The Surprise Guest

You think it’s been three weeks.

The date on your phone says it’s your birthday but right now it’s just another Tuesday.

You can’t help but at the cracked screen of your phone, the photo of Jen still there. A picture you took while on a date in some random café. It was now a relic from the last time you felt alive.

The breakup wasn’t dramatic or some big scene.

She had sat across from you at the kitchen table with her hands folded.

“I think we’ve become different people. I don’t see a future here… a future with you anymore.” You asked for specifics. All you got were generic non-answers.

None of it felt real.

It felt like she was reading statement she prepared for a meeting at work. When she got up to leave, she didn’t even hug you. She just have you a pat on the shoulder and walked out.

Then she walked out and when the door clicked shut. That’s when you just didn’t care about anything anymore.

For days, you didn’t leave your apartment. You ordered food you didn’t eat. You aimlessly doom scrolled for hours on end.

Your friend Sunghoon called every evening. His voice on the phone was a buoy in a flat, gray sea. “You’re alive. That’s a start. We build from there.”

You didn’t build. You just floated aimlessly in your own thoughts.

Sunghoon is a music producer. A very successful one, you’ve seen his name on credits for songs you’ve heard just about everywhere you go. He lives in a nice part of Seoul, it’s a place with a view that costs more than your entire monthly salary.

Two days ago, he decided that you needed a birthday party.

“It’s your birthday,” his tone leaving no room for debate. “You will be in my apartment and there will be people and there will be music. Dude, there will even be a cake for you that isn’t from a convenience store. This is not optional.”

You argued with him, fuck that. You said that you weren’t ready for crowds, weren’t for pretending to be okay. He cut you off. “You don’t have to pretend man. You can chill in a corner and people watch. But you will be here.”

So here you are at your birthday party in his apartment.

Sunghoon’s apartment is huge with it’s open floor plan. One entire side of it is just windows and another side has a balcony, all of it having a crazy view of Seoul at night. The music isn’t loud, just a some lounge music Sunghoon probably worked on. The place smells like citrus and smoke from both Sunghoon’s love of essential oils and the people smoking on the balcony.

You sit on a wide leather ottoman with your back against the wall holding a glass of something amber-colored that Sunghoon handed you. You haven’t sipped it. He said you could just sit in a corner and people watch, so that’s what you do.

Sunghoon really is a conductor as he moves through the room. He laughs with a group near the kitchen. He adjusts the volume on a speaker with a tap of his phone. He introduces people to each other with ease. He is clearly in his element.

You are most certainly not.

A woman with short dyed red hair approaches you. You know her as a friend of Sunghoon’s, someone you’ve met once before at some random gallery opening, her name is Chae, at least as far as you can remember.

“Sunghoon said you might be… still recovering.”

“He talks too much.”

Chae nods. She doesn’t try to fix it. She just stands there for a moment. “The view is better from the balcony. There’s less… people,” gesturing toward the sliding glass doors.

Less people sounds good so that’s where you go. You step out into the cool air with the distant noise of the city streets below. A couple of people are smoking while looking to be in some sort of romantic conversation. Those were the days. They glance at you, then return back to their convo.

You lean against the railing with the glass of whatever cool against your palm. You look down at the streets, the moving dots of cars, the patterns of lit windows. You just want this day to be over.

Sunghoon finds you ten minutes later. He comes out alone carrying his own drink and stands next to you at the railing. He doesn’t look at you, he just looks out onto the city.

“Sorry that it’s not a great party. That you’re not having a good time.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not. The vibe is too chill. I think I invited the wrong people,” taking a sip from his glass. “But it’s happening. That’s the important part.”

You turn your head to look at him.

“Why is it important?”

“Because you’re here. You’re outside your apartment. You’re breathing air that isn’t stale with your own misery. That’s why it’s important, it’s a building block.”

You don’t answer. You look back at the city.

“She called me,” Sunghoon says.

Your body stiffens. You don’t move.

“Jen?”

“Yeah. Two days ago. She asked me if you were okay.”

Nope. You definitely weren’t okay.

You wait.

“I told her you were alive. I told her that was the current status report. She asked if you were eating. I said I wasn’t your mother.” Sunghoon pauses. “She sounded… fine. Not sad. Not guilty. Just curious. Like checking the weather for a place she used to live.”

The metaphor is apt and makes your throat tight.

“Did you tell her about this?”

“Of course I didn’t man. This is your thing. Not hers. You don’t owe her shit. She made her choice. You get to make yours now. Starting with not letting a Tuesday be just a Tuesday.”

The music inside changes to a new track, the bass is now vibrating through the glass door.

“Come on inside dude. At least take a look at the cake. It’s a great cake. I paid a lot for it.”

You follow him back in. You can tell a few more people have arrived. You recognize a face from college, a guy who used to study film. He nods at you from across the room. You nod back.

The cake is on a table near the kitchen and you hate to admit it, but it look amazing. Definitely done by a professional. This should’ve been for someone else, someone who deserves it more.

Sunghoon claps his hands to get everyone’s attention.

“Okay everyone, who wants cake?”

People gather around the table. Some smile. Some look amused. Some just look interested in the cake. Sunghoon grabs a knife and starts cutting the cake.

“This is me, I’m forcing this slice of happiness upon you,” slicing a generous portion. He plates it and hands it to you.

You take it.

You don’t want cake.

You take it because it’s easier than saying no.

Someone, Chae maybe, tries to start the Happy Birthday song. It’s half-hearted, almost ironic. Sunghoon shakes his head.

“That was pathetic. Let’s never do that again.” People laugh. The tension breaks.

You take a bite. It’s rich. It’s good. The fact that it’s good feels like a minor betrayal. You deserve to be eating something tasteless.

Sunghoon watches you eat. He doesn’t comment. He just turns back to the cake, serving others.

For the next hour, you make a round through the apartment. You owe it to Sunghoon to at least do that. You do speak to a few people. You answer questions about your work, that you’re a copy editor for a technology company, a fact that feels embarrassing in this room of producers and artists. You listen to stories about projects, about trips, about studio tea. You nod. You smile when it seems required.

Sunghoon is always nearby. He doesn’t push you into conversations. He just makes sure you’re not alone in a corner for too long. He introduces you to a songwriter who talks about lyric structure for ten minutes. You don’t process any of it.

You shed your jacket as it starts to heat up as more people show up, leaving it on a chair by the window. You finally finish your drink. Sunghoon replaces it with another, something clear and fizzy. Guess he has you on the Kennedy Package from How I Met Your Mother.

