The soft rustle of your gown echoed faintly against the marbled floors of the grand hall, dimly lit by the stained-glass windows casting mellow colors across the walls. You stood quietly beside Dooshik, his arm comfortably curled around your waist as if it had always belonged there. Your voice murmured gentle observations about the floral arrangements, the paintings, even the pastries being served—but never about the girls from earlier.

Jaekyung leaned against a nearby pillar, watching you. His jaw was tense, but his gaze softer than usual, confused even. Jaeshin wasn’t far, seated near the window, fingers drumming restlessly against his knee. Both of them had spoken to you earlier, tried to make you laugh, tried to reach that part of you they once thought was theirs too. But you only smiled in that quiet, gracious way—like a dream they couldn’t fully touch anymore.

“Dooshik-ah,” you said softly, pointing at the fruit tart on the tray a server held out. “That one has peaches. Your favorite.”

He smiled down at you, brushing a kiss to your temple. “You remembered.”

Of course you did. You remembered everything about him—his stillness, his kindness, the way his hands never trembled when they held yours. He had no past that weighed down his love for you, and perhaps that’s what made your heart lean his way more often.

Behind you, Jaekyung stepped forward, hesitated, then said your name quietly. You turned, politely, your expression open—but still distant.

“Yes?”

He paused. “You’ve been quiet with me lately. With both of us.”

You tilted your head slightly, as if the thought hadn’t crossed your mind. “I’ve spoken to you.”

“But not really,” Jaeshin added, his voice quieter, more careful.