They lingered long after the rooftop lights dimmed, city spread beneath them like spilled stars.
Neither wanted to be the first to move.
Yoon Ha-rin finally broke the silence with a half-laugh.
"Do you realize we've technically worked overtime for three hours?"
Kang Jae-hyun smiled. "If you're charging by the hour, I'll approve it personally."
"Then it's my most expensive project yet."
"Worth every won," he said, and it sounded so genuine she couldn't think of a clever reply.
---
When the cool air grew colder, he glanced at her sleeves.
"You're freezing."
"I'm fine."
He shook his head, shrugging off his jacket. "Take it."
"Director Kang, that's—"
"Jae-hyun," he corrected softly, draping it around her shoulders.
The fabric was warm, faintly smelling of cedar and rain.
Ha-rin looked down, smiling despite herself. "You really have no sense of personal space."
"Then maybe you should stop standing in it."
She laughed — the kind that made his heart feel oddly light, like the world had finally given him permission to breathe.
---
They left the building together, walking beneath streetlamps still wet from the storm.
Nova City looked different at this hour — quieter, almost shy.
Ha-rin's heels clicked lightly against the pavement, echoing between empty storefronts.
"Hungry?" he asked suddenly.
"At midnight?"
"There's a café near the bridge. Best ramen and terrible jazz music."
She raised an eyebrow. "You like terrible jazz?"
"I like things that make noise when the world's supposed to be quiet."
"Then you must really like me," she teased.
He laughed, low and sincere. "You have no idea."
---
At the café, the lights were soft, the counter sleepy.
They sat across from each other, steam curling between them from two bowls of ramen.
He handed her chopsticks. "Don't judge my cooking choice."
"I wasn't. I'm just impressed the great Kang Jae-hyun eats instant noodles like mortals."
"Mortals taste better food," he said, smiling.
She almost choked laughing. "That sounded very villain-energy."
"Then you must be my redemption arc."
"Please stop before I drop my chopsticks."
But she was smiling too wide to stop him.
---
Later, walking her home, the city's hum had softened to a lullaby.
They stopped under the small awning of her apartment gate, the night quiet except for the dripping of rain from the roof edge.
Ha-rin hesitated, holding his jacket tighter.
"You're impossible to hate, you know that?"
He tilted his head. "So I should stop trying to be likable?"
"You're already failing miserably at that."
He laughed — and then stepped closer, his voice low.
"Then maybe you can just… like me instead."
She looked up, heart thudding so loud she was sure he could hear it.
The world shrank to the space between their breaths.
No grand speeches this time. No hesitation.
Just a quiet moment where laughter turned into stillness — and stillness turned into something warm enough to outlast the rain.
He reached out, brushing her cheek with his thumb, eyes searching hers as if memorizing this new version of her — the one who finally let him in.
"Goodnight, Ha-rin," he whispered.
"Goodnight, Jae-hyun."
He started to walk away, but her voice stopped him.
"You forgot something."
He turned. "What?"
She smiled, holding out his jacket. "Your excuse to see me again tomorrow."
---
He took it slowly, fingers brushing hers one last time.
"That's not an excuse," he said. "That's a promise."
And when he finally walked into the misty streetlight, Ha-rin stood there for a long while, smiling —
because for the first time in forever, tomorrow didn't feel heavy anymore.