It clung to my hair — and to the jacket still wrapped around me.

Kim’s jacket.

For a moment, I just stared at it, the faded fabric creased where I’d clutched it in my sleep. 

The memory of last night flickered through my head — the laughter, Yan’s stories, Kim’s quiet eyes meeting mine across the firelight.

I didn’t know why that look refused to leave my mind.

The was quiet when I sat up. Morning light streamed in through half-open blinds, painting soft stripes across the floor. 

Outside, I could hear a voices — someone moving around, maybe cleaning up after the bonfire.

I folded the jacket neatly, hesitated, then set it beside me.

It felt strange to let go of something that still held his warmth.

When I stepped out, the air was cool and bright.

Kim was already there — sleeves rolled up, stacking the leftover chairs. He looked calm, like nothing had happened.

“Morning,” I said, voice smaller than I meant it to be.

He glanced over, nodded once. “Morning. Did you Sleep well?”

“Yeah.” I paused. “You?”

“Didn’t sleep much.” He set another chair down, avoiding my eyes.

Something inside me twisted — it felt strange not because of what he said, but because of how carefully he said it. Like every word had to pass through a filter first.

But before I could ask anything else, Yan appeared from the side path, carrying two mugs of coffee. “There you are! I was about to wake you up, Ray.”

He handed me one with a grin. “You looked like you needed this.”

“Thanks,” I said, accepting it. His energy was bright enough to fill the silence I’d walked into.

He leaned against the railing. And said, “So, how’s everyone feeling after last night’s ‘Great Fire of Friendship’?”

I laughed softly. “Mostly tired.”

“Same.” Yan looked over to his shoulder. “Hey, Kim, you’re way too serious this early. You okay, man?”

Kim gave a small shrug. “Just cleaning up.”

Yan chuckled. “Classic. Always the responsible one.”

It was meant as a joke, but it hung in the air a moment too long. Kim didn’t respond, just picked up another chair and walked toward the cabin.

I watched him go, something heavy settling in my chest.

“He’s not much of a morning person, huh?” Yan said, sipping his coffee.

I shook my head, forcing a smile. “He’s just… Kim.”

But the truth was, Kim wasn’t just Kim anymore. Not to me. Not after that look, that silence that seemed to stretch between us like a string pulled too tight.

When the wind picked up, I pulled my sleeves over my hands. 

The smell of his jacket still lingered faintly, even though I’d left it behind.

And for the first time, I realized I didn’t know what I wanted — to forget last night, or to remember it just a little longer.

 

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