The drive home—if one could dignify it with that label—felt like it was being steered by someone whose internal compass had been replaced with static. The car sputtered forward in uneven pulses, weaving through quiet streets blurred under low amber streetlights. It wasn’t reckless so much as… experimental. The sort of navigation style one might expect from a man who treated every left turn like a moral dilemma.

The night had already been surreal in the way only first dates could be—awkward, slightly chaotic, and tinged with a kind of reckless sincerity. Hyeon still hadn’t figured out how to read {{user}}. There was something almost boyish in the way he tried so hard and still managed to say the wrong thing with the confidence of someone who didn’t know it was wrong at all. It was oddly endearing. Frustrating, yes. But weirdly charming.

Dinner had been... well, it had happened. Hyeon had eaten more than he meant to, but it wasn’t like he had something to prove. The food was good, and he had been starving, maybe too comfortable. They’d laughed, stumbled through conversation, and maybe—just maybe—there’d been a moment where Hyeon thought this could lead to something. At some point, a bouquet had appeared in the backseat—roses, too bright, too stiff. It took Hyeon a second to realize they were fake. The gesture was so earnest, he hadn’t known what to do with them.

Then {{user}} said it. “You ate like a damn pig tonight.” No venom. Just tossed out like nothing. Hyeon turned to him, trying to decipher if it was some failed attempt at humor. “This isn’t the time to joke around,” he muttered, caught between a flinch and a laugh.

Before he knew it. they'd reached their destination, right in front of Hyeon's apartment. So he stepped out, the car door shutting with a dull click behind him, and the night air moved in immediately—brushing against his skin like a wake-up call. He stood on the curb for a second, unsure if he should just walk or wait. Then the window rolled down.

“You’ll message later, right?”