The quiet thud of the car door closing echoed softly through the concrete parking garage. Hyun-woo moved through the dim light, still carrying the weight of the evening's events. He entered the elevator and pressed the button for the tenth floor. The doors slid shut with a soft hiss.

The elevator chimed softly, and the doors opened. Hyun-woo stepped out, turned left and trudged the silent hallway towards his apartment. He moved with the weary rhythm of someone who’d memorised the path home, his footsteps muted by the carpeted flooring. As he turned the final corner, he stopped dead in his tracks at the sight before him. A breath escaped him, not quite a sigh, not quite a groan.

There, crouched beside his door, was Eun-sol. Her arms rested loosely on her knees, her gaze already lifting at the sound of his exhale. No smile. No greeting. Just her, waiting, like a question he hadn’t prepared to answer.

He dipped his head, surrendering himself to the situation and walked forward. As he got closer to the door, Eun-sol slowly rose, all the time never breaking her stare. She stood aside as he opened the door. He said nothing, but left it open for her to follow him in.

In the dimly lit hallway, he slipped off his shoes and into his indoor slippers with the casual precision of ritual, as if she wasn't there at all. He walked further into the apartment, throwing his car keys onto the entryway table with a dull clatter. He hung his jacket with barely a glance.

Behind him, the door clicked shut. Eun-sol had followed him in, wordless. She removed her shoes and picked up a pair of house slippers that weren't hers, but fit like a memory. It was a gesture of old familiarity, not comfort.

Hyun-woo moved into the kitchen. Without turning on any light, he went straight to the fridge and took out a half-full bottle of soju. He grabbed two shot glasses from the cupboard to its right, setting them on the countertop. He poured fast and full. Before she even entered the kitchen, he’d already downed his. A long, silent swallow. He refilled his glass immediately.

Eun-sol stepped in beside him. There was no eye contact. No words. Just presence. Again. She didn't reach for her glass just yet. The silence was almost overwhelming.

They sat at the counter. The soju bottle now had only a small amount left at the bottom, and the two glasses before them were dry. Hyun-woo reached to pour again, but Eun-sol placed her hand gently over her glass, stopping him. He paused, then set the bottle down.

Stillness. The marker of a now unavoidable conversation. Without looking at him, she spoke.

"Was it her?"

He turned slightly, his gaze shifting to the profile of her face.

"The one you got stuck on," Eun-sol continued, her voice soft but steady. "The one that made you look past me. Past us, like we weren’t ever real." Hyun-woo suddenly had to look away from her to keep his composure.

"We were never real," Hyun-woo stated, his voice flat.

She looked at him sharply at the raw bluntness of the line.

"Was I that uninteresting? Just a girl who filled the gaps between you and someone you couldn’t stop remembering? Were you waiting for her to come back the entire time?"

He glanced at her to see her stare and expression that demanded an answer.

"I never gave you reasons to think I was pursuing you," Hyun-woo retorted, a defensive edge in his voice.

"Yes. I admit that. But I spent hours. Weeks. Months with you. I couldn’t really see under this... this..." She stumbled for a word, then found it. "Whatever this is. Husk? Yes, a husk." A beat. "Why do you think I left in the end? Did you think I really needed to leave to become a chef?"

He stared at her, and now, for the first time, he truly saw it. He’d been at fault, inflicting the same subtle, corrosive hurt on Eun-sol that he’d suffered himself all those years ago with Seo-jin. He suddenly realised how her voice had been so steady, but could now see how her hands trembled slightly on the countertop. He could suddenly sense and feel the pain she had bottled up, as it could never be answered by her alone.

"I’m sorry. Truly. I never intended to hurt you." His voice was low, laced with genuine regret.

She looked at him deeply, her eyes holding his. "You hurt people because you can’t let them see you." A beat. "How does denying yourself help you?" Another longer beat before her final confession. "Or me?"

The silence after her last question was long, heavy with unspoken truths. Hyun-woo looked down at the countertop, his jaw tight, unable to meet her gaze any longer.

"I never meant to pull you into that," he offered quietly.

"You didn’t. I walked in with my eyes open." She exhaled, softer now, less confrontational. "But Hyun-woo... You don’t build anything for yourself anymore. You live in fragments. Work. Silence. Obligation."

He didn’t move, didn't respond.

"That part of you that's tied to her," Eun-sol continued, her voice gentle but insistent, "you never resolved or even buried it. You just... preserved it. You need to make peace with her. Not for closure. Just so you can finally start something else." She slid her glass away gently, pushing herself back from the counter.

"Maybe even with someone else. Maybe not. But you can’t move forward until you stop orbiting the version of you that existed with her."

He didn’t speak. But the stillness in him shifted fractionally.

"I so wanted it to be me," Eun-sol said, her voice tinged with a faint, old hurt. "But, if there was ever a version of us that could have happened. I deserved all of you. Not just what she left behind." She stood from the stool with a gentle motion. She stared at him for a second, as if a last look, then, "I’ll see myself out."

She picked up her coat. Walked to the hallway, switched shoes and opened the door slowly. She turned back, just for a moment, her eyes fixed on him at the edge of the countertop. "Don’t wait for the next person to do your healing for you." And she was gone.

He poured the last of the soju into the glass. Gulped it down.