We stepped into the kitchen together—quiet, dim, but filled with the soft hum of something unspoken between us.
Joonseo walked over to the fridge, pulling ingredients like he knew exactly what to make. Maybe he did. Maybe he'd been watching me more closely than I realized.
"I remember you like creamy pasta," he said, setting down a carton of cream and a box of fettuccine.
"You remembered?" I asked softly, sliding onto the tall kitchen stool.
He glanced at me over his shoulder, smiling slightly. "I remember everything when it comes to you."
For a second, I forgot to breathe.
He moved with ease, sleeves rolled up, hands confidently slicing, pouring, stirring. I sat there in silence, just watching him. Watching the man I shared a house with but sometimes felt a million miles away from.
But tonight… something was different.
He glanced at me again. "You okay?"
I nodded, resting my chin on my hand. "It's just strange."
"What is?"