“More social lubricant.”

You drink it. It tastes like lime and something minty.

You end your trip around the room sitting on a different ottoman that’s next to a booksheld. A photographer Sunghoon collaborates with sometimes, Soojin, sits on a stool next to you. She asks you about the book you’re pretending to look at on the shelf.

“Have you read that?”

“No.”

She gets the message loud and clear and just sips her drink as she quietly sits there.

You catch yourself thinking of Jen again as the time passes, what she’d be doing right now. Probably at home, reading. She liked quiet nights. You liked quiet nights with her. Now everything has been a different kind of quiet.

It’s empty.

Sunghoon comes to sit next to you on the ottoman. Soojin had left you to talk to someone else.

“How’s the social lubricant?”

“It’s… lubricating,” the attempt at humor feels hollow.

“Good. I have a surprise.”

“A surprise?”

“A guest. Someone you wouldn’t expect to be here. Someone I wouldn’t normally have at my apartment.” He checks his phone. “She should be getting here just about… now.”

You can’t help but be a little curious.

“Who?”

Sunghoon stands up.

“You’ll see. And don’t ask questions. Just… try to be normal or your version of normal, which currently is a fascinating study of a bookshelf.”

You follow his gaze to the closed door to the apartment while the buzz of the party continues.

Then the door opens.

A woman wearing a simple black dress steps inside.

Sunghoon goes to greet her.

“You made it!”

The woman smiles back you can tell the energy in the room changes a bit when people see her walk in.

Wait… you know her face. You’ve seen it on screens, on music videos, on variety shows. You’ve heard her voice on songs that play literally everywhere in Seoul.

It’s Giselle… from aespa.

Your brain freezes.

What the fuck?

She greets Sunghoon with a quick hug.

“Sunghoon! Thanks for inviting me. Sorry I’m late.”

“You have perfect timing,” Sunghoon guides her further into the apartment. “The party was getting way too mellow. You’re the cure.”

Giselle laughs and scans the room, scoping everything out. She nods at a few people who nod at her.

You remain on the ottoman. You watch. Your brain tries to process what’s happening. Giselle is here. In Sunghoon’s apartment. At your birthday party.

Sunghoon leads her toward the kitchen area, introducing her to a small cluster of people. She engages, smiling, shaking hands when offered. She looks like she belongs somewhere else with way more famous people, not here.

Sunghoon glances back at you. He gives a slight nod, telepathically saying to stay there. He continues talking to Giselle just as relaxed as one can be talking to someone like her. Maybe they’ve worked together.

You finish your drink leaving you slightly buzzed but you’re no longer stuck in your own head. You stand up from the ottoman. You don’t move toward Giselle. You move toward the window, looking out again at the city lights.

By the window you can people watch without being seen. Giselle moves through the room with Sunghoon. She stops to talk to the film graduate from your university and she looks genuinely engaged. She is performing, but the performance seems natural, effortless. It’s her job, after all, to be engaging with whoever and about whatever.

Eventually Sunghoon leaves Giselle next to the bookshelf to go talk to someone else. You watch Giselle check out a few out before putting them back. She turns and just looks around the party.

Her eyes briefly meet yours before you watch her walk out and lean against the railing to look out at the city.

You stay by the window and watch her. She is the surprise guest and Sunghoon’s plan, whatever it is, has introduced a new element into your stagnant equation. But, you haven’t met her. You haven’t spoken to her.

The party is still going strong.

Sunghoon was talking to the songwriter again, gesturing towards the speakers as if he was showing off. You watched from your spot near the window. Giselle remained on the balcony. You wondered what she was thinking. Probably nothing. Probably just taking a moment away from the crowd. You could relate.

You turned away from the window. Your glass was empty again. You considered going to the kitchen for water. Instead, you just stood there.

Then Sunghoon was beside you. His hand landed on your shoulder.

“You’ve been over here for a while bro, let’s go talk to someone.”

You looked at him. “Like who?”

“The surprise guest. You haven’t met her.”

“I saw her.”

“Seeing is not meeting. Meeting involves words. Possibly facial expressions.” He squeezed your shoulder. “Come on. She’s out there all alone. Perfect setting. Quiet. No audience.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s interesting. Because I invited her here for you, not for me.” He gave you a look that was uncharacteristically serious. “Trust me man.”

You didn’t have a reason to refuse. So you nodded.

Sunghoon took you by the arm and dragged you outside.

Sunghoon cleared his throat.

“Aeri.”

He really does know her since he’s calling her by her real name.

Aeri turned. The phone light vanished as she lowered the device.

“Sunghoon, what are you doing out here? You just escaping the noise?”

“Bringing you the birthday boy,” Sunghoon nudged you forward a step. “This is the friend. The one whose birthday we are technically celebrating, despite his commitment to staying in a corner like he’s in the Blair Witch Project.”

Aeri’s eyes moved from Sunghoon to you. She gazed right at you. She didn’t extend a hand. She just looked at you.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

Sunghoon patted you on the back. “I’ll leave you two to… talk about the weather or something. I’ll be inside if you need anything.”

He went back inside, leaving you and Aeri alone.

Aeri turned back to look out over the city.

“It’s a good view,” she said after a moment. “Sunghoon’s place is nice. High up. You can see everything but you don’t hear everything. That’s the trick.”

You leaned against the railing too, mimicking her stance. The metal was cold under your palms.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t talk much.”

“Not tonight.”

“Birthdays are weird.”

From her clutch bag she took out a metal flash and took a swig.

“You’re not drinking what’s inside?”

“The stuff inside is fine. This stuff is way better.”

She offered the flask toward you. “Want some? It’s just whiskey. Good whiskey.”

You hesitated. You hadn’t planned on drinking more, but it was a nice gesture. You reached out and took the flask. You sipped. That is good whiskey.

“Thanks,” you handed her the flask back and she put it back in her bag.

“Sunghoon said you had a rough month.”

You stiffened. “He talks too much.”

“He definitely does, but he means well. He worries. He throws parties for sad friends. It’s his thing.”

She turned to look at you, her face was illuminated by the city light.

“Listen I’m not here to pry, he just asked me to come. He said you might need a… distraction.”

“A distraction?” The word felt odd.

“Yeah. Something new for you. A new face for you to look at. A new conversation for you to have. I’m good at this sort of thing, it’s part of my job. I have to talk everywhere I go.”

