We step off the gondola, and for a moment, neither of us speaks.

The air is cool, edged with the damp breath of the river, but the cobbled streets glow gold beneath the streetlamps, warm like a memory. People move around us in a blur—couples arm-in-arm, families trailing laughter, friends snapping pictures as if they can bottle the evening before it slips away. It all moves too fast, like a film sped up for effect. Except us. We're moving in slow motion, somehow outside the tempo of the city.

Haeri walks beside me in silence, her hair still slightly tousled from the breeze up high. Her scarf is loosely looped, one end fluttering behind her. She doesn't say anything, but she doesn't need to. There's something unspoken tethering us in the quiet: the echo of her voice in the cabin, the things she shared, the way I wanted—still want—to reach out and fold her into my arms.

But I know I can't. I'm not in that place with her. Not yet. Not really.

She brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and I remember what she said earlier, about pretending to be afraid just to hold someone's hand. I look down at mine. Then at hers. Our steps are in sync. The space between us is the width of an idea. I could reach over. I could close it.

I start to.

But she drifts a step ahead.

Music cuts through the chatter, thin and silver, threading the air like light.

Haeri slows. Her head tilts, eyes narrowing slightly in the direction of the sound. She turns. I follow her gaze.

A violinist is playing beneath the arch of a stone alleyway, just off the main square. Her case is open on the ground, flecked with coins, and behind her, the shadows pool like a stage curtain. She's young—maybe our age—with a red beanie and fingerless gloves, the bow gliding with effortless grace across the strings. And the song—

Can You Feel the Love Tonight.

Of course. The notes swell, unmistakable even without lyrics, rich and aching and tender. It's too sentimental. It's perfect.

Haeri stands still in front of her, not close enough to interrupt, but close enough that the music wraps around her like a shawl. Her eyes are fixed on the violinist, but her expression softens into something else—like a memory unfolding.

I stand beside her, but I don't watch the musician.

My gaze lingers on her—the way the golden lamplight softens the gentle round of her cheeks, catches faintly at the slope of her nose, wraps her in a warmth the night can't quite steal. Her expression is open—eyes distant, mouth curved in something between thought and memory, like she's listening with her whole soul.

"She's good," Haeri murmurs, almost to herself. "Her bow work's clean... I used to play violin."

That catches me off guard. I turn my head a little, keeping my gaze on her.

She goes on, voice low. "Stopped before college. Life got... louder. And I wanted to save money for other things. My parents still cover my tuition. Back home, that's... a lot."

She doesn't say it with bitterness, just honesty. A small fact tucked inside a life that's probably heavier than she lets on.

"There's something about violin," she adds after a beat. "It always feels like it's crying and dreaming at the same time."

God.

Books. Music. Poetry. She's all the things I pretend I don't need, and suddenly they're the only things I want.

I glance down again at her hand, just hanging there, still just out of reach. How do I end up walking next to a girl like her?

Wait. I'm doing it again. Thinking like we're already dating.

We're not.

But it feels like we are.

The violin rises into the chorus again, fuller this time, aching with something nameless and familiar. Around us, the city keeps spinning—laughter, headlights, hurried footsteps—but I'm rooted in this moment, beside this girl, with music curling at our ankles, the scent of wet stone and roasted chestnuts trailing after it.

She doesn't move.

Neither do I.

--++*++--

The walk back from Old Montreal is slow and scattered, our group swaying between sidewalks and slushy puddles. Laughter clings to us—bright, sticky—echoing off stone facades like we've borrowed the night. Tamara swings the brown SAQ bag like it's holding treasure, not three bottles of soju that still glisten with cold.

By the time we reach the Airbnb, our cheeks are pink from the cold. The place smells like a strange mix of Montreal's winter air, leftover ramen, and Tamara's expensive floral perfume—still lingering despite the chaos of coats and boots. Fairy lights blink gold over the sagging sofa bed.

