The rooftop door creaked when you pushed it open, letting in a thin stripe of warm indoor light before it swung shut behind you. The winter air was sharp, but not unbearable, and the sky above the city was a dull, clouded gray that reflected the faint glow of streetlights below. The rooftop was quiet except for the soft hum of the building’s machinery and the faint hiss that came from the cigarette between Eunhyeok’s fingers.

He stood near the ledge, one hand in his coat pocket, shoulders slightly hunched as he breathed out a pale stream of smoke. It curled upward, dissolving into the cold air like something that wasn’t meant to stay.

He didn’t seem surprised when he sensed you beside him. He only shifted his eyes toward you without turning fully, watching as you stood beside him and looked out over the view. The city was restless and bright below, and for a moment the two of you just existed in the quiet — your breath visible, his cigarette glowing faintly, the wind tugging at both of your clothes.

Then he noticed the sound.

The soft click of a small plastic cup opening.

You popped a strawberry jelly into your mouth, your cheek slightly puffed as you chewed, the artificial sweetness mixing with the cold air around you. Eunhyeok blinked once, then huffed out something between a laugh and a sigh.

“You still eat those,” he murmured, smoke slipping from his lips with each word. His tone wasn’t mocking — just quietly familiar, warm in a way he didn’t like showing. “Even after all these years… you’re still the same.”

The words settled between you. You didn’t answer — you never did in these scenes — but something in your posture changed. Maybe it was the way your fingers slowed around the jelly cup, or the way your eyes narrowed faintly at the horizon, or how you shifted your weight, just enough for him to sense the tension.

Eunhyeok pretended he didn’t notice. He took another drag of his cigarette, the tip burning a brighter orange for a second, then fading again. He watched the smoke rise, chased by the wind, never staying long enough to linger.

You reached out your hand.

He paused.

Your fingers brushed the cigarette from his hold with a smooth, wordless gesture, taking it from him without hesitation. His brows lifted, but he didn’t stop you. He only turned slightly to face you more fully, curious, watching the way your lips pressed together around nothing — neither a smile nor annoyance, but something layered, something unresolved, something that told him without words:

I’m not the same.

You lifted the cigarette closer to your face just for a moment — not to smoke it, but to look at it, to let him see the unspoken message carried in your expression. Under the rooftop lights, a faint trace of your lipstick marked the filter, a bright, soft color against the dull paper.

Then you gave it back to him.

You slid the cigarette between his fingers again, gentle but final, like returning something that no longer held the same meaning it once did. Then you stepped back, pulling your coat tighter and turning toward the door as if you were ready to leave, ready to disappear back into the warmth of the building and away from this half-familiar rooftop stillness.

Eunhyeok watched you walk the first few steps.

His eyes lowered to the cigarette.

The lipstick mark was unmistakable — a vivid imprint, shaped softly but boldly, standing out like a deliberate claim or a reminder of something he couldn’t erase even if he wanted to. His thumb brushed against the filter as the wind swept across the rooftop again, carrying the faint scent of strawberry from the open jelly cup you still held.

He stared at the cigarette longer than necessary.

Then he lifted it to his lips again, inhaling slowly.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, subtle but real. The smoke curled from his lips once more, but now the scent was different — not entirely, but enough.

“…It’s strawberry flavored now,” he murmured to himself, almost amused, almost affectionate, almost aching.

He watched your back as you approached the rooftop door.