“Is this a job conversation?”

She smiled. “No. This is a balcony conversation, there’s different rules out here.”

“What are the rules?”

“No cameras, no microphones, and no need to be charming. Just… talk. Or don’t talk. Both are fine.”

She leaned against the railing more. “I like balconies. You can people watch, but they can’t watch you.”

You absorbed that. It made sense. “Do you get tired of being watched?”

She didn’t answer immediately.

“Sometimes, but it’s the trade off of being an idol. I get to sing. I get to dance on stages. I get to wear clothes that cost more than most people’s first car. So I’m fine with being watched most of the time.”

She glanced back at you. “But tonight, I’m here. On a balcony. With a stranger who doesn’t want to talk about my last comeback.”

“I don’t know anything about your last comeback.”

She laughed. “Good because most of the time when I meet someone new they pretend and act like they know everything about my life and my job. It’s so exhausting. You’re just… here. Not pretending to be someone you’re not.”

“I’m not good at that.”

“That’s obvious. Everything you’re feeling is right there on the surface. Sadness. Confusion. A bit of annoyance at Sunghoon for forcing this.”

You blinked. “Is it?”

“To me it is. I know how to read people pretty well,” taking out her flask to take a drink. “I can to tell that you just want to be left alone.”

“But you’re not.”

“Because Sunghoon asked me not to. Maybe it’s because I’m a little curious too. I meet very few people who aren’t just trying to impress me. It’s honestly refreshing. Also, you haven’t asked me for a selfie or for my autograph. That’s a plus.”

“What if I asked for a selfie?”

“I’d say no. Politely. Then I’d probably leave. You would’ve broken the balcony rules.”

“So no selfies.”

“No selfies, also no questions about what the other members are like. No questions about our next comeback. No questions about dating rumors. Those are all balcony rule violations.”

“What’s allowed?”

“Weather. City views. Complaints about parties. Thoughts about Sunghoon’s terrible taste in art, he has a painting in the living room that looks like a confused squid. Whiskey. General life complaints. That’s all allowed.”

You felt a small smile tug at your lips. It was involuntary. “The squid painting is pretty bad.”

“It’s horrible. I told him last time I was here. He said it had ‘abstract energy.’ I told him it was a squid having a stroke.”

“He didn’t move it.”

“He doubled down and bought another one. It’s in his studio now. A matching squid that had a stroke. He’s so stubborn, but he’s a good producer.”

The conversation was drifting, easy. It wasn’t deep. It wasn’t meaningful. It was just words passing between two people on a balcony. You found yourself relaxing into it. The tightness in your shoulders eased a fraction.

“Why did you come? Sunghoon asked, but you could have said no.”

She leaned her elbows on the railing, “I was bored. My schedule today was light. After having to do a few things this morning I just sat in my apartment doing nothing. Sunghoon texted me, said he had a party for a friend who was going through it. So I came. Also, I like parties where I’m not the main event. Here, I’m just a guest. You’re the main event. It’s a nice change.”

“I’m not a main event.”

“You are. It’s your birthday. The cake says your name on it. Sunghoon’s whole production is for you. I’m just a supporting character.” She smiled again. “It’s a good role. Less pressure.”

You looked down at the street below. “I don’t feel like a main event.”

“That’s okay. You can feel like a bystander. The event can still happen around you.” She now fully face you. “Sunghoon said you got broken up with. Recently.”

The mention of Jen was like a cold draft. You felt your body tighten again. “Yeah.”

“He didn’t give details. Just said it was… a clean break.”

“That’s one way to describe it.”

“Clean breaks are the worst. No drama. No fighting. Just… a decision. Then a door closes. It leaves no scars to point to. You just have a blank space where something used to be.”

Her words mirrored your own thoughts so closely it startled you.

“You sound like you’ve had one.”

“I’ve had a few. Not romantic ones. Professional ones. Friendships that just… ended because schedules changed. Because priorities shifted. No arguments. Just a slow fading out.” She took another sip from her flask, then offered it to you again.

You took it and drank a larger sip this time. The burn was stronger, spreading through your chest. You handed it back.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She tucked the flask away again. “So. You’re sad. I’m here. Sunghoon is inside, probably defending his squid art. What do you want to do?”

The question was unexpected. “Do?”

“On your birthday. Usually people do something. They make a wish. They blow out candles. They get drunk and sing bad songs. You’ve done the candle part. The singing was done for you, badly. The drinking is… getting there. What’s next?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s fine. Last year my birthday was all jam packed full of schedules. I didn’t have to decide.” She paused. “It was nice, but it wasn’t… mine. It was the company’s birthday for me.”

You considered that. The idea of a birthday that belonged to someone else. “This isn’t my party either. It’s Sunghoon’s.”

“But you’re here. You could take it.” she playfully said, teasing. “You could go inside and demand a different song. You could tell everyone to leave. You could sit in the center of the room and declare yourself king of the ottomans.”

“That sounds… chaotic.”

“Birthdays can be chaotic. They’re a celebration of surviving another year. Survival is chaotic.” She grinned. “I like chaos. In controlled doses.”

You watched her grin, it was infections. For the first time you felt in a long time you felt like smiling again. “You’re not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. More… formal. More guarded.”

“I’m guarded when I need to be. And right now, I don’t need to be.” She leaned backand stretched her arms. The movement made her dress tighten across her chest for a second. “I’m just Aeri. On a balcony. Talking to a sad depressed boy. Trying to make him less sad and depressed by talking about squid art and bad birthdays.”

“It’s working a little.”

“Good.” She seemed pleased. “That’s the goal.”

The sliding door opened again, Sunghoon stepped out, holding two fresh glasses. They were filled with something clear and bubbly. “I brought reinforcements. Also, Soojin has been defeated. My bookshelf remains organized by author, not by color. A small victory for my sanity.”

He handed a glass to Aeri and one to you. You took it.

“What is it?” Aeri asked, examining her glass.

“Something fizzy and non-whiskey based. To cleanse the palate. Also, to hydrate. You two look like you’re having a deep philosophical discussion about urban loneliness.”

“We were discussing your art collection,” Aeri said, her tone dry.

Sunghoon sighed. “Listen, the squids are misunderstood. They’re about the fluidity of creative energy.”

“They’re about the fluidity of bad taste,” Aeri countered, taking a sip from her new glass.

Sunghoon laughed. He looked at you. “You’re smiling. That’s a new facial expression. I was worried your face had frozen into a permanent grimace.”

