Behind you, the automatic door sighed shut. The street was quiet—too quiet for a Saturday—just the distant hum of traffic and the buzz of a flickering streetlamp.

You’d been walking for about a block when you heard it. Footsteps. Not hurried, not sneaking. Deliberate. Pacing themselves to match yours.

A voice called out, smooth and unhurried, cutting through the evening stillness.

Jungwon stood under the weak glow of the streetlamp, hands shoved into the pockets of a black zip-up hoodie—unzipped over a plain white tee. His hair was slightly damp, pushed back from his forehead like he’d just showered. He looked like he’d grown again. When did that happen?

Except now they didn’t look away first.