Good Boy

The knock came just after nine in the morning.

Eunbi was in the kitchen, barefoot on the cool wooden floor, waiting for the coffee maker to finish its slow, sputtering ritual. The morning light was still soft, still golden, pouring through the big windows and catching the dust motes floating lazily in the air. She'd been awake for an hour already — a habit she couldn't seem to break, even on vacation — and had spent most of that hour thinking about the night before.

Not the movie. The movie had been fine. Some American rom-com that Hana had insisted was "a classic" and that Leo had slept through most of. No, what she'd been thinking about was the way Hana had curled up next to her on the sofa, her head eventually finding its way to Eunbi's shoulder. The way Leo had watched them from his armchair, his expression unreadable in the flickering light of the TV. The way Eunbi had let her hand rest on Hana's knee during the "sad part" and Hana hadn't moved away.

She'd been thinking about how natural it had felt. How easy. How the three of them had settled into each other's orbits like they'd been doing this for years instead of days.

The coffee maker gurgled its last gurgle. Eunbi reached for a mug.

And then the knock.

Not Hana's knock. Hana's knock was three quick raps, cheerful and rhythmic, the kind of knock that announced itself before it even landed. This was two knocks. Harder. More urgent. The kind of knock that meant something.

Eunbi set the mug down and crossed the living room. She was still in what she'd thrown on after her shower — the outfit she'd picked out with no particular plan other than it's hot and I'm on vacation and I can wear whatever I want. A sheer white long-sleeved blouse with delicate lace trim along the edges and soft ruffles that cascaded down the front, tied loosely at the center so it hung open across her chest and midriff. Underneath, a fitted turquoise bra top that hugged her curves and made the sheer overlay look almost intentional. Below, a short white pleated mini skirt that flared lightly around her hips and ended well above her knees.

It was a lot of look for nine in the morning. She knew that. She didn't care.

She opened the door.

Leo stood on her deck, and the first thing she noticed was that he looked terrible. Not ugly — Leo couldn't look ugly if he tried — but wrecked. His hair was a mess, like he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly. His t-shirt was wrinkled, one sleeve slightly twisted like he'd grabbed it in a hurry. His eyes were a little too wide, a little too bright, and there was a flush creeping up his neck that had nothing to do with the morning heat.

He looked, Eunbi thought, like a man who hadn't slept.

"Leo?" She stepped aside instinctively, making room in the doorway. "What's wrong? Is Hana okay?"

"Hana's fine." His voice was rougher than usual. Strained. "She went to the market. She's going to be gone for a couple of hours."

He didn't come in. He stood there on the deck, one hand gripping the doorframe like he needed it for balance, and he looked at her — really looked at her — and there was something in his eyes she hadn't seen before. Not just desire. Not just the stolen glances she'd grown accustomed to. Something rawer. Something that had already broken through whatever walls he usually kept up.

"Can I come in?"

Eunbi stepped back. He walked past her into the living room, and she closed the door behind him, and the click of the latch felt louder than it should have. Final. Like something was about to start that couldn't be stopped.

He didn't sit. He paced to the middle of the room, stopped, turned to face her, and then seemed to forget what he was going to do next. His hands went to his pockets, then came out again. He ran one through his hair.

"Leo." She kept her voice calm. Steady. The voice she used when a junior idol was panicking before a stage. "You're scaring me a little. What's going on?"

He took a breath. Held it. Let it out.

"You're not Sumin."

The words landed like stones dropped into still water. Eunbi felt the ripples spread through her chest — surprise, yes, but also something else. Something that felt almost like relief.

She didn't deny it. She didn't flinch. She just tilted her head slightly and looked at him, waiting.

"Your real name," he continued, and now the words were coming faster, tumbling out like he'd been holding them back for days and couldn't anymore. "It's Kwon Eunbi. You're famous. You're— I found videos. Last night. I couldn't sleep, and I was just scrolling, and a video came up on my feed. Some music festival. You were on stage. In this white top that was soaking wet, and it was—" He stopped. Swallowed. His eyes dropped to her chest, then jerked back up. "—it was basically see-through. And there were hundreds of thousands of views. Millions, maybe. And comments. So many comments. And I watched it. All of it. And then I watched another one, and another one, and then I found your Wikipedia page and your Instagram and—"

He stopped again. His chest was heaving slightly, like he'd been running.

"I know who you are."

The silence that followed was deep and complicated. The coffee maker beeped in the kitchen, finished with its cycle. Outside, a seabird cried, high and distant.

Eunbi folded her arms. Not defensively — thoughtfully. She leaned one hip against the back of the sofa and studied him.

"How many videos did you watch?"

"What?"

"How many? Three? Ten? Twenty?"

His jaw tightened. "I don't know. A lot."

"And you came here. To my door. First thing in the morning. While your girlfriend is at the market."

He didn't answer. He didn't need to.

"Leo." She said his name slowly, letting it fill the space between them. "Why did you come here?"

The question hung in the air. He looked at her, and she could see the war happening behind his eyes — the part of him that wanted to lie, to make up some excuse about confronting her about the fake name, about feeling deceived. And the part of him that was too tired to lie, too wound up, too desperate.

"Because I couldn't stop thinking about it," he said finally. "About you. About those videos. About—" He gestured vaguely, helplessly, at her. At all of her. "About this."

"This," she repeated.

"You. Here. Being... you. And I couldn't pretend I didn't know anymore. I had to tell you. I had to—" He stopped. Exhaled hard through his nose. "I don't know what I had to do. I just know I had to come."

Eunbi pushed off from the sofa. She didn't walk toward him — not yet. She walked to the kitchen instead, slow and easy, and poured herself a cup of coffee. She didn't offer him any. She took a sip, let the warmth settle in her chest, and turned back to face him.

"Most people," she said, "when they find out they've been living next door to someone famous, they ask for an autograph. Or a selfie. They don't show up at my door looking like they haven't slept, talking about how they watched all my videos."

"I'm not most people."

"No," she agreed. "You're not."

Another sip of coffee. She set the mug down on the breakfast bar, the ceramic making a soft, definitive sound against the wood.

"You know what I think?" she said. "I think you didn't come here to confront me about the fake name. I think you came here because you watched those videos, and you couldn't stop watching them, and now you can't look at me without seeing me on that stage. Wet. Nearly spilling out of my top. And you needed to see me in person to... what? Confirm that it's real? That I'm real?"

She took a step toward him. Just one.

"Or did you come here hoping something else would happen?"

Leo's breathing had gone shallow. She could see the rise and fall of his chest, the way his hands had curled into loose fists at his sides. He was looking at her, and she was looking at him, and the air between them felt charged, electric, like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks.

"I don't know," he said. His voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't know why I came."

"Yes, you do."