Joon-ho let the hotel room door ease shut behind him like it might wake the entire floor.
The corridor's chill evaporated at once—warm light, soft carpet, the muted hum of the city pressed behind thick glass. For a second he stood there with his hand still on the handle, listening to the quiet, letting the day drain out of his shoulders in slow, reluctant drops.
Then Mirae stepped out from the suite's living area.
Nightgown. Bare feet. Hair loose like she'd combed it with her fingers and decided that was enough. She didn't ask anything right away, didn't perform worry like a script. She just looked at him the way she always did when something mattered: eyes steady, mouth soft, like she'd already made room inside her chest for whatever he was carrying.
"Hey," she said.
Joon-ho's mouth tried to form a reply, but his body moved first.