You took a drink. The bubbles tickled your tongue. “It’s temporary.”

“I’ll take temporary.” Sunghoon leaned against the balcony door frame. “So. How is this balcony summit going?”

“It’s going. We’ve established rules. No selfies. No career questions. Weather is acceptable. Your art is a key topic.”

“Excellent.” Sunghoon looked at you. “You should invite her to critique your apartment decor. It’s mostly empty walls and a single sad plant.”

“The plant is doing fine.”

“It’s dying. You water it with guilt.”

Aeri laughed again. You found yourself watching her laugh. It was a full body reaction, unrestrained.

“I like your friend,” Aeri said to Sunghoon. “He’s… blunt. In a quiet way.”

“He’s a wordsmith. He edits text for a living. He’s allergic to unnecessary adjectives.”

“That’s a good allergy,” she looked at you. “Most people use too many adjectives. They say things are ‘amazing’ or ‘incredible’ or ‘literally the best’ for everything. It’s exhausting.”

“You hear that a lot?” you asked.

“Every day. In interviews, in comments, in meetings. Everything is ‘iconic’ or ‘legendary’ or ‘next level.’” She rolled her eyes. “I prefer words like ‘fine.’ Or ‘acceptable.’ Or ‘not terrible.’”

“Not terrible is my favorite compliment,” Sunghoon said.

The three of you stood there for a moment. Sunghoon asked Aeri about a song she’d recently recorded, but in a technical way to try to skirt the balcony rules, about the vocal processing, not the content. Aeri answered with specifics, talking about microphone types and compression settings. It was a world you didn’t understand, but you listened anyways.

After a few minutes, Sunghoon excused himself. “I have to go prevent another crisis. Someone is trying to connect their phone to my speaker system. That’s a line I must defend.” He slipped back inside, leaving you and Aeri alone again.

The night air had grown cooler. Aeri rubbed her arms briefly. “Getting cold.”

“We can go inside.”

“I like the cold though. It’s refreshing. Anyways, birthday boy. What’s the plan for the rest of the night?”

“I don’t have a plan.”

“There has to be something you want to do.” She took the last sip from her fizzy drink then placed the empty glass on a small table near the door. “I think have a plan.”

“What’s your plan?”

“My plan is to leave this party soon. It’s nice, but I have a… limit for social gatherings. Two hours is my limit. After two hours, I start wanting to be somewhere else.” She checked a slim watch on her wrist. “I’m at one hour forty-five. So I have fifteen minutes.”

You felt a strange sense of disappointment. It was faint, but still there. The balcony conversation had actually been nice. Its ending meant returning to being in the corner of the room, alone. “Where will you go?”

“Home. My apartment. It’s not far from here. Ten minutes by car. You know, there also part two of my plan. It involves an invitation.”

You waited. The city noise seemed to fade for a moment.

“You could come with me, if you want. The party will keep going. Sunghoon will be fine. You could… leave. Have a different kind of birthday.”

The offer hung in the air. You processed it slowly. “To your apartment?”

“Yes. To my apartment. It’s quiet. It has a better view than this one, actually. And I have much better whiskey.” She smiled, a smaller smile this time. “No terrible art. No people. Just a quiet space. You could sit. You could talk. You could not talk. The balcony rules would still apply, but indoors.”

Your brain supplied questions. Why? What does she want? Is this normal? The idea of leaving though pushed those questions away. Going somewhere entirely new was appealing.

“I’m not… I’m not good company right now.”

“I don’t need good company. You’re interesting. You’re sad, but you’re not boring. You listen. You don’t try to impress me. That’s interesting.” She leaned a little closer. “Also, I’m bored when I’m home alone. Having someone there would be less boring. It’s a selfish invitation.”

“You really think Sunghoon would be okay with it?”

“Sunghoon would probably applaud it. He wants you to have a distraction. This is a distraction. A private, quiet distraction. But it’s your choice. You can stay here, eat more cake, listen to more conversations about lyric structure. Or you can leave with me.”

Aeri watched you think. She didn’t press. She didn’t try to give you more reasons. She just stood there, waiting.

“Okay.” The word left your mouth before you fully decided, but once it was out, it felt the right call. “Okay. I’ll come.”

Her smile returned, brighter now.

“Good. That’s a plan.”

She checked her watch again. “Five minutes left in my party allowance. Let’s say goodbye to Sunghoon. Then we can get out of here.”

You followed her back to the warmth inside and saw that Sunghoon was near the kitchen, talking to Chae. He saw you and Aeri and his expression shifted to one of curiosity.

“We’re getting out of here,” Aeri announced.

Sunghoon looked at you. “Departing? Together?”

“Yes,” you said. “Aeri’s… invited me to her place.”

Sunghoon’s eyebrows rose as he looked at Aeri then back at you with a slow grin spreading across his face. “Excellent.” He clapped your shoulder again. “Have fun with her. Don’t do anything that I wouldn’t.”

“That’s a lot of things,” Aeri deadpan.

“Just make sure to have a good time. Text me if you need a rescue. Or if you get lost. Or if you decide to critique her art collection.”

“I don’t have an art collection, I have plants. They’re alive. Unlike his.”

Sunghoon laughed. “Go. Escape. The party will survive without its main characters.”

Aeri gave Sunghoon a friendly pat on the arm. “Thanks for inviting me. It was… not that bad.”

“High praise,” Sunghoon grinned.

You nodded at Sunghoon. “Thanks. For the party.”

“You’re welcome. Now go.” He waved you off, turning back to Chae.

Aeri led you toward the door to leave. She moved with grace through the room, nodding at a few people as she passed. You followed. The room’s attention seemed to follow her, but she didn’t stop for anyone.

At the door, she paused, turning to you. “You have everything? Phone? Keys?”

You checked, your phone was in your pocket. But your jacket, it was last on the chair by the window. “My jacket.”

“Get it. I’ll wait.”

You went and grabbed it off the chair and slipped it on. When you urned around to walk back, you noticed Aeri was watching you, checking you out.

You got back to the door and followed her out into the hallway. The noise of the party vanished as it closed behind you.

The elevator was just a few steps away, Aeri went to go push the button to go down. The doors opened immediately once she did and you both stepped inside.

The elevator was small and covered in mirrors on one side. You saw your reflection, the tired face, the plain jacket while beside you, Aeri looked stunning in her simple dress.

She pressed the button to go to the ground floor and leaned against the back wall.

“So, now it’s just us.”

You just nodded.

