The next morning felt quieter than usual.

Maybe it was just me assuming— or maybe the whole house could sense that something between me and Kim had shifted.

He was in the kitchen when I came down, pouring coffee like he owned the place. His hair was still messy, a few strands falling over his forehead.

“You’re up early,” I said, trying to sound casual.

He looked up, smiling. “Couldn’t sleep. Guess I’m still on Seoul time.”

“Or maybe you’re just getting old.” I said.

“Old?” He raised a brow. “I’m one year older, not ancient.”

I grinned, grabbing a slice of toast. “Still counts.”

He leaned against the counter, watching me. “You talk more now. You used to hide behind Ethan.”

“I grew up,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “You did.”

The silence after that wasn’t awkward — it was something else. Something warm.

Later that day, Ethan went out with some friends, leaving just me and Kim alone at home.

I tried to read in the living room, but my eyes kept finding him instead — sitting by the window, scrolling on his phone, the sunlight turning his hair a shade lighter.

It was feel strange how someone I’d known half my life could suddenly feel like someone new.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, breaking my thoughts. “You wanna go out later? Maybe to the hill by the lake?”

I looked up. “Now?”

He shrugged. “If you’re not busy pretending to read.”

I rolled my eyes, but I smiled. “Fine. Just let me grab my bag.”

The walk to the lake was quiet, the kind of quiet that feels safe. The air smelled like rain again, and the grass was soft beneath our shoes.

When we reached the hill, Kim sat down on the grass, patting the spot beside him.

“Remember when you used to come here and complain about everything?” he said.

I laughed. “I was twelve.”

He smiled. “You used to say you’d move to the city and never come back.”

I nodded. “I still might.”

He looked at me for a long second. “You could. You’re brave enough now.”

The way he said it made my chest tighten. It wasn’t just encouragement — it was something like belief.

“Do you ever regret leaving?” I asked.

He didn’t answer right away. “Sometimes. But some things you have to leave to understand why they important.”

His words stuck with me. I didn’t know why, but I felt like he wasn’t just talking about the town.

 Maybe not even about his past.

Maybe about a person or me.

As the sky turned gold, he picked up a tiny wildflower from the grass and handed it to me.

“What’s this for?” I asked.

“For making me remember why I came back,” he said.

I didn’t know what to say, so I just smiled and tucked the flower into my notebook.

A promise he never said out loud — but I think I heard it anyway.