The weeks that followed were nothing short of a torrent.
Noah had yet to resume full mobility, but his recovery had progressed far enough that he could manage daily life—light movement, light exercise—without his crutches.
Quietly, without fanfare, he returned to his suite on the 15th floor.
Three days remained until the audition. Four until the charity gala.
It was early evening when summer's long light began to lean toward dusk.
Jinwoo, on his way to the set, stepped off the elevator onto the 20th floor—his presence as familiar as a second heartbeat.
In the living room, Celeste and Daniel sat side by side, finalizing the last of the audition briefings.
Across from them, Noah lounged with casual disinterest, flicking through pages with one hand and a look that said he was anywhere but here.
A precise timeline glowed across the screen. Documents lay spread across the table: participant rosters, hotel routes, guest lists layered like translucent glass.
"You're here," Celeste greeted softly, her smile as quiet as the room.
Jinwoo settled beside her, leaving a brief kiss against her brow—gentle, unhurried.
"Just dropping by. Wanted to see you… before I get pulled back into chaos."
From the opposite couch, Noah smirked.
"Didn't you drop by this morning too? At this point, why not just move into the maid's room? I'm telling you—after a week in there, it's surprisingly livable."
"Right. Shut up, Malfoy," Jinwoo said without so much as glancing his way.
Jinwoo glanced sideways, watching her flip through pages, completely absorbed.Her furrowed brow, the delicate stillness in her focus—he took it in silently.
Then, gently, he said:
"I know you're buried in work… but promise me you won't skip another meal."
"I won't."
With one hand cradling her cheek, Jinwoo leaned in, brushing featherlight kisses across her skin—each one a whisper of affection, slow and reverent, like poetry written in touch.
Noah, watching, gave an exaggerated shake of his head.
Jinwoo caught it. With a grin, he pointed.
"I'm watching you."
"Oh sure, take your sweet time. But the second that door closes behind you? That hug's mine."
He lifted a single middle finger in farewell, then turned toward the door.
The sound of it closing echoed like a comma.
A breath later, Noah muttered:
"God...Welcome to life. One sleeps with her, the other gets judged for breathing."
He barely finished the sentence before the mood in the room shifted.
Celeste lifted her head from the screen.
Daniel exhaled, turned his gaze.
"…What did you just say?"
Their voices overlapped—low, leveled, but taut. The air grew dense.
Noah blinked, visibly caught off guard.
"…Huh?"
He sat up, folding the document across his knee, scratching the back of his neck.
"I—uh… wow. That was so bad, even my best lie packed its bags and left."
The silence that followed was oddly heavy.
The only sound was the hum of the air conditioning, the blinking cursor beneath the screen.
Noah opened and closed his water bottle, glancing around, as if hoping someone would laugh.
No one did.
Celeste's stare carved a clean line into the stillness.
Daniel's expression, while composed, had begun to cool.
For a moment, no one said a word.
The paused timeline glowed quietly on the wall, like something watching them back.
Noah cleared his throat, tapped a cushion, and offered, weakly:
"…Sooo, drinks, anyone? Call it a night?"
Daniel's eyes flicked toward Celeste.
She took a beat—then gave a soft, slow nod.
With that nod, the tension thinned—like ink dispersing in water.
A wordless agreement to let the weariness win, just for tonight.
And so, the night opened.