HAILEY

I feel heartbeats under my hand.

It takes me a moment to realize what I'm touching—warmth, steady and alive beneath my palm. I blink into the soft blur of morning, sunlight already prying its way through the tiny square window of Chloe and Yegi's basement. As my vision sharpens, I almost jolt upright.

My right hand rests on Yujin's chest, right where his heart should be. His left hand lies over mine, loose but protective, as if he placed it there in his sleep.

What on earth have I done?

We didn't drink last night. No excuses—just late laughter, cocoa, and too many hours of Ghibli magic until everyone surrendered to exhaustion. Yet somehow, this is where I've ended up: pressed into the futon beside him, tangled in the quiet intimacy of morning.

His breathing is slow, peaceful. The rise and fall of his chest rocks my hand in a rhythm that makes it hard to move away. A smile steals onto my lips before I can stop it.

The sunlight shifts, sliding across his face, gilding his features as though some artist painted him while the world slept. His nose—straight, elegant, sharp as if carved from marble. His jawline clean and defined, softened only by sleep. Lips curved in the faintest pout, full and unguarded. And his lashes—absurdly long, a dark fringe resting against his skin. If he were a girl, he'd still be beautiful. But he's not—he's Yujin, the most handsome boy I've ever seen in my life, and I hate that thought makes my heart flutter dangerously.

I hold my breath as I carefully slide my hand from his grasp. Every nerve in my body screams to leave it there, to let his fingers stay locked with mine, to pretend this moment is allowed to stretch forever. But reality barges in, harsh and unwelcome: messy hair, yesterday's clothes, the certainty of embarrassment if he wakes like this.

He stirs—just a twitch beneath my touch—and I panic, freezing. His brow furrows as if the sunlight disturbs him. Then he goes still again. Relief makes me reckless; my arm hovers, almost reaching out to shield his face from the light.

What are you thinking, Haeri? If you don't leave now, it'll be too late.

I scramble quietly from the futon, careful not to wake the others. Taeho snores with reckless abandon beside Yujin, one leg hanging off the mattress. Nagyeong is curled next to where I was, breathing soft and steady, her hair spilling across the blanket. Minchan already drove home last night, lucky him.

I snatch up my tiny blue backpack, creep to the door. The hinges betray me with a long, aching screech, and I wince, praying no one stirs. Not even Yujin. Especially not him. If I had Harry Potter's invisibility cloak, or better, the ability to apparate straight into the crisp December streets, I'd trade anything for it now.

Outside, the morning air bites sharp against my cheeks. Freedom tastes like cold oxygen, but my mind betrays me. I can't stop imagining him beside me, the two of us sneaking out for the new movie playing at the cinema today. He'd love it. He'd laugh in all the right places, probably argue about the soundtrack on the way home.

What am I thinking?

I should be thinking about the interview. About suits and handshakes and whatever trick of fate led an accounting firm to schedule my final round on Christmas Day. After months of preparation, after every mock question and late-night practice, this is it. I must pass.

And yet—I hate interviews. The sterile rooms, the measuring eyes, the rehearsed answers. They strip me bare. They remind me I'm not built for this world of corporate ladders and polished masks.

No matter what, before I turn thirty, I'll open my bookstore. That dream is my rope out of this nightmare. Rows of shelves instead of rows of cubicles. The quiet music of pages turning instead of keyboards clicking. A place that feels like me.

But right now, as I walk down the silent street with my backpack cutting into my shoulder, the echo of Yujin's heartbeat still lingers against my palm.

--++*++--

EUGENE

Haeri is gone when I wake.

Her absence feels louder than the faint hum of the fridge in the corner of the basement unit, louder than the muffled shuffle of Yegi's slippers in the kitchen. The blanket beside me is already cool, but the ghost of her lingers—her lavender scent faintly sweet on the mattress, the memory of her hand threaded through mine.

I wasn't drunk last night. I remember everything too clearly. The way she drifted off before me, curled onto her side, facing me. Her lashes lowered, resting like small shadows on her cheeks. The strands of her hair spilling across her face had drawn me in. I reached out, hesitant, to tuck them behind her ear—fingers trembling with the weight of a decision that wasn't mine to make. My lips nearly brushed hers before I pulled back. She was asleep. I couldn't take advantage of that.

And then—without warning—her arm slipped over me.

My chest clenched so hard it hurt. For a second, I wondered if she meant it. Was she teasing me even in her sleep? Testing me? Or was it just me, turning a dream into something more than it was?

Haeri-ah, you can't blame me, I wanted to whisper. You were the one who reached out first.

I closed my palm around hers, gently, like it was a promise, and rolled onto my back. I rested our joined hands against my chest, stealing glances at her face, checking if she stirred. She didn't. Relief poured through me, warm and dizzying, and I dared to lace our fingers tighter.

My heart hammered against my ribs so loudly I thought it might wake her. It beat in frantic syllables: I like you. I want you. I hope you feel the same.

The blue glow of my phone screen read 02:02. The symmetry of the numbers felt like fate. I prayed then—me, who never prayed for anything. To Heaven. To God. To anyone listening. I begged for a future with her. For peace, love, luck, success—but mostly, I wished for her.

You'll never know, Haeri, how suddenly I've become superstitious. How suddenly faith doesn't seem so far away. Because in that moment, everything in my life bent toward you.

--++*++--

Now she's avoiding me. I know it.

The excuse she sent this morning—personal plans—feels flimsy, especially after what happened last night. She must have woken up before me, seen how close we were, maybe even noticed our hands still knotted together. And instead of teasing me or calling me out, she just... disappeared.

