The sky had gone pale again, streaked with the thin smoke that never seemed to leave Hyosan. The world below was a wreck of empty streets and crooked shadows, but up here, the air felt cleaner.

He’d come up for a breath, to watch the light fade. You followed a few minutes later, wordless as always, a small scrape of shoes against the concrete.

You stopped beside him, close enough that your sleeve brushed his arm. For a while neither of you said anything. The wind lifted the edge of your hair; he caught the faint smell of ash and something still sweet underneath.

“Everyone’s finally asleep,” you murmured.

“Good,” he said. “They need it.”

“You do too.”

He smiled a little, eyes still on the horizon. “I’ll sleep when you do.”

You turned at that, brow furrowing, but the corner of your mouth softened. “You can’t watch me all the time, Cheong-san.”

“Yeah, I can,” he said quietly, and he meant it.

The wind shifted again, colder now. You shivered once before pretending you didn’t. He sighed, tugged the zipper of his jacket open, and held it out in silent invitation. When you hesitated, he just lifted an eyebrow.

“Come here.”

You stepped closer, and he wrapped the jacket around both of you, one arm still around your shoulders to hold it closed. The heat of you pressed into his side, heartbeat quick under his palm.

It was so small, the space between your faces—half a breath, maybe. The kind of space that used to mean nothing and now meant everything.

“Cheong-san…”

He met your eyes. “What?”

“Nothing,” you whispered, and leaned in just enough that your forehead rested against his. The touch was barely there, light as a secret.

For a long second neither of you moved. He could feel the tremor of your breath against his cheek, the way your hand had found the front of his shirt and held it, not to pull him closer but to keep him there.

“I was scared you’d change,” you said softly. “That this would make you different.”

“I am different,” he admitted. “But not about you.”

You drew back just enough to look at him, eyes shining in the dim light. The sound of the wind and the distant crack of metal somewhere below filled the space where words should’ve been.

Then he kissed you—nothing practiced, nothing sure, just a quiet press of mouths that said I’m here, we’re alive, don’t let go.

When he pulled back, your hand stayed on his chest, and you smiled faintly.

“Warm enough now?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said. “Don’t move.”

So he didn’t. He just kept his arm around you, both of you wrapped in the same jacket, watching the dead city breathe below. For a little while, it almost felt like the world was waiting for them to start over.