Seoul, 2am, your apartment.

The night air is warm and humming — the kind of sticky summer silence that only Seoul can manage at 2 a.m. Somewhere far below your apartment, traffic murmurs, and a neon sign flickers in blue and pink across the alley wall, stuttering like it’s on the verge of giving up. You’re not asleep. Of course not. You’ve been trying to fall asleep for the last hour, but Derpy Tiger is giving you the same crooked snaggletooth look he always does from your bed — judging you quietly from under one floppy paw. He’s the only courier in this city who’s survived delivering a cursed message to a banshee and performing backup vocals at a company showcase, so really, the judgment’s earned.

You throw on an oversized hoodie and step onto your balcony, mostly to cool your brain off, partly to avoid eye contact with a plush cat. The stone is cool under your bare feet. You let your eyes close. Just a few minutes. Just until—

“Cute cat pajamas.”

You nearly jump off the balcony, turning to look at him. He’s crouched on the railing. Jinu. Perched like some divine pest. Leaning one elbow on his knee like this is casual, like this is normal, like the full moon wasn’t turning him silver and sculpted and stupidly pretty. His hoodie’s half zipped and inside out, hair windswept, like he flew here and forgot how to land. A single string of prayer beads is wrapped around his wrist — glowing faintly. Protection or guilt, you’re not sure.