The first night in the penthouse felt unreal as hell.

City lights stretched forever outside the floor to ceiling windows, all gold and white and alive, like New York was flexing just for them. Aya leaned against the glass with a cigarette between her fingers, long black hair falling over her shoulder, bangs just barely hiding her eyes.

“Holy shit,” she muttered in English, exhaling smoke slow. “We actually did it.”

Behind her, Ren dropped her duffel bag right in the middle of the living room with a loud thud. “Damn right we did.” She kicked off her boots and flopped onto the couch like she owned the place already. “Twenty two and living in a fucking penthouse in NYC. I’m hot, rich in vibes, and thriving.”

Aya snorted. “You’re broke.”

“Shut the hell up,” Ren shot back, grinning.

Aya turned around, taking her in. Ren’s tattoos peeked out from under her sleeves, ink curling along her arms, and her piercings caught the light when she laughed. They both looked like they didn’t belong in something this clean, this expensive.

And that was exactly why it felt perfect.

“You still smell like cigarettes,” Aya said.

“You do too.”

“Yeah, but I make it look better.”

Ren rolled her eyes, then switched to Japanese, her tone softer. “We really made it, huh.”

Aya’s chest tightened a little at that. “Yeah,” she replied quietly. “We really fucking did.”

They ended up sitting on the balcony later, legs tangled, sharing a takeout box of tteokbokki they’d hunted down three blocks away because apparently the city never sleeps and neither did their cravings.

Ren wiped sauce off her lip with her thumb. “God, I missed this. Korean food just hits different.”

Aya laughed. “You say that like we didn’t eat it every damn week back home.”

“Yeah, but now it’s in New York,” Ren said, like that explained everything.

Aya lit another cigarette and passed it over without asking. Ren took it, fingers brushing hers for just a second too long.

Neither of them pulled away right away.

“You’re working tomorrow, right,” Ren said, a little quieter now.

“Yeah,” Aya nodded. “Gotta pay for this ridiculous place somehow.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ren muttered. “I’ll just sit here looking pretty and emotionally supporting you.”

“You mean freeloading.”

“Same shit.”

Aya laughed, but it faded into something softer. She leaned back in her chair, staring out at the skyline again.

“We promised this, you know,” she said. “When we were like, what, fifteen. Stupid kids dreaming big.”

Ren tilted her head, watching her. “We weren’t stupid.”

Aya glanced at her. “No?”

“No,” Ren said, serious now. “We were just crazy enough to actually do it.”

There was a pause, thick but not awkward.

Then Ren reached over, flicked Aya’s bangs out of her eyes. “You look less like an asshole when I can see your face.”