POV: Cha Do-yun

The thermos was still warm when he knocked.

Cha Do-yun stood outside 501 with one hand tucked in his coat pocket and the other balancing the stainless steel thermos Jae-min had gifted him last year: double-insulated, quiet when closed, dependable. It felt right to bring it now.

The hallway was still. Saturday late afternoon, maybe evening... Time didn’t feel anchored lately. He waited a beat, then knocked again, softer this time. Nothing. He tilted his head, listening.

Nothing but silence behind the door.

He sighed, thumb brushing the edge of the lid. Maybe I-ram was out. Maybe he wasn’t in the mood. Maybe...

Click.

The door cracked open, slow and cautious, like it had taken a lot of effort to turn the knob. Then, Do-yun froze.

I-ram looked terrible.

Hair tousled like he’d slept in a wind tunnel. Face flushed, eyes glassy and puffy, the tip of his nose redder than the tea in Do-yun’s hand. He wore a loose hoodie and what looked like pajama pants. He didn’t say anything, just blinked slowly, like the world was still buffering around him.

“Hey,” Do-yun said, startled into softness. “You... Uh, wow. You’re sick.”

“Thanks,” I-ram croaked, with a hoarse voice.

Do-yun stepped forward instinctively, brows furrowing. “Hold still a second.”

Without asking, he raised a hand and pressed his palm gently to I-ram’s forehead. Too warm. Not dangerously so, but warm enough to curl something tight in Do-yun’s chest.

“You’ve got a fever,” he said, already stepping back. “Here. Hold this.”

He handed over the thermos, guiding it into I-ram’s hands like he was afraid it might slip through. Then, before I-ram could protest, he said, “I’ll be right back.” And he walked away.

Pharmacy first. Cold meds, cough drops, something for the fever. Then, a block down, a tiny 24-hour market with a red awning and handwritten signs. He bought porridge, hoping it would be warm and comforting.

By the time he returned, the hallway felt colder.

He knocked again, more purposefully this time.

The door opened slower, but now I-ram was wrapped in a familiar gray blanket. Do-yun paused mid-step. It was his blanket.

The one he’d left that morning. The scent of his detergent still faintly clung to it, soft and familiar. The sight of it around I-ram—tucked to his chest, fingers barely peeking out—hit something deep, but he didn’t say anything.

He just stepped inside and closed the door behind himself.

“I got porridge. And meds.”

I-ram blinked, bleary but compliant.

Do-yun helped him sit by the table, scooped porridge into a small bowl from the tray, and handed it to him. He didn’t rush or speak. Just stayed close, helping with the medicine when I-ram finished the food in slow, grateful bites.

They didn’t talk, but it wasn’t awkward.

Afterward, Do-yun gently looped an arm under I-ram’s and helped him walk to the couch with a kind of ease that felt like muscle memory. I-ram leaned against him, half-buried in the blanket, and didn’t pull away.

Do-yun settled beside him.

“I’ll stay,” he said softly. “Only if you want me to.”

I-ram didn’t answer. He just shifted slightly, head coming to rest on Do-yun’s shoulder. He sighed, not a complaint, not a refusal. Just release.

Do-yun adjusted the blanket, one of his arms curling around I-ram’s back. He felt warm, and heavy, and too quiet, but he was still here.

So Do-yun stayed. And in the quiet hush of the apartment, with the tea cooling and the scent of porridge lingering faintly in the air, Go I-ram fell asleep.

POV: Go I-ram

Waking up felt like surfacing through fog.

Everything was soft. There was a kind of warmth that clung to him like breath on cold glass. His limbs were heavy, his head stuffy, and his face burned from the inside out, though he couldn’t tell if it was fever or something else.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Just breathed. The scent was the first thing he noticed. Not rosemary. Not tea.

Him.

Warm fabric. Laundry detergent. A hint of mint, maybe. That grounding, quiet scent that always seemed to follow Cha Do-yun like an afterthought. It was everywhere: woven into the fibers of the blanket draped over his shoulders, clinging to the air just inches brushing on his face.

Memory slowly returned in disjointed snapshots.

Rooftop. Blanket. The fever. Tea.

Do-yun.

He opened his eyes a little more.

There was an arm around him. A steady weight across his back, fingers curled against his hoodie. His cheek rested on something solid, warm, and… alive.

I-ram felt his body stiffening.

The warmth wasn’t just from the blanket. It was an embrace.

He swallowed thickly, trying to move without making noise. Slowly shifted his weight, but the arm didn’t loosen. It just followed the motion instinctively, like it belonged there.

He turned his head, and his breath caught. Do-yun was awake.

Their faces were close—closer than I-ram expected. Do-yun’s eyes were soft, his mouth curved into a small, careful smile. Not teasing. Not smug. Just... gentle.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, like he didn’t want to startle him. “How are you feeling?”

I-ram’s face went red. Full-body red.

He jerked back slightly. “Did I... Was I... Was I snoring?”

Do-yun chuckled. “No.”

“Drooling?”

“A little,” he said, teasing now, just a hint. “But in a charming way.”

I-ram groaned and tried to sit up properly, fumbling for distance and dignity, but before he could fully untangle himself, Do-yun reached out and pulled him gently back in. Steady hand on his back, careful but firm.

“Don’t move yet,” he said. “You’re still warm.”

I-ram blinked, stunned into stillness. He could hear Do-yun’s heartbeat now, just under his ear, where his head had fallen earlier. It wasn’t frantic, but it wasn’t calm, either.

“I’m fine,” I-ram murmured, but his voice didn’t hold much weight. “You don’t have to...”

“I want to.”

That shut him up.

The apartment was in silence. The light outside had shifted: cooler now, bluer, like evening was creeping up behind the curtains. I-ram didn’t try to move again. He just leaned, tucked under Do-yun’s chin, ears burning, eyes half-closed.