The circle forms naturally, bodies slouching over mismatched cushions. The table's littered with half-drunk bottles and greasy snack bags. Someone's playlist hums behind the curtain, nearly drowned by rising laughter. We're playing truth or dare. I'm not a fan, but Chloe and Yegi—probably Tamara too—insisted.

Yegi draws a card and shrieks. "Have you ever had a crush on a celebrity older than your dad?" she reads aloud. Laughter bursts. "Jung Woosung! And maybe... Keanu Reeves?" Tamara raises her cup. "Respect."

"Oh my god," Haeri laughs, folded into herself, ponytail messy. Her hoodie's white with tiny strawberries. It's oversized. Might be Tamara's.

I wish it were mine.

Shut up, brain.

Taeho pulls a dare—obviously. "Text your girlfriend a cheesy line." He groans, types while shielding the screen, cheeks pink. The phone buzzes.

"She replied with seventeen hearts," he mumbles, red-faced.

Chloe blinks at her card. "Three shots? That's excessive." She rolls her eyes, mutters something about how she's the designated featherweight, but she does it anyway, chasing each one with a grimace and a piece of honey butter chip. Her cheeks flush immediately.

Haeri's card: a truth. "Tell everyone about a secret relationship," Chloe reads aloud, almost too quickly. There's a beat of silence. 

Haeri smiles like it's no big deal. "I used to flirt with a boy in a game. Voice chat, stupid texts. Never met. I think he catfished me. Or I catfished myself. It only lasted a month."

Yegi squeals. "Aww, gaming romance!"

I wonder what game she plays. Half-wish it were me.

Everyone laughs, including Chloe. But I notice the quick way Chloe glances at me.

My turn.

I pick a dare, hoping to dodge anything about my heart. I pray for something light, then regret it instantly when I see it.

"Give the person on your right-hand side a compliment. While maintaining eye contact."

It's Haeri. Of course it is, because we've been switching turns clockwise. She tilts her head at me with that same unreadable grin she always wears when the spotlight hits. Her cheeks are a bit pink already.

I clear my throat, trying to hold her gaze, but my voice stalls. I search for something safe and stupid and not like what I'm actually thinking. "You..." I run a hand through my hair. "You make people feel like they matter. Like you're really listening. It's... rare."

It's true. But it's also not everything I want to say.

The room hushes for just a second. I watch her. She holds the eye contact, doesn't flinch. Then she smiles. "Thanks, Yujin."

It's the way she says my name. I wish to hear it again.

Tamara goes next. A question about regret. She leans back, crosses her legs, twirls her empty shot glass in her palm and delivers a smooth answer about regretting not standing up for herself once in high school. It feels clean. Controlled. Like she chose that regret carefully.

The game loops back to Haeri. Her question makes the group lean in. "What's something you've never told anyone?"

She scratches her neck, her voice light. "Some of you girls already know. Not the boys. There's one thing I haven't told the girls yet, but I told Yujin already, so that doesn't count, right?"

Yegi gasps, dramatic. "WHAT!!! TELL US!"

Haeri shrugs. "Not part of the game, so shhh." A finger on her lips. Then she pulls a dare instead.

Her brows rise. "Do a dare with the person next to you of a different gender." She eyes me. "That's you, maknae."

"What is it?"

She unfolds it and grins. "Whisper something in their ear that makes them blush."

"Ohhh!" The circle howls.

My stomach knots. She turns to me with a teasing glint in her eyes. "Help noona out, okay? Even if it's not blush-worthy, fake it so I can pass."

I nod once, but I'm already holding my breath.

She leans in. Her breath is warm, scented faintly of strawberries and lotion. Then, close to my ear—her voice, low, secret, just for me:

"I've thought about your lips on my neck. Your hands gripping my waist like you're scared to let go. You've thought about it, haven't you? I wonder how long you'd last if I asked you not to stop."