The descent was smooth. Aeri shifted, turning her body slightly toward you without leaving the wall. “My driver is waiting downstairs. Mr. Park. He’s… good at his job. He won’t talk.”

“Okay.” A driver. Of course she had a driver.

“He’ll take us to my building. It’s in Hannam-dong. Not a long drive. You know you can change your mind between here and the car. Or between the car and the apartment. I’d understand. Just say the word.”

“I’m not going to change my mind.” The statement came out a lot more confident than you felt.

“Good.” A small smile briefly touched her lips.

The elevator came to a stop and you followed Aeri into the lobby. A man in a dark suit stood near the door with his hands clasped in front of him. He nodded as Aeri approached.

“Mr. Park, we’re going home. This is my guest.”

Mr. Park’s eyes moved to you for a fraction of a second. He gave a single, shallow bow. “Of course.”

A black sedan was at the curb. Mr. Park opened the rear door and Aeri slid in first, moving to the far side. You got in after her, the leather seat cool through your jeans. The partition between the front and back seats was up, a sheet of dark glass.

The car pulled away from the curb. You watched Seoul stream by through the window, your shoulder inches from Aeri’s. You could feel the slight warmth radiating from her.

“You’re quiet again,” looking out her own window.

“Thinking.”

“About what?”

“About how this is… not something I expected to happen.”

She turned her head. In the dim light, her features were softened. “Life is mostly unexpected events, they usually bring the best memories.” She reached down, pulling out a bottle of water from the door and offered it to you. “Hydration. Important after whiskey and fizzy things.”

You took the bottle and drank. The water was cold and crisp. You offered it back to her.

She shook her head. “It’s for you.” She pulled out another for herself. “Mr. Park stocks them. He’s thoughtful like that.”

You drank more.

“Do you always invite strangers from parties to your home?”

Aeri took a sip from her own bottle before answering.

“No. Almost never. My home is… my space. I don’t share it casually, but tonight didn’t feel casual. You didn’t feel like a stranger.”

“I am a stranger.”

“Are you? We talked for half an hour. I know you’re sad. I know you edit words for a living. I know you have a dying plant. I know your friend cares about you enough to orchestrate a party and summon an idol as a distraction. That’s more than I know about most people I meet at industry dinners.”

You held her look. “And what do I know about you?”

“You know I hate bad art. You know I have a two hour party limit. You know I carry my own whiskey. You know I value honesty over charm. That’s the main thing. The rest is just details, job titles, song names, gossip. The foundation is what matters.”

The car pulled up to a security gate. Mr. Park lowered his window to punch a code into a keypad. The gate slid open and the car drove up the curving driveway towards a tall modern apartment building.

“Home.”

The car stopped under a cantilevered portico. Mr. Park got out and opened your door for you to get out. Aeri emerged from the other side, smoothing her dress.

“Thank you, Mr. Park. I won’t need you again tonight.”

He bowed again.

“Very well. Goodnight.”

Mr. Park got back into the car and drove away.

You were now alone with Aeri standing in front of her building. The entrance was a set of double doors. Aeri walked toward them and pressed her thumb to a discreet panel. A soft beep, a click, and the door unlocked. She pushed it open and held it for you.

“After you.”

The lobby definitely made you realize this place was way outside your pay grade. It had a vertical garden on one side and a wall of glass looking out onto a hidden courtyard on the other side.

“The elevator is over here,” Aeri led you across the open space. “Penthouse level. Only one unit per floor.”

The elevator here was huge, paneled in wood. She pressed the top button. The ascent was swift, silent. You watched the numbers as the elevator climbe.

10… 20… 30…

“Do you like heights?”

“They’re fine.”

The doors opened directly into her apartment.

The The view of Seoul out of the panoramic window on the other side of her living room took your breath away. Her place was huge, but it had very little furniture. The plants though, they were everywhere. The place look so alive.

“See?” Aeri kicked off her heels by the door. “No squid art. Just plants and a view.” She walked barefoot into the room. “Make yourself at home. The sofa is super comfy, go test it yourself. While you do, I’m going to get the good whiskey.”

She disappeared through a doorway that seemed to lead to a kitchen while you just took it all in. It felt like a treehouse for a billionaire. You walked slowly to the glass wall. It was just a silent up here, just a sprawling light show. You could see the winding dark line of the Han River, the neon clusters of Gangnam, the distant peak of Namsan Tower.

“Impressive, right?” Aeri came from behind you carrying two crystal glasses and a bottle. “It never gets old. Sometimes I just sit here and watch.”

She poured whiskey into the glasses after setting them on a table next to the sofa.

“This is the really good stuff. No flask required.”

She handed you a glass. You swirled it and brought it to your nose. This was indeed the really good stuff.

Aeri clinked her glass gently against yours. “To unexpected birthdays.”

“To unexpected birthdays.”

You both drank.

“Wow,” you said.

“Told you is was the really good stuff.” Aeri sat down on the couch with a smile on her face, tucking her legs beneath her. She patted the cushion next to her, an invitation.

You sat, carefully leaving a foot of space between you. The sofa was as comfortable as promised. You both looked out at the city, sipping the whiskey in silence.

“So Sunghoon said you write?” Aeri said after a while, her eyes still on the city.

“Edit. I edit. Technical manuals, mostly. Sometimes marketing copy. I make bad writing less bad.”

“That’s a noble profession. The world needs less bad writing. Do you like it?”

“It’s a job. It pays the rent. It lets me afford water for my dying plant.”

She laughed. “You and that plant. It’s a motif.”

“It’s my only roommate.”

“I have plants as roommates too. They don’t eat your food or leave hair in the drain like the normal ones.” She turned to face you, drawing one knee up onto the cushion. It her dress ride up her thigh a few inches, not like you noticed or anything.

“So. Editing. What’s the worst thing you’ve ever had to fix…”

And so you talked. Not about anything super deep, but about the random things you usually talk about at 2am with a person you just met.

You told her about the industrial printer manual disaster, how the Korean translation had been so mangled that entire sections read like Dadaist poetry. "Lubricate the circuit boards with cooking oil," you repeated, miming the act of drizzling sesame oil onto microchips. "We had to recall five thousand copies. The person that wrote it still sends me holiday cards out of sheer trauma." Aeri snorted into her glass, and for a moment she wasn’t an idol, she was just a woman tickled by absurdity.

