"Still the same old phone number, huh?" she said .
Sunghoon's heart clenched at her words.
He nodded quietly. He had never changed it—not once.
The fact that she still remembered his number by heart both warmed and wounded him. It was proof of how close they once were… and a reminder of everything that had slipped through his fingers.
"Good," Sonny said softly.
"I'll text you soon for coffee."
She hesitated, then added, almost casually,
"Do you live nearby? I heard you bought an apartment…"
At the mention of it, his chest tightened.
That apartment—empty, silent, untouched by warmth—felt more like a confession than a home.
"Yeah," he muttered.
"I have an apartment nearby."
The idea of her being so close—of possibly seeing her again more often—sent conflicting emotions crashing through him. Hope tangled with fear. Longing with self-protection. He hid it all behind a practiced calm.
She studied him again, concern returning to her eyes.
"Do… you… need some help with your apartment?"
She hesitated.
"I mean… judging by the way you look… I suppose it might not be in its best shape."
His shoulders drooped slightly.
She wasn't wrong.
The apartment had become a reflection of him—untidy, neglected, hollow. He had let it fall apart the same way he had.
He wanted to deny it. To say something sharp. Something defensive.
But the worry in her eyes stopped him.
"It's… a bit messy," he admitted quietly.
"I haven't really had the motivation to keep it clean."
She nodded slowly, understanding written all over her face.
"Yeah… I can tell."
She paused.
"You could hire some help. They could come once a week while you're at work. I have some contacts but—"
"No."
He shook his head immediately, pride flaring up before he could stop it.
"I don't need help," he said firmly.
"I can handle things on my own."
The words came out harsher than he intended—born from stubbornness, from a need not to look weak in front of her.
"Oh…" Sonny said quickly.
"I was just… about to suggest… nothing. Nothing."
She looked away.
Regret hit him instantly.
"Wait," he said, softer this time.
"What were you about to say?"
She hesitated, fingers fidgeting with the edge of her bag.
"I just… thought that since I'm in your neighborhood…"
Her voice wavered.
"I could drop by. Like… now."
His heart stuttered.
"And we could clean up a bit," she continued, carefully.
"And cook something… and have dinner together."
Each word felt heavier than the last.
"And then," she added quietly,
"you'd drop me off… at my place."
She swallowed.
"Which is… our old apartment."
Everything inside him went still.
Cooking together.
Dinner.
Driving her home.
That home.
It all felt so painfully normal—like a life they used to live, a routine they had lost.
He wanted to say no.
Wanted to protect himself.
Wanted to keep the fragile walls around his heart intact.
But his heart betrayed him.
After a long moment, he exhaled.
"…Alright."