I shiver. I don't mean to. It just happens. My ears burn. The back of my neck feels like it's on fire. I can't move. Her lips linger a moment longer. Then she pulls back with the same innocent smile she's worn all night.

And then silence. Except for the lingering heat of her breath. Everyone stares. Yegi has her hands over her mouth. Chloe watches me too long, like she's calculating something.

Yegi squeals. "YUJIN. OH MY GOD. WHAT DID SHE SAY?"

I blink twice, but I can't look at Haeri. Not yet. Not without combusting. I reach for the bottle. Taeho and I get the exception of not drinking, but I need it.

Taeho chuckles low, like he's been there. "He's broken," he grins. "Don't worry, bro. Happens to the best of us. She's got serious game."

I draw a truth next. I think it'll be safer. Or easier to dodge.

It's not.

Tamara squints at the card in my hand. Her lips part slightly, already anticipating the tension. I glance down and read it aloud, voice flat.

"Tell us about your current or most recent crush."

The world holds still.

The card might as well burst into flames. Everyone's watching—expectant, half-amused. The flicker of interest in Yegi's tilted head. The sudden stillness of Haeri beside me—though she keeps smiling, like she always does. Chloe's smile stretches wider, but there's no kindness in it.

I feel my pulse climb into my throat.

I reach for the glass instead. The burn of alcohol feels like a cleaner answer.

"I'll pass," I say simply.

Chloe lets out a pointed breath, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. "Seriously?" she says, head tipping to one side, earrings swaying like sharp punctuation. "It's just a game, freshie."

I open my mouth—maybe to say I'm still passing, maybe to joke it off—but the glass is already gone.

Haeri lifts it cleanly from my hand like it belongs to her.

She downs it in one go. Everyone freezes.

Chloe's voice cuts through it first. "That wasn't your dare," she says sharply, eyes narrowing. "You can't just—take his place like that."

Haeri sets the glass back down with a tiny clink. She shrugs one shoulder, still smiling. "Maknae has an exception," she says, cool and unbothered. "You set that rule yourself."

I stare at her. Not sure if I'm supposed to thank her or call her out. I do neither. My mouth's too dry.

The faint blush in her cheeks could be the alcohol or the warmth of the room—or maybe it's nothing. Her eyes meet mine for a fraction too long before she looks away again, brushing invisible dust from her skirt.

Tamara's turn next. The question lands hard. "Tell a secret of someone here."

Before she speaks, Chloe pipes up, voice sticky-sweet. "To be fair, you don't get to pick who." She gestures lazily. "Let the bottle decide."

Tamara pauses, eyes narrowing just slightly. But she reaches for the bottle anyway. One spin. It lands on Haeri.

Tamara's face is unreadable. Haeri watches her. Tamara's expression doesn't flicker. But Haeri shifts slightly, hand curling tighter around her glass. A beat too long. They share something between them—past or pact. I can't tell.

Tamara says smoothly. "I don't know any of her secrets."

Chloe, slouched against a cushion, barks out a laugh. "Liar. You do."

Chloe blinks once, then slumps sideways, her head thudding against the armrest. She's out cold.

Tamara sighs, eyes flicking to the ceiling. "We should stop. The game's over. Let's clean up."

No one argues.

Chloe snores. Yegi stretches and falls into the sofa-bed like a marionette with cut strings. Haeri gathers cups. Taeho heads toward the balcony. I start picking up the wrappers.

My ears still burn.

"What the hell was that?" I mutter to myself.

The glass in my hand catches the light from the string of fairy bulbs curling along the ceiling—warped gold, trembling slightly in the water. I stare into it like it might offer answers. It doesn't.

I step into the kitchen, start stacking paper plates and empty chip bags into a trash bag. The quiet is heavy. Not peace—something unfinished.

Haeri's whisper lingers in my ear, warm and haunting.

I close my eyes, just for a second. Her breath still lingers, ghostlike against my skin.

Tomorrow, I'll pretend it meant nothing.

But tonight, I know better.