Do-yun’s arms didn’t push or press, they just held him. And for the first time in a while, Go I-ram didn’t feel like he had to apologize for needing the warmth.

The warmth of Do-yun’s arms didn’t demand anything.

It didn’t ask him to speak. Didn’t ask him to explain. It just held him—anchored him—while the apartment breathed around them like it, too, was waiting.

I-ram didn’t know how much time had passed.

The fever made his thoughts feel loose at the edges, but something in his chest… had started to settle. Not fully, but enough. Like the soil around a stubborn root softening, just a little, after rain.

He shifted slightly, enough to speak without losing his comfort.

“There’s something I wanna share with you.”

Do-yun didn’t answer. But I-ram could feel the subtle shift in his posture: a kind of quiet attention. Like he was making space, not pressing in.

I-ram kept his eyes on the coffee table, unfocused. His voice came out quieter than he expected.

“My ex called me a few days ago.”

He felt Do-yun inhale. Not sharply, but just enough to acknowledge it.

“We hadn’t spoken in over a year. Maybe longer,” he continued. “It wasn’t a dramatic breakup. No screaming. No betrayal. Just…” He pressed his lips together for a moment. “He left.”

Silence.

“He said I wasn’t what he needed. That I was too much... Too demanding. Not clingy, just... Heavy. That I made him feel like he couldn’t breathe.”

Do-yun’s arms didn’t flinch. They didn’t tighten either. They were just holding him together.

“I thought I was over it,” I-ram whispered. “I thought I’d buried it so deep I’d never feel anything again.”

He finally tilted his head to rest more fully against Do-yun’s shoulder, the words coming easier now, like confession was the only thing keeping his chest from cracking open.

“We met at a friend’s gathering. It was stupid, really. I was wearing this oversized sweater and trying to disappear into a corner. He found me anyway. Said I looked like the kind of person who would tell good stories.”

A faint, self-deprecating laugh.

“We were together for four years. It wasn’t all bad. It wasn’t even mostly bad. It was just... slow erosion. You don’t realize it’s happening until the floor under you collapses.”

Do-yun still didn’t speak. But his thumb started tracing a slow, barely-there circle along I-ram’s arm. It felt like punctuation. Just to reassure him of his presence.

“I thought the silence after the breakup was the worst part,” I-ram added, voice rough. “But hearing his voice again... it was like pressing a bruise I didn’t know I still had.”

He didn’t cry, but his eyes stung.

“I didn’t want him back. I still don’t,” he said, more firmly now. “I just hated that I wasn’t unaffected. That I still had pieces of him in me I couldn’t shake.”

Do-yun’s grip adjusted to make him feel... secure. Like he was saying I hear you without saying anything at all.

I-ram exhaled, closed his eyes, and let the silence wrap around them again, softer this time.

It was like another inch of the wall I-ram built had crumbled, making way for a step closer to him. And it felt ok.

For a long while, they just sat there—no words, no expectations. Do-yun’s arms around him, steady and warm, and I-ram’s thoughts softening like fabric left too long in the sun.

Then, Do-yun finally spoke. His voice was gentle, almost hesitant.

“Are you feeling any better?”

The question was simple, but it wrapped around I-ram like another layer of comfort. Not a demand, but more like… Real concern.

I-ram hesitated before answering. “A bit,” he said truthfully, his voice still rough around the edges. “I’m still warm. Might be the fever. Or...” He broke off, his cheeks flushing again. This time, it wasn’t the fever or the medicine.

Do-yun smiled at him, kindly. The kind of smile that didn’t ask for anything in return. “That’s good.”

I-ram looked down at the edge of the blanket tucked in his lap. “I don’t know why I told you all that,” he murmured. “I usually don’t… Not like that...”

“You didn’t have to,” Do-yun replied, “But you did, and I’m glad that you told me.”

They sat like that for a few more minutes. Do-yun eventually checked his watch, his brows raising in surprise. “Almost ten,” he said. “Bori’s probably trying to eat her own tail by now.”

I-ram startled slightly. “Oh! Sorry... You should go. I didn’t mean to keep you this long.”

“I stayed because I wanted to,” Do-yun said as he stood. “But I should go feed her before she becomes a headline.”

I-ram chuckled under his breath, the sound scratchy but real. He followed him slowly toward the door, wrapped in the blanket like a reluctant burrito.

Do-yun reached for the handle, but before he could open it, I-ram held out the blanket, offering it back.

Then paused, and pulled it back toward his chest.

“I think I’ll… keep this a little longer,” he said, voice small but certain.

Do-yun’s lips curved, just a bit. “Okay,” he said. “It suits you.”

A pause. Then he pulled out his phone. “Can I get your number? In case I want to check on you. Or, you know, trade plant care strategies.”

I-ram rolled his eyes lightly but gave him the digits. Do-yun typed them in with practiced ease, then looked up. “I’ll message you later.”

And with that, he stepped out, the door closing quietly behind him.

I-ram stood in place for a moment, staring at the closed door. Then turned, still swaddled in the blanket. The smell hit him stronger now: clean cotton, warm tea, and something like sunlight on dry leaves. Just… him.

He padded back into the bedroom, sat on the edge of his bed, and exhaled. For the first time in days, the silence in the apartment didn’t feel sterile.

He lay down slowly, pulling the blanket tighter around himself, tucking his chin beneath the edge. The fabric smelled like the rooftop. Like patience. Like something waiting to bloom.

His phone buzzed and the screen lit up with a message.

Unknown number:
It’s your gardening partner. If you need anything, please let me know.

I-ram stared at it and then smiled. Then, without hesitation, he saved the contact as “gardening partner”.

End of Episode Thirteen