Seo-jin had Do-yeon wait for her while she dropped her letter to Hyun-woo. She didn’t want to go home, a fear of her own imagination and the realisation of her actions too much to bear in her quite apartment. Instead she had suggested drinks.

It was a small bar, easy going, dim light and industrial ceiling with exposed heating ducts. The gentle clink of glasses and a low hum of conversation permeated the air. Do-yeon and Seo-jin sat tucked away in a corner booth, two half-empty cocktails sitting between them, while a third remained untouched.

Seo-jin’s bag rested beside her, open just enough to reveal its contents. Do-yeon’s gaze flickered to the bag before she leaned towards Seo-jin, her voice a low murmur. "So where is it then?"

"Where's what?" Seo-jin replied, feigning innocence.

"That envelope! The one that’s been playing peekaboo from your planner the last... what, three meetings that I’ve noticed?" Do-yeon’s voice was firm, leaving no room for evasion.

"What about it?"

"It’s not there anymore." Do-yeon tilted her head, not accusatory, just razor-sharp in her observation. "So. Where is it?"

Seo-jin exhaled, a soft whoosh of air. She didn’t answer immediately. Then, quietly, she confessed, "I gave it to him."

A beat of stunned silence.

"You what?" Do-yeon breathed, her eyes widening.

"Just now. I walked into his office and left it on his desk."

Do-yeon leaned forward, both elbows now on the table, her entire posture demanding details. "What was in it?"

"The letter?" Seo-jin repeated, a faint tremor in her voice. A beat. "The one I wrote him. After we split. The one I never gave him."

Do-yeon just stared, processing the magnitude of Seo-jin’s admission. "You wrote him a letter after you dumped him? All those years ago." Another beat, laced with incredulity. "And you actually gave it to him?"

"Yeah."

"Seo-jin." Do-yeon’s voice was firm with frustration. "That letter was supposed to stay in a drawer. Or a box. Or your therapist’s office. Not with him. Not now."

Seo-jin shrugged, but it was a tight, defensive gesture.

"You needed closure," Do-yeon continued, her voice softening slightly. "Not to put more air in an old wound."

"It’s not about what he says. Or doesn’t," Seo-jin countered, her gaze distant, reflecting on her own truth. "I just needed him to know I never meant to hurt him."

Do-yeon watched her, the sharpness gone now, replaced by genuine worry. "And if he doesn’t say anything back?"

"Then I’ll have said enough for both of us." Seo-jin’s voice was quiet, but held a deep resolve.

Do-yeon finally lifted her glass, taking a long sip. "Just promise me one thing."

Seo-jin waited, her eyes on her friend.

"If this hurts... don’t pretend it doesn’t."

Seo-jin didn’t nod. But she didn’t disagree either. The thought of how much it could actually hurt had not yet fully occurred to her.