They stepped back inside the unfinished house, the rain still hammering a relentless rhythm against the scaffolding and roof panels above them. Seo-jin lowered the jacket, now soaked and heavy. Without a word, Hyun-woo turned toward her, gently took the sodden fabric. He walked it over to the small gas heater, angling it carefully so the wet lining caught the rising warmth.

Only one light, a dim, battery-powered lamp, glowed from the workbench, its pale circle barely reaching the edges of the, shadowy room. Hyun-woo started pulling dust sheets from a piled stack, folding, doubling, and layering them into a wide, makeshift cushion on the concrete floor, creating a soft, dry space off the cold ground. He finished adjusting the last dust sheet near the heater, then stood still, brushing dust from his hands. Seo-jin watched him from the shadows, his jacket still pulled tight around her.

Hyun-woo sat on the pile he’d made, then looked up at her, his gaze then lingering on the empty space beside him.

She stayed standing, unsure, and opted for a question instead of moving forward, a deliberate change of subject. "So... Eun-sol. She’s..."

Hyun-woo glanced over, not surprised by her curiosity. "Min-su’s niece. Everyone forgets that part until dessert, when he brags."

Seo-jin smiled faintly, a small, wry curve of her lips. "Ah, yes. That makes sense now."

"She joined the firm perhaps six months after I started as a junior designer. Min-su assigned her to me." He paused, a beat of distant memory in his eyes. "She lasted a little over a year before she left to become a chef."

Seo-jin shifted slightly, wrapping her arms more tightly around herself under his padded jacket. "She looked comfortable around you. At the table." Another beat. "Too comfortable."

He tilted his head, his expression unreadable, a familiar mask. "I trained her. She had a crush. It passed." He paused again, his voice even. "We’re friends."

Seo-jin studied him, her gaze unwavering. "She doesn’t look like it passed."

He paused, then folded the end of a dust sheet more neatly beneath the heater, weighing it down with a piece of scrap wood. "She thinks of me as an older brother now." He looked up, his eyes holding hers. "That’s safer for both of us."

A silence settled between them, heavy with unspoken context.

Then, gently, Seo-jin moved forward and sat beside him on the improvised bed of dust sheets. She reached out, her fingers lightly brushing his hand, a tentative offering. She moved in a little closer, her shoulder brushing his as she tugged more of his large jacket around them both.

"You’re still freezing," she murmured, her voice softer than before. "This is ridiculous."

"Not the worst night I’ve had," Hyun-woo replied, his gaze distant, lost in some memory.

She watched him, closer than she meant to be, her breath hitched. A beat passed, thick with unspoken questions.

"Were you ever going to say something back then?" Seo-jin asked, her voice barely a whisper, breaking the fragile peace.

"When? At the cafe?" Hyun-woo asked, turning his head fully to her.

"Yes."

"You never gave me time to decide."

The quiet thickened around them, filled only by the rain pressing harder on the patched roofing.

She exhaled, her voice lower now, laced with old pain. "I’ve wondered if you stayed still so I’d leave first." Another beat. "So it wouldn’t be on you."

"On me?" Hyun-woo repeated, his eyes fixing on hers. "Maybe I wanted to know if you would stay if I didn’t ask you to."

A long silence stretched between them, a chasm opening up to their past.

Then her hand moved, just slightly, brushing his forearm where the sleeve rolled to the elbow. She didn't pull it away.

"I never really knew where your limits were," Seo-jin whispered, her gaze searching his. "You never let me."

"You never stayed long enough to test them," Hyun-woo countered, his voice a low, quiet challenge.

Their eyes locked, a profound tension building between them—not sharp or confrontational, but slow, like steam rising off coals, radiating unspoken feelings. She leaned forward, just enough, her breath brushing his cheek. He started to meet her in the middle, his face drawing closer. She sneaked a glance at his eyes, a flicker of uncertainty. He caught her look and momentarily held still. She drew back a breath, almost imperceptibly. He leaned away by inches, the distance re-established.

"When it eases, we can go back to the house on my bike," Hyun-woo stated, his voice suddenly practical, a deliberate redirection.

Seo-jin didn’t answer; she was still caught in the intense, almost-moment that had just passed her by. She snapped herself out of it, the practical words pulling her back to the present. "Do you not have your phone with you?"

"I didn't think I’d be this long. It's back at the house."

Seo-jin suddenly realised, a flash of animation in her eyes. "My phone! I have my phone here somewhere." She looked about her person, patting her pockets.

"It’s dead in the car," Hyun-woo replied, his voice flat, cutting off her hope.