The conversation unspooled from there. You compared notes on films that ruined you, her pick was a bleak drama about a fisherman’s grief, yours, an old Taiwanese romance where the leads never touched until the final frame. "That’s worse," she decided, stretching her legs across the sofa until her bare toes brushed your thigh. "It’s cruelty to not have some sort of release."

You argued about cities where rain felt theatrical (London, drumming on black cabs for her and Paris, rain that created puddles reflecting the glow of the city for you) versus miserable (mutual agreement on Seattle’s "drizzle that seeps into your bones").

When she mentioned hating airports, you learned she could had every inch of Incheon’s Terminal 2 memorized.

"Gate 26 is home to the only coffee machine that doesn’t suck. Also, if you have to cry, do it in the bathroom in the rewards lounge where no one else can hear you." The offhand confession lingered between you, unjudged. You replied with your own, how editing manuals had taught you to spot loneliness in passive voice, how writers buried their isolation in endless subordinate clauses.

This, you realized, was what made a real connection, not just swapping anecdotes, but the way she lit up when you got her obscure film references, how your pulse jumped when she absentmindedly bit her lip during pauses.The way she hugged a throw pillow when talking about being exhausted on tour, how your spoke when you explained why you loved flawed translations.

The night went on as you both worked your way through the very good whiskey. Somewhere in all the laughter and stories, you noticed she had moved closer to you. That her shoulder was now pressed to yours. Neither of you glanced at the time. There was no audience here, no schedule. Just the warm, slow unfurling of two people discovering how seamlessly their edges fit together.

The whiskey in your glass dwindled. Aeri got up to refill them without asking. As she poured you watched her. The simple black dress hugged her body. Her black hair fell across her back as she bent her head to focus on pouring.

She caught you looking as she handed you the fresh glass. Her eyes met yours. She didn’t say a word. She held your gaze for a beat longer than necessary before sitting back on the sofa next to you.

You were telling her about your first week in Seoul, the confusion of the subway system. She listened, her head propped on her hand.

“And I ended up in Nowon when I was trying to get to Hongdae.”

“A classic blunder. You know… you have a nice voice. When you tell a story. It’s… calm. Steady.”

“Yours is too. When you’re not doing the interview voice.”

She laughed and took a slow sip, watching you over the rim of her glass.

“I’m glad you came.”

“Me too.”

And there it was.

The spark.

It was a silent, mutual recognition that passed between you in the space of that exchanged look. No words were needed.

The hours of conversation, the shared whiskey, the night as a whole led up to this. You saw it reflected in her eyes and you felt it in your own chest. It was feeling that had nothing to do with your sadness or the past. It had everything to do with the woman next to you.

The background noise of your thoughts faded away.

She didn’t look away. Neither did you.

The moment stretched, thick and sweet as the whiskey on your tongue.

Aeri slowly placed her glass on the table. The crystal made a soft tok sound against the marble. She shifted her body fully toward you, drawing her other leg up onto the sofa so she was curled facing you.

“This is my favorite part of the night. When the talking stops being necessary.”

You swallowed. Your mouth was dry despite the drink. “What happens then?”

“That’s when you find out if you were right.” A faint, challenging smile touched her lips. “Right about the person.”

“And were you? Right? About me?”

“I’m finding out.”

Her eyes went from your eyes to your mouth, then back up.

“I think I might be.”

She leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull back.

You didn’t.

You leaned in to meet her.

Her lips were soft. The kiss was tentative at first before you leaned into the touch. Her hand came up, her fingers brushing your jaw.

The kiss deepened.

She tasted so good. Your hand went to her waist, the fabric of her dress smooth under your palm.

You kissed for a long time, the world narrowed to just the sound of her quiet sigh through her nose and the heat building where your bodies were not quite touching. When you finally parted, it was only by a touch. Your foreheads rested together. Her eyes were closed. Her breathing had slowed.

“Yeah,” the word a warm puff against your lips. “I was right.”

She kissed you again with a lot more confidence in what she wanted to do to you. Her tongue touched your lower lip. You opened for her and the kiss turned deeper and so much wetter. Your hand on her waist pulled her closer. She straddled your laps and put her arms around your neck.

You had a hand in her hair and the other hand was on shoulder, where your thumb stroked the exposed slope of her shoulder.

One of her dress straps had slipped down.

You broke the kiss and you both tried to catch your breath.

“Your dress. The strap.”

She glanced down at where your thumb was still moving on her bare shoulder. “Mmm. That strap has been a problem.” She leaned in and gave you a quick kiss.

“Actually, the whole back is one big problem. The zipper is stuck.”

You blinked. “Stuck?”

“Right at the top. I think it got caught on something this afternoon. I couldn’t reach it before the party. I’ve been dealing with it all night.”

You stared at her.

“I could… take a look.”

“Could you?” Her eyes held yours. “That would be… very helpful.”

She turned away from you and puller her hair over her shoulder to show you. You saw the dress had a zipper running from the top of her neck and went all the way down to the small of her back.

“See?” she said, muffled. “It won’t budge.”

You looked. The zipper teeth looked fine. There was no fabric caught. It wasn’t stuck. It looked like just a normal zipper.

Your heart hammered against your ribs.

Play it cool, man.

You reached out, your fingers trembled. You touched the cool metal of the pull tab. Her skin was warm beneath your knuckles.

“Just… give it a try.”

You tried to give the zipper a gentle tug down.

It didn’t move.

You pulled a little harder.

It slid down one inch with a soft, metallic whirr.

The back of the dress opened, revealing a strip of pale skin and the hint of a black lace strap beneath.

You froze with your fingers still on the tab. Aeri went perfectly still too. You could see the goosebumps form on her skin.

“Again.”

You pulled the tab down another inch. Another soft whirr. More skin appeared. The lace strap was part of a bra. You could see the delicate pattern now.

Your own breathing felt shallow. You pulled again. Another inch. The zipper was now halfway down her back. The dress gaped open, held up only by the structure in front and her arms. The line of her spine was a beautiful, delicate curve.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Your fingers slipped from the metal tab and you placed your palms flat on her exposed back.

Her skin was hot. She gasped at the contact. She arched her back slightly, pressing into your hands.

“Don’t stop,” she breathed.

You leaned forward and pressed your lips inbetween her shoulder blades.

She shuddered.

“Ah” she cut off by biting her own lip.

You kissed up her spine, one hand moving to her side, the other still on her warm skin. You reached the top of the zipper, where the dress still clung to her neck. You used your teeth to gently tug the fabric aside, continuing to kiss her exposed back.