I keep refreshing our group chat, watching the messages stack up with half-hearted emojis. We can't find a common time to meet today, so everyone agrees to push the hangout to tomorrow. Taeho says he's too tired anyway, goes home for another nap. Lucky him. My chest is too restless for sleep. My mind keeps drifting between Haeri and the other looming worry—jobs.

The mall is warmer than outside, a wash of cinnamon candle displays and artificial pine garlands strung along the railings. Christmas carols pipe through tinny ceiling speakers, cheerful and hollow. I walk without aim, hands shoved in my pockets, passing shopfronts with their shuttered gates and CLOSED FOR HOLIDAY signs taped on.

Not many places are open today, but the gift shops are—bright little caves crammed with plush toys, snow globes, shelves of trinkets no one really needs but still somehow buys. I step into one, welcomed by the faint scent of new paper and polished wood. Keychains glint from spinning racks; rows of stationery line the walls; ceramic mugs smile back with cartoon reindeer faces.

I pick one thing up, set it down. Another. My mind isn't on souvenirs—it's on her.

I told myself after finals I'd focus on practical things: applications, interviews, the hunt for steady shifts. And I did. Customer service, cashier, tearista, food stall worker. Dozens of forms filled, resumes emailed. Only one reply so far—Michaels, the art supply store. The short interview went well, or at least I think it did. A week has passed since then. No callback. The silence eats at me, but I keep telling myself: stay motivated. Stay patient.

Still, as I stand here in the soft glow of this souvenir shop, fingering a small silver charm shaped like a star, I realize what I want more than a paycheck right now is something for Haeri. Something she won't expect. Something I can hand her on New Year's Eve, even if our group doesn't meet.

Because I will ask her out.

Not as friends. Not as groupmates.

As a date.

Enough waiting.

--++*++--

As I step out of the souvenir shop, tucking the small paper bag deeper into my coat pocket, a familiar figure intercepts me. My heart jerks as if someone has caught me red-handed, but it's only Harris, the new IT guy.

"Hey, Eugene!" he calls, his hand lifted in an awkward but friendly wave. The other clutches a crinkled Walmart bag, heavy with groceries.

Relief loosens my shoulders. For a second, I thought someone had found out about my little secret—about the gift I'm hiding for Haeri. If the group had met up here today, I could've introduced him properly. A new face to balance Tamara and Chloe's chaos. Instead, it's just the two of us, standing under the hum of fluorescent lights.

"Hey, Harris," I reply, waiting for him to close the distance. "You just done shopping?"

He nods, breath fogging faintly as he exhales. "Yeah. Out of ingredients. You?"

"I just wander around," I say, shoving my hands into my pockets. "Friends are busy with their own stuff today."

"They left you alone?" Harris chuckles, steering us toward the food court. The scent of frying oil and sugar wafts over as we approach. "Well, I happen to have free time. Holiday and nothing to do. Any ideas?"

He has this way of smoothing things over, making you feel less pathetic about yourself.

"Well..." I hesitate, then confess, "There's a new movie today. Avatar: Season Three. I was gonna see it with a... friend. But she had other plans."

"A friend, huh?" He tries to hide his grin, failing completely. A laugh slips out anyway, and I feel my ears warm. Anyone would laugh at my half-baked plan. Girl ditches boy. Classic.

"We're... not yet." I rake my fingers through my short hair, trying to shrug it off. "Anyway, enough about me. Let's grab a bite. I'm hungry."

He nods, still smiling. "Fine. I'm starving too."

We end up in line for donair poutine—the one stall in this small city worth the wait. The fryer hisses, voices echo off the high ceilings, and Harris starts talking about tech. He tells me how he's applied to countless companies, always eliminated in the last round. Still, he's better off than me; at least he has his TA job to fall back on.

Not that I need a part-time job for living expenses, but I want one badly. I want to work, to earn something of my own, so Haeri won't feel like she has to hesitate with me. So she can talk about her long shifts, her exhaustion, without thinking I'll never understand.

That's all I want—for her to tell me everything.

We carry our trays to a corner table. The poutine arrives hot, the steam carrying the smell of gravy and spiced meat. Harris eats quickly, fork scraping against the carton, half his plate gone before I've even cooled my first bite. His lean frame doesn't match his appetite, but then again, people rarely match what you assume about them.

"By the way," I ask, "did you find a long-term rental yet?"

"I did," he says, swallowing another mouthful. "I'm renting with Andy—I mean Taeho. Sorry, I'm more used to the English names. And another guy, a business senior... Minchan? Three bedrooms."

So that's where Taeho's moving. It's good, actually. The three of them will help each other out. I need to find a new place too. My current sublet is chaos—Jung Sumin's clutter spilling everywhere, the late-night parties, the cigarette smoke soaked into the curtains. I can't keep living like that.

"Why do you ask?" Harris's question snaps me back. He's nearly finished his plate already.

"Oh, I'm looking too," I admit. "Can't stand my apartment anymore."

"I see. Wish I could help, but if not for Andy, I'd still be couch-surfing."

"No worries," I say, spearing a piece of donair meat with my fork. "I've got a few contacts. Just waiting on replies."

"Then let's hope for the best."

We lapse into silence, chewing, watching people peel away from the food court. Families bundled in coats, kids tugging at parents' sleeves, couples carrying bags toward the parking lot or the bus stop. One by one, the tables empty. The air feels thinner, the buzz quieting as Christmas evening draws everyone home to their loved ones.

Exactly where I want to be.