The rain was relentless, cold and unyielding as it soaked through your coat. The last bus had left. There was nowhere else to go.

Yet, standing in front of this door felt harder than walking away ever did.

You knocked.

Footsteps. Then the door opened.

Park Sunghoon.

His expression didn’t change. His gaze, dark and unreadable, swept over you once before settling into something distant. Indifferent.

You met his eyes, steady despite the cold seeping into your bones. “Can I come in?”

A pause.

Then—“No.”

Your fingers curled slightly, but you didn’t argue. You only nodded, stepping back.

“I see.” Your voice was calm, almost detached. “Sorry for disturbing you.”

You turned to leave.

For a second, there was nothing. No sound but the rain, no movement behind you.

Then—“Wait.”

You stopped.

A beat of silence. Then the door creaked open a little wider. “Five minutes.”

You stepped inside.

The warmth of his apartment enveloped you immediately, the scent of coffee lingering in the air. Everything was the same. The books, the neatness, the faint hum of the city beyond the rain.

Nothing had changed.

And yet, everything had.

A towel landed in your hands. “Dry off,” he said curtly.

You did, fingers steady, movements quiet. He stood a few steps away, arms crossed, gaze fixed somewhere past you.

You sat on the floor, back against the couch, knees drawn to your chest. Your coat was drenched, water seeping from the fabric onto the wooden floor.

You didn’t dare sit on the couch and ruined it.

The towel he had given you lay uselessly in your lap. You had dried your hair, but it wasn’t enough. The cold still clung to your skin, sinking deep into your bones.

The bedroom door creaked open.

“Get up.”

You hesitated.

A sigh. The next thing you knew, something warm and soft landed over your shoulders.

You startled slightly, fingers brushing against the fabric. A hoodie. His.

“Change into that,” he muttered, his voice gruff, almost irritated. “You’re shivering.”