Seo-jin had met Do-yeon at the entrance to her apartment. She had nothing in the house to offer. No tea, no coffee, no creature comforts, her afternoon lost to her covert operation. She suggested they walk down to the local coffee shop.

The cafe was sparsely populated, a gentle backdrop of clinking cups and soft murmurs. 

At a table in the window, Seo-jin and Do-yeon sat across from each other, half-empty drinks between them. The warmth of the space failed to thaw the chill around Seo-jin’s tense, conflicted, and lost expression. She stared down at her glass, tracing patterns in the condensation. How many coffees was this today?

Do-yeon studied her carefully, patiently waiting, sensing a dam about to break. "Okay. Spill."

Seo-jin exhaled a long, shaky breath. "It’s... Hyun-woo."

"Yeah, I got that much," Do-yeon responded, a dry note in her voice.

"I mean, I knew him. Before." Seo-jin’s voice was barely a whisper, a weight that made Do-yeon lean in slightly, to catch the true gravity behind her words.

"You mean actually knew him," Do-yeon drew the word 'actually' out, her eyes wide with dawning realisation. "Not just a passing familiarity."

"Not passing. Not distant." Seo-jin confirmed, her grip tightening on the edge of a napkin, twisting it absently, as if trying to wring out the truth.

"He wasn’t like this," she murmured, almost to herself.

Do-yeon tilted her head, intrigued. "Like what?"

Seo-jin exhaled yet again, a sound of frustration not just at Hyun-woo, but at her own inability to properly articulate the profound change in him. "He wasn’t cold. He wasn’t this... this untouchable version of himself." She shook her head slightly, a memory flickering. "Back then, he was... reliable. Steady. But not like this."

Do-yeon watched her carefully, allowing Seo-jin the space to unpack her thoughts.

"He laughed easily. He was awkward sometimes. He actually got flustered." A faint, almost laugh escaped Seo-jin, but it never fully formed, dissolving into another sigh. "And now? Now he’s..." She stopped, the words catching in her throat, her fingers tightening around the napkin until it threatened to tear.

"Untouchable," Do-yeon finished her thought.

Seo-jin nodded slowly, a single, deliberate movement. A long silence settled between them, broken only by the cafe's background noise. Then, Seo-jin’s breath hitched, enough for Do-yeon to notice.

"You regret how you left it?" Do-yeon asked, her voice gentle, probing. She let a beat pass, then added, "Then, I mean. Not now."

"I regret how I left him," Seo-jin admitted, the confession barely audible. She lifted the twisted napkin absently, gripping it tighter, focusing on the tortured paper rather than Do-yeon’s gaze. Then, slowly, in a lowered tone, she spoke to the napkin itself. "Yes. For only like six months... but it started long before that." Another beat. "But I just ended it." A third pause, heavy with resignation. "One day at the bus stop."

Do-yeon let out a small, knowing sigh. "And that's your concern? You always find a reason to run when things get too real." Her words were a quiet accusation, laced with a familiar understanding. "You left Beom-seok the same way you left Hyun-woo."

Seo-jin finally looked up, her eyes meeting Do-yeon’s, but she didn't speak, offering no denial, no defence. Do-yeon simply let her sit in the silence, letting the weight of her own past choices settle around her.

The light had started to fade, stuck in no man's land, neither day nor night. Customers had come and gone, but the cafe remained a pool of warmth and muted sounds. The small table between Seo-jin and Do-yeon was now cluttered with empty cups. Do-yeon studied her friend, a lingering concern in her eyes.

"You’re sure you’re okay?"

"I’m fine," Seo-jin replied, her voice steady. A practised composure that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Do-yeon didn’t push. She watched as Seo-jin made small, meticulous adjustments. Smoothing the sleeve of her blouse, flattening the crumpled napkins on the table. Tiny, precise movements of control, a desperate attempt to regulate the chaos within.

"Are you sure? I’m sure my mum won’t mind if we meet another time." Do-yeon offered her a lifeline, a stay of absence from her self-torment.

“No. Go. There's no need to stay,” another well-rehearsed, forced, polite smile. A smile Do-yeon had seen a thousand times before in meetings and work circles. A smile for others, not a genuine state of mind. 

"Alright. But I’m calling you later," Do-yeon insisted.

"I really would like that," Seo-jin responded, managing a genuine smile, enough to convince Do-yeon, or at least to make her believe she was convinced.

Do-yeon exhaled, a soft sound, and nodded, standing up from the table. "Should I walk you home?"

Seo-jin shook her head, a quick, dismissive gesture. "No. It's okay. Really."

"OK then. Get home safe." Do-yeon’s voice was tinged with doubt, but she respected the boundary.

Seo-jin nodded back, watching as Do-yeon walked toward the door, paused briefly as if reconsidering, then pushed it open and left, disappearing into the evening street.

Silence.

Seo-jin let out a slow, shuddering breath, her tension still refusing to ease. She tightened her grip around the napkin, twisting it harder this time, tearing at the edges of the paper.

A single tear, cold and sharp, fell from her eye, tracking a path down her cheek. She wiped it away fast, sharp, controlled, a desperate attempt to erase it. But another followed, then another, a silent, unstoppable stream. They landed in blotches on the napkin, their presence causing the napkin paper to suddenly rupture with little to no strain.

Hyun-woo stood, half-shadowed, across the street from the cafe. He had been there for a while. He'd seen them talking. Do-yeon leaning in, her body language suggested concern, even from the other side of the road. He watched as Do-yeon had left, he had taken a step further back, a still, dark silhouette against the backdrop of passing cars. 

Through the window, he saw her on her own.

Head bowed. Fingers curled around something he couldn't see. While he couldn't see the tears, her slouched position hinted at the tears that now freely flowed.

He didn’t move. He didn’t go inside. Simply watched, his expression blank, his gaze fixed. The street hummed around him, cars and pedestrians passing between them, blocking the view every few seconds. But he never took his eyes off her, his own pain a palpable presence in the cool evening air.

Then, he turned. Slowly. Controlled. And walked away, melting back into the anonymous city.