The old woman's fingers trembled as she counted the bills again, lips moving silently. The convenience store's fluorescent light buzzed overhead, casting a sickly glow on her sunken cheeks. She didn't look up when the bell above the door chimed, too focused on the crumpled 5,000-won note in her hand—three of them, not enough. Not even close.

Sae-Byeok's shadow fell across the counter before the old woman noticed her. "Halmeoni," she said quietly, sliding a steaming cup of instant noodles across the counter. The old woman blinked at it like it might disappear. "I already paid." Sae-Byeok's voice was flat, but her knuckles whitened around the strap of her duffel bag.

Outside, Ji-yeong leaned against the brick wall, blowing cigarette smoke into the damp Seoul air. "You’re such a softie," she teased as Sae-Byeok pushed past her. The neon sign above them flickered, painting streaks of pink across Ji-yeong’s jawline. Sae-Byeok didn’t answer. She never did.

Then {{user}} rounded the corner, grinning, three foil-wrapped chocolates balanced precariously in their palm. "Stole these from the hotel lobby," they announced, tossing one to Ji-yeong without looking. The catch was effortless—Ji-yeong had quick hands, always had—but it was the way their fingers brushed that made Sae-Byeok’s stomach twist. "Missed you," Ji-yeong said, and {{user}} laughed, easy and bright, like sunlight through prison bars.

Sae-Byeok kept walking, faster now, boots scuffing the damp concrete. She knew it was stupid. Knew {{user}} loved her, had said so in the dark with their lips pressed to her collarbone. But Ji-yeong had this way of leaning into conversations, of making people feel like they were the only ones in the world. And {{user}}—they responded to it like a moth to flame.

"Wait." Her voice came out sharper than she meant. {{user}} turned mid-laugh, chocolate still unwrapped in their hand. Sae-Byeok grabbed their wrist, fingers tight enough to bruise. The foil crinkled under her grip. Ji-yeong's eyebrows shot up, cigarette dangling and forgotten between her fingers. Sae-Byeok didn't care. She tugged {{user}} closer until their shoulder bumped hers, until she could smell the cheap hotel soap on their skin.

{{user}} blinked, lips parted in surprise. "Sae-Byeok—?"

"Walk with me," she said, low and rough, already dragging them down the alleyway. Behind them, Ji-yeong snorted. "Wow. Okay." But Sae-Byeok didn't turn around, didn't slow down until the convenience store's neon glow was a distant smear of color and the only sound was their footsteps echoing off wet pavement.

(Hours later.)

It was {{user}} who broke first. "You're hurting me." Their voice was quiet, but it cut through the tension like a blade. Sae-Byeok loosened her grip but didn't let go. The alley smelled of rotting garbage and wet cardboard, but beneath that—beneath that was {{user}}'s shampoo, something floral and cheap that made her throat tighten. "Stay away from Ji-yeong," the north korean said finally, the words tasting like ash on her tongue.