he was feeling?

He stood in the middle of the room for a second longer than necessary, head tipping back, eyes closed.

His nose was red. His ears warm. His chest… a mess.

Then he went to the bathroom, took something for the cold, stuck a fever patch on his forehead and crawled into bed, still wrapped in Do-yun’s blanket.

He brought Do-yun with him. And it felt nice.

End of Episode Twelve