Jae stood near the drink counter, his backpack slung over one shoulder. He grinned, the familiar, effortless expression that always made things feel lighter.

You dropped your bag onto a chair at a nearby table.

He laughed, stepping into line beside you. You leaned close to hear each other over the din.

He talked animatedly about a disastrous presentation, hands moving everywhere. You found yourself laughing harder than you had all week. Being with him was easy—no pressure, no pretending, just comfort.

He nudged you with his elbow as you reached the front of the line.

The barista, a tired-looking student with a lip ring, took your order without looking up.

You found a small, round table near the windows once your drinks were ready. Jae took a long sip from his black coffee, then immediately reached for your cup.

He slid it back across the table to you.

You were about to retort when you felt it—that strange prickle at the back of your neck, the unmistakable sense of being watched. Your laughter faded as your gaze drifted across the room.

Jae snapped his fingers lightly in front of your face, his brow furrowed.