She trembled.

“Turn around.”

She obeyed and turned around. Her eyes pupils were blown wide. The front of the dress was still held up by her hands. The open back meant it was only a matter of letting go.

She didn’t let go of the dress, she just looked at you. The playful wit was gone, replaced by a naked, hungry intensity. She reached for you, her hands framing your face.

She kissed you. It was nothing like the earlier kisses. This one was desperate. Her tongue slid against yours. One of her hands left your face to pull the hem of your shirt up. You broke the kiss to take it off for her. You felt her hands explore the newly exposed skin of your chest.

You reached for her and grabbed the side of her dress where it still clung to her upper arms. You didn’t pull it down.

You looked at her, a question in your eyes.

She nodded.

You slid it down her arms. It caught for a second on her elbows before falling to her waist leaving her in a black lace bra. It was sheer in places and it held her full perky breasts. Her stomach was flat and her waist narrow. She took your breath away.

You just stared for a second to just take the view in.

“You’re beautiful.”

A small smile appeared on her lips. “So are you.”

She kissed you and pushed you back onto the couch. Her legs straddled your hips and you felt her heat coming through the thin fabric of her underwear.

It was driving you crazy.

She ground down against you in a way that made you groan into her mouth.

Her hands were everywhere.

You found the clasp of her bra and fumbled with it. She reached back and undid it herself, taking it all the way off.

And then she was bare from the waist up, hovering above you. You reached up, your hands finally, fully cupping her breasts. They were soft and heavy in your palms. Her nipples hardened into tight peaks against your thumbs. She threw her head back and arched her back.

“Oh, god…”

She looked down at you.

“Touch me. “Just… don’t stop touching me.”

You didn’t. Somehow while touching her she ended up underneath you on the couch. You kissed everywhere you could.

Her hands clutched at your back and her legs wrapped around your waist to pull you closer.

Every movement sent shockwaves of pleasure through you. She was speaking a stream of broken Korean, Japanese, and English mixed together against your skin.

You kissed your way back up to her mouth. She met you with a ferocity that matched your own.

It was wet and messy.

It was perfect.

You ground into her in a way that left her gasping, her nails digging into your shoulders.

She broke the kiss, panting.

“The… the dress. Get it off. Now. All of it.”

You pulled everything off of her and tossed it to the side.

You stared as she lay beneath you.

She watched you watch her.

“You’re staring.”

“I can’t not stare.”

A smile touched her lips.

“Fair.”

You lowered yourself onto her and felt the heat of her skin.

You felt her breasts press against your chest.

You felt her legs drag your hips in.

You felt ALIVE.

You kissed her again and her hands came up to your face.

The kiss deepened. Her hands slid down your back and you went to kiss her neck.

She whispered something in Japanese.

She grabbed your jeans and fumbled with the button. You pushed yourself up to kneel between her legs to help her. She finally got it open and tugged them down over your hips, and you kicked the jeans off along with your briefs. You were both fully naked now, on the wide sofa across from the vast skyline.

Her eyes traveling down your body.

“Come back here,” she whispered, reaching for you.

She wrapped her legs around your waist and lock you in tight. She felt so warm and wet and open against you. It was almost too much and it made you groan.

“Slow, we have time.” she breathed into your ear.

You nodded, though you didn’t want to be slow at all. But, you obeyed her guidance. You kissed her collarbone and then the swell of her breast. One of her nipples ended up in your mouth and you just sucked it. She gasped and arched her back. Her hands gripped your hair.

“Ah… yes…”

You moved to her other breast and gave it the same attention. Your tongue circled the hardened peak, your lips closed around it.

She was really panting now.

You kissed your way down her stomach.

She shuddered, lifting off the cushion.

“Lower,” she whispered.

You moved lower.

You kissed the inside of her thighs. The skin there was so soft and you could see from her reactions that it was sensitive too. She trembled under your touch.

You settled between her legs, looking up at her.

She watched you.

You placed your hands on her inner thighs to spread her wider. She was so open to you, her folds were so wet already. That alone made you ache with want. You leaned in and kissed her core.

She cried out.

Her hands flew into your hair.

“AGAIN.”

You kissed her folds again but with more force. Your tongue followed, tracing the puffy lines.

She moaned.

Her hips rocked.

You circled her clit with your tongue and then flicked it.

She gasped, her thighs tightening around your head.

“Oh…!”

With your tongue focused there, you listened to every sound she made. Her body told you what she liked. It told you in the way her hips jerked when you applied a certain pressure. The way her breath hitched when you increased your speed. You used your lips, your tongue, the flat of your hand against her stomach to anchor her as she began to move more urgently.

All you heard was a mishmash of Korean, Japanese and fragmented English.

“Right there… please… don’t stop… god…”

You could feel the tension building in her body, a gathering storm of sensation. You were relentless.

You wanted her to feel this.

To drown in it.

You wanted to erase every other thought, every other memory, from her mind and yours.

She was pushing against your face, losing control of her movements. A high, thin sound escaped her lips. Her whole body stiffened, then shook. You felt the tremors through her thighs, through the hands clutching your head.

You didn’t stop.

You pushed her through it, over the peak, until the shaking subsided and she collapsed back onto the sofa like a wet noodle.

You lifted your head, your mouth soaked.

You looked at her.

Her eyes were closed, the sweat glistened on her forehead. She a faint smile on her lips. You kissed up her body, all the way to her lips.

She opened her eyes, she was cum drunk. She touched your lips with her fingertips.

“You’re…” shaking her head.

She pulled you down into a kiss. It was slow and deep. When it ended, she kept her face close to yours.

“I want you. I want all of you.”

You moved to your knees on the cushions of the couch. She was now on all fours with her mouth in front of you, guiding your hips.

You let her.

She looked at you. Her gaze was focused.

She lowered her head.

The first touch of her lips was a gentle kiss at your tip.

You melted.

She kissed it again, then opened her mouth. She slowly took you in, her tongue flat against you. The heat, the wetness, the sheer reality of it made your head swim. She went deeper until her mouth enveloped you. She tasted you, her tongue moving in slow circles around you.

You watched her do her thing. You held her hair for her. With her eyes closed, she was utterly focused on the act, focused on you. She pulled back then went down again, deeper this time. Her pace began to build, a steady rhythm that was both tender and intense.

She was so sloppy.

She let saliva pool, let it drip down you.

She made the messiest of sounds.

