Ji-Soo's crying slowly lost its force. The sobs turned quiet, uneven breaths, her grip on Min-Ju's shirt loosening little by little. She wiped her face with the back of her sleeve, embarrassed now that the storm had passed.
"I'm sorry," she muttered hoarsely.
Min-Ju shook his head slightly. "You don't have to be."
Ji-Soo pulled away from him, creating a small, careful distance. She kept her eyes down, cheeks red, bandage slightly out of place.
For a second, she looked smaller—like she had left something heavy behind in his arms.
"I just… needed a second, I'm sorry" she said, forcing a weak smile.
''I am an Ugly crier.''
''Hmm you barely cry before...but people change.''
He nodded, respecting the space. "Take all the seconds you need."
They returned to the living room quietly.
Fah was the first to look up.
She sat sprawled on the couch, one knee pulled up, her hair tied in its usual one-side ponytail that always made her look like she'd gotten ready in a rush—and somehow made it work. She took one glance at Ji-Soo's face and froze.
"…Whoa," Fah said, squinting. "Did the kitchen attack you or something?"
Ji-Soo let out a shaky laugh despite herself. "Something like that."
Fah tilted her head, eyes narrowing in mock seriousness. "Hmm. Interesting. You went in there all normal and came back looking like you lost a boss battle."
Min-Ju shot her a warning look.
Fah immediately raised her hands. "Okay, okay. No questions. I'm just saying—" she leaned forward, lowering her voice dramatically, "—something definitely happened."
Ji-Soo sank onto the couch, fingers twisting together.
Her chest still felt tight, but lighter too.
She glanced at Fah and realized—she wasn't being stared at with pity.
Just concern… and a bit of Fah's usual humor.
Fah scooted closer and bumped Ji-Soo's shoulder lightly with her own.
"You good?" she asked, quieter now. "Like… actually good?"
Ji-Soo hesitated, then nodded. "I will be."
Fah smiled, that familiar crooked grin. "Cool. Because if you weren't, I was prepared to distract everyone by tripping over nothing again."
That earned a small, real smile from Ji-Soo.
Mrs. Han returned from the kitchen moments later, cheerful as ever. "All set! See? Nothing burned."
She looked around the room, pausing just a second too long on Ji-Soo's face. Her smile softened, but she didn't say anything.
Fah noticed that too.
-
Morning slid quietly into Ji-Woo's room, pale sunlight threading through the curtains like it didn't want to disturb her.
Her uniform waited neatly by the chair, crisp and perfect, but she looked different today.
Her curls were free, soft and alive, falling naturally around her shoulders. Side bangs brushed her forehead, framing her eyes in a way that made her look lighter—almost unreadable.
She studied her reflection for a second longer than usual, then grabbed her bag and stepped outside.
The car door opened smoothly.
"Good morning, Miss Ji-Woo," the driver said.
"I won't need you to pick me up today," she replied gently. "And I won't be taking the car to school."
The driver hesitated. "Miss—"
The gate creaked open.
Eun-Woo appeared, uniform slightly rumpled, hair still carrying the sleep of the morning. Ji-Woo's eyes found him instantly. Without another word, she gave the driver a single nod—polite, decisive—and broke into a light run.
"Morning," Eun-Woo said, surprised.
"Morning," she answered, breathless, smiling.
They walked away together, their footsteps syncing naturally.
From the doorway, unseen, Mrs. Kim watched. Her expression didn't change as Ji-Woo disappeared down the street. She turned calmly toward the car.
"Driver," she said coolly, "she won't be coming home by car today."
"Yes, madam."
"I need you to Know how to take me to a place." She paused, then sent the address.
The driver's phone buzzed. His eyes widened.
"Jeonju…? Madam, that's 212 kilometers. Nearly three hours from Seoul,. Perhaps the bus would be—"
Mrs. Kim looked at him.
Sharp. Precise. Final.
''It's not today, so be ready''
He swallowed. "I'll make sure I get ready before the day."
The bus stop buzzed with morning life—students laughing too loudly, shoes scraping concrete, the hum of engines and distant horns. The bus arrived with a hiss, doors folding open.
Ji-Woo stepped in first.
Her eyes scanned the aisle—and landed immediately on Ji-Bok.
Window seat. Head tilted. Fast asleep. Like always.
Despite his wealth, he still took the bus. No driver. No noise. Just quiet distance.
The only empty seat was beside him.
Eun-Woo hesitated behind her.
This guy again, he thought. His father owns a car company but he still takes the bus.
Before he could say anything, Ji-Woo moved.
"I'll sit," she said softly.
"I can stand," Eun-Woo murmured quickly. "Or we can switch seats—"
She shook her head, smiling faintly. "It's fine."
The bus swayed gently as it pulled away from the curb, morning light flashing in soft bands across the seats.
Ji-Woo sat perfectly still beside Ji-Bok.
Her knees were together, hands folded neatly in her lap, curls brushing her shoulders every time the bus jolted.
She could feel his warmth, the faint scent of clean detergent and something sharp—mint, maybe.
She kept her eyes forward, calm on the surface, even as her heart beat just a little faster.
Next to her, Ji-Bok slept on.
Then his brow twitched.
His lashes fluttered once.
Twice.
His eyes snapped open.
For a split second, he was disoriented—the hum of the bus, the blur of passing buildings. He turned his head lazily toward the aisle—
And locked eyes with Ji-Woo.
His entire body jolted like he'd been shocked.
He sucked in a sharp breath, elbow slamming into the window."—GAH—!"
The sound came out louder than he meant. A few students glanced over.
Ji-Woo turned to him slowly, expression unreadable. "Good morning."
He stared at her like she'd materialized out of thin air.
"You—" he whispered harshly, voice cracking. "Why are you here?"
She tilted her head slightly, curls slipping forward. "This is a bus."
"That's not—" He pressed a hand to his chest, breathing hard. "We argued. You don't just—sit next to someone after that."
"You were asleep," she said calmly. "And it was the only seat."
He looked around wildly, as if expecting proof. Then he leaned closer, whisper-yelling, "
Do you know what it's like to wake up and see the person you fought with this close?"
Ji-Woo glanced down, fingers tightening briefly in her lap. Then she looked back at him, eyes steady.
"I didn't do anything," she said softly. "I just sat down."
That made it worse.
Ji-Bok scooted exactly two inches away, shoulders tense, arms crossed defensively.
"You're terrifying in the morning."
Her lips twitched. Just barely.
She turned toward the window, watching sunlight flicker across the glass, hiding the small smile she couldn't stop.
Beside them, Eun-Woo leaned back against the pole, headphones on, eyes closed—completely unaware of the silent war happening inches away.
Ji-Bok muttered under his breath, "I swear you did that on purpose."
Ji-Woo didn't answer.
But her reflection in the window smiled again—clear this time.