By 1:30 p.m., Hanam-dong had settled into a rare lull, the kind that only happened when Ji Yong was off the road and deliberately unreachable. The house felt quieter than usual—not empty, but resting. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, catching dust motes in the air and warming the low wooden table where coffee cups, half-open snack bags, and a forgotten sketchbook lay scattered.
Ji Yong sat on the floor with his back against the couch, one knee bent, fingers loosely wrapped around an iced coffee that had long since begun to sweat. He looked different when he wasn’t working—less guarded, shoulders lower, movements slower. Touring had a way of keeping him alert even when he didn’t need to be. A three-week break loosened that instinct.
Taeyang occupied the far end of the couch, calm as always, posture relaxed but attentive, while Daesung sat cross-legged nearby, already on his second round of snacks.
“This is dangerous,” Daesung said, peering into the open bag. “I’ve eaten enough sugar to qualify as a child.”
Ji Yong didn’t look up. “You already act like one.”
Daesung scoffed. “That’s personality, not diet.”
Taeyang smiled faintly over the rim of his mug. “Hyung, you’re just mad because he’s enjoying himself.”
“I am enjoying myself,” Ji Yong replied. “I just don’t need to announce it every five minutes.”
Daesung grinned. “Growth really did happen.”
Their conversation drifted, jumping from tour memories to minor debates, Taeyang quietly mediating without fully taking sides. There was no rush to fill the space. After nearly two decades together, silence didn’t need explaining.
Then came a soft sound at the front of the house—paper sliding against wood, followed by a light tap as something hit the floor.
Taeyang was the first to notice. He glanced toward the door, then set his mug down. “Mail?”
Ji Yong frowned. “I didn’t order anything.”
“That’s what you said last time,” Daesung replied. “And then a very expensive lamp arrived.”
Taeyang stood and picked up the envelope. He paused, eyes narrowing slightly—not in suspicion, but curiosity.
“…This is interesting.”
Ji Yong shifted, attention fully on him now. “What is it?”
Taeyang turned back toward them, holding the envelope carefully. “It’s addressed to you. Not the agency.”
Ji Yong straightened slightly.
“Galaxy usually screens everything,” Daesung said. “So either someone messed up, or—”
“Or they thought it was important,” Taeyang finished, placing it gently on the table.
Ji Yong stared. The envelope was decorated with small drawings—flowers, stars, tiny shapes layered without crowding one another. The seal on the back was a daisy sticker, pressed down neatly. His name was written in English at the center, letters careful and evenly spaced.
Daesung let out a low whistle. “That’s… detailed.”
Taeyang nodded. “Someone spent time on this.”
Ji Yong picked it up slowly, as if sudden movement might damage it. His thumb brushed the daisy sticker but didn’t break it.
“The handwriting’s really clean,” Taeyang observed. “Almost too careful.”
Daesung tilted his head. “Kind of looks like it could be from a teenager. Maybe a young girl?”
Ji Yong glanced at him, curious but not commenting.
“I mean,” Daesung continued, “the drawings, the spacing—it feels like someone who really practiced. Someone young enough to pour effort like this into every detail.”
Taeyang considered that. “Could be. Or someone who just really wanted it perfect. But yeah… maybe a teen.”
Ji Yong turned it over, scanning the back. “It’s in English.”
Daesung nodded. “So probably not Korean. Maybe European, or someone comfortable with English. But I’d still guess young—look at the style, the playful colors.”
Taeyang smiled slightly. “Earnest. Not polished. Just sincere. Could easily be a teenage girl.”
Ji Yong was quiet, gaze fixed on the envelope as if it might speak first.
“Galaxy wouldn’t send this to my house unless they were sure,” he said finally. “They know I don’t like surprises.”
“And they know you read these,” Taeyang added gently.
Ji Yong exhaled, thoughtful. “I do.”