She took you almost all the way, then pulled back to just the tip, swirling her tongue around it before diving deep again. Her other hand cupped and pulled on your balls.

She looked up at you, her eyes opening briefly. You could tell she liked this. She was enjoying the taste, the feel, the amount of control.

The sight alone almost finished you. You dug your fingers into the cushions and groaned. You tried to hold back, but your body was screaming for more.

She could tell and she started going faster. Her hands joined her mouth, working in tandem. Not the Gluck Gluck 9000. She was relentless now. Her cheeks were so flushed. She was lost in the act of giving you pleasure.

You couldn’t speak.

You could only feel.

The pressure built, a tight coil winding in your core.

Your thighs shook.

Your vision blurred at the edges.

You were on the brink.

She pulled back, looking at you with pure lust. The strings of saliva were connecting you to her mouth.

“Let go. For me.”

You nodded. She took you so deep into the back of her throat you felt the world dissolve.

You cried out with half groan, half gasp. You felt yourself spill into her, a hot, pulsing release. She took it, her throat squeezed down as she swallowed it all.

When it was over you slumped against her shoulder. She held you there, her hand stroking your back with her lips pressed to your temple. You could feel her smile against your skin.

“Happy birthday.”

You laughed, breathless. “Thank you.”

She grabbed her whiskey glass and took a sip, swirled it in her mouth, then swallowed.

“Nice palate cleanser,” she grinned.

You leaned over and kissed her shoulder.

“This sofa is amazing, but… my bedroom is better. The bed is… enormous. And the sheets are clean.”

The invitation hung in the air.

She leaned closer, her nose brushing yours.

“I want you on my bed,” she whispered.

You followed her to her bedroom, taking in the view of her as she walked.

She opened the door at the end of the hall. As promised, the bed was enormous.

Aeri moved to the bed and pulled back the duvet.

She looked at you.

“Come here.”

You stopped a foot from her. She placed her hands on your chest, her palms felt so warm. They slid down your stomach, tracing you muscles, then lower…

…and lower. Her fingers brushed against you making you feel a fresh surge of arousal despite the recent release. Your were ready for round two.

“Well I think someone is ready to go again.”

“For you.”

She smiled, leaned in and kissed you. Her hands continued exploring your body, moving over your hips and thighs. Then she started to pull you towards the bed.

“Lie down.”

You laid down on the bed. It was probably the best bed you’ve ever laid on. She climbed onto the bed and knelt beside you. Her gaze traveled over your body.

She was studying you.

She wrapped her fingers around you and began to slowly stroke your length.

You let your head fall back against the pillow, but you still watched.

Once she thought you were ready, she straddled you and placed her hands on your chest for balance. Her breasts were just above your face.

You reached up to touch one, but she shook her head.

“Wait… let me.”

You lowered your hand. She leaned down and kissed the skin on your chest.

The she kissed her way down lower…

and lower…

and lower.

You could feel the coil winding tight inside you. Her kisses were gentle, but their cumulative effect was overwhelming. She was taking her time. She was owning this moment.

You were so ready for her. She repositioned herself carefully over you.

Aeri reached between her own legs, her fingers finding working her folds. Then she brought her fingers to your length, spreading her wetness over your skin.

It felt so good.

She did it again…

and again…

and again.

When she was satisfied she slowly lowered herself.

She took you inside her, inch by inch, her body stretching out to accommodate you. It felt so good. Her eyes never left yours. You watched her face as she took you in fully. Her lips parted. Her eyes widened slightly. A gasp escaped her.

She stayed there, motionless, letting you feel her, all of her. Her hands came to rest on your chest.

“Okay?” she whispered.

You nodded, your voice caught somewhere in your throat. “Yes.”

She smiled and then began to move.

She lifted herself up until you were almost free of her and then sank back down. She set a rhythm that was slow and deep. You watched her work. The muscles in her stomach tightened with each motion.

Her breasts swayed.

You could see the pleasure on her face.

You felt every fraction of movement. The friction was smooth, slick, perfect. You could only lie there and take it. Your hands gripped the sheets beside you, your back arching slightly to meet her.

She moved her hips back and forth, testing different angles and depths. When she found a position that made her gasp, she stayed with it. You could see the pleasure building in her.

Her breaths became shorter.

She slowly lost control.

She leaned forward, changing the angle again. This put more of her weight on your chest, brought her face closer to yours. She kissed you, a messy, open mouthed kiss that broke as she moved.

Her rhythm sped up.

Her hips rocked faster, driving you deeper into her with each downward stroke.

The noises she made…

Soft grunts of effort.

Sharp inhalations.

Words in languages that you couldn’t understand but whose meaning was clear, she wanted more.

She gripped your shoulders you for leverage. Her nails dug into your skin, hard enough she was marking you.

You placed your hands on her hips. She allowed it, her rhythm uninterrupted. You could feel the building heat in your own body, getting closer and closer to another peak.

She sensed it. Her eyes opened, meeting yours.

“Not yet. Just… feel it.”

You nodded, your breathing was becoming labored. You gripped tighter. Her pace became frantic, a desperate, driving motion that pushed you both toward the edge. She was crying out now. Her body was trembling and her thighs shaking with the effort.

You felt the peak approach.

Your vision blurred.

Your fingers dug deep into her hips.

She was chasing her peak too until she let out a long, shuddering moan that vibrated through your body.

That was the trigger.

The wave broke.

You felt yourself release inside her. It felt like nothing you’ve felt before. At the same time, she clenched around you.

She cried out and her whole body shook.

Her back arched.

Her hands clawed at your shoulders.

You held her through it until she collapsed onto you. Her heart was beating so loud, you could feel it.

She didn’t move for a long time. You two just laid there wit her still on top of you, sweaty. You could feel the tremors that still occasionally passed through her. You laid there and stroked her back.

Eventually she lifted her head and you could tell she was extremely cum drunk. She looked at you and smiled,

“That was… I don’t have the words.”

“You don’t need them.”

She kissed you and lifted herself off you, rolling onto the bed. She curled against you, her head on your shoulder, one leg thrown over yours.

You just lay there together in silence for forever. Your bodies were cooling, the sweat drying on your skin. The air smelled of sex, of her, of the clean sheets.

After a while, she sleepily spoke against your skin. “We should clean up.”

“Shower?”

“Yes, you know, my shower is also enormous.”

You smiled. “Show me.”

She got up first and moved in a cum drunk state to the bathroom. You got up and followed.

Aeri wasn’t lying, the bathroom was huge.