Hana downed the rest of her drink and looked up at him again, smirking as if to erase what had just slipped out. She then ordered another.

“Your turn, Mr. Mystery. Tell me about the one who got away.”

“Not much of a story,” he said, sighing. “Well, you know how the entertainment industry works. People lump you with someone of the the same sex to fulfill their fantasies but if there was really going on behind the scenes, then artists get cancelled.”

Hana tilted her head, studying him as if trying to look past the careful neutrality in his tone. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

V’s lips quirked faintly. “I’m speaking from observation.”

“That’s what people say when they don’t want to admit it was personal,” she said, smiling wryly.

He looked up then, meeting her gaze. The bar light caught in his eyes, soft and tired. “Maybe I just learned how to protect what’s left of my privacy.”

“Or who,” Hana said, leaning a little closer. “You’re deflecting with style, I’ll give you that.”

He chuckled under his breath. “You make a habit of dissecting people like this?”

“I make a habit of noticing what people don’t say,” she replied, resting her chin on her hand. “You can’t take a good photo without seeing the story underneath the pose.”

V smiled faintly, watching the way her expression softened when she spoke about art. “That’s why your portraits feel alive.”

Her grin brightened. “Finally, someone who gets it! I hate taking pretty pictures of pretty faces. I want the feeling. The crack beneath the surface. The exact second someone stops performing.”

“You sound like you’re chasing something elusive and fleeting.”

“But isn’t that what art is? Trying to hold on to something that’s already slipping away?”

For a moment, V said nothing. He was watching her again. How her whole face lit up when she talked about her craft, how she seemed to see the world in sharper focus when she was in that space. It struck him that this was the only time Hana ever really saw people. Through the lens where distance gave her clarity.

Outside that frame, she was different. Vibrant, loud, a little oblivious to how much people looked at her, or how close she sometimes got to truths she didn’t mean to uncover.

Then Hana broke the quiet, curiosity bright in her voice. “So… who was it?”

V blinked. “Who?”

“The one who made you sound like that,” she said, smiling softly, not teasing. “You talk about cancellations like you’ve known how it feels to lose something real because of what people think.”

He looked down, tracing the rim of his glass again. “Maybe I have.”

Her brow furrowed just slightly. “Was it someone from work?” Her head tilted and asked, “Have I met this person before?”

V’s grip on his glass stilled. “Maybe,” he said carefully.

Her eyes widened a fraction, but she didn’t push. Maybe because she didn’t realize how close she was to the truth, or maybe because she did, and kindness stopped her.

“You really do understand,” she said quietly.

“Understand what?”

“That it’s not the hiding that hurts,” Hana murmured. “It’s pretending it never meant anything.”

V exhaled slowly. “Yeah,” he said, eyes distant. “That part.”

She nodded, and for once, didn’t try to fill the silence.

Then after a moment, she asked absentmindedly, “You think someone from LMC likes the same gender too?”

V blinked a couple of times, the question landing heavier than she probably intended. He gave a small shrug, trying to sound casual. “Maybe. Why?”

She tilted her head, lips pursed in thought. “Just wondering.” Then, with a half-smile, she started ticking off names on her fingers. “Soojin and Han are straight as hell, that’s for sure. Suhyun as well.” She paused, frowning slightly. “Kaimin… not sure.”

V’s fingers tightened around his glass before he forced himself to breathe. “What makes you say that?”

Hana tapped her finger on the table, thinking aloud. “It’s just… there’s no talk about Kaimin having a girlfriend. Ever. Which is weird, considering how people love gossiping about him.”

V’s hand stilled around his drink.

She went on, oblivious to his shift. “Well, there were rumors ages ago about him having a fiancée, but that was just… you know, rumors.” She waved her hand dismissively.

V let out a short breath that might’ve been a laugh. “You’re curious about Kaimin, of all people, huh?” he muttered, half amused, half wary.

Hana blinked at him, then grinned. “Of course I am. He’s like an unsolved puzzle. The type who keeps his feelings under seven locks and a password-protected diary.”

That earned a quiet chuckle from V. “That sounds accurate.”

“See? You do get it,” she said, leaning forward, bright-eyed with discovery. “He’s hard to read, but he feels something, you know? I can tell when someone’s got that kind of… quiet storm energy.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Quiet storm?”

“Yeah,” she said, laughing. “Looks calm, but you just know there’s thunder somewhere in there.”

V hummed, eyes lowering. Thunder, he thought. The word fit too dangerously well.

He forced a small smile. “You should stick to photographing landscapes,” he said lightly. “You’re starting to sound like a gossip columnist.”

She laughed, tossing a peanut at him. He caught the peanut before it hit his shirt, grinning despite himself.

“Please. I’d make a terrible one. I actually like the people I talk about.”

“That’s debatable.”

Hana only winked, sipping her second drink. “Maybe. But I think you like it when someone’s curious about him too.”

“Oh?”

“You and Kaimin are close,” she said after a beat. “Especially before you left for Hong Kong. Sure, you banter like a tsundere married couple, but that just proves you’re comfortable enough with each other.”

V’s heart skipped. “Well, it’s basically a no-choice kind of thing,” he said lightly. “Soojin and Han are inseparable. You and Suhyun have known each other for ages. After Minho’s death, I was forced to deal with Kaimin.”

That was basically true. At least, at first.

“I don’t think so,” Hana said, laughing as she swirled her drink. “You make it sound like he’s this unbearable coworker when really, you two just—” she gestured vaguely, grinning “—work. It’s like you’re on the same frequency, just different channels.”

V smiled faintly. “Is it?”

“Come on,” she teased, leaning closer. “It’s rare to see Kaimin actually talk to someone willingly. You’re practically a miracle worker.”

V couldn’t help a laugh. “You’re giving me too much credit.”

“Please,” Hana said, dramatic as ever. “I see everything. I’m a photographer, remember? My eyes are weapons. Even people were shipping the two of you romantically after the Aurora Magazine feature. I mean, I don’t really see the appeal,” she added with a laugh, “but that just means there’s some kind of chemistry between you that the camera naturally catches even if there’s nothing behind it. There’s just this… contrast that makes people want to make art out of.”

V almost laughed at that. Almost. Because Hana noticed so much, yet somehow missed the things that mattered most.

His grip on his glass tightened slightly. “Make art out of it, huh?” he echoed.

“Yeah,” Hana said lightly. “You know how fans are. They take whatever feels real and turn it into a story. I think that’s kind of flattering, in a weird way.”

V smiled thinly, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. “Sure,” he said. “Flattering.”

She grinned, satisfied. “It’s all about perception. People just see what they want to see.”

Then she smiled again, tipping her glass toward him. “Anyway, I’m still dying to know. What happened to him?”

V gave a quiet laugh, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “He’s still here. Just not… mine.”

Something passed between them then. Not pity, not sympathy. Just recognition.

Hana smiled again. This time it was brighter, almost defiant. “You know, maybe I’ll photograph you again. Just as you are.”

“And what would that be?”

She thought for a moment. “Someone trying to forget what it felt like to be seen.”

V laughed under his breath, but didn’t answer.

Outside, the rain had started, faint against the windows. Inside, the lights stayed golden, and for a little while, the world felt small enough for V to feel that he still belonged somewhere… even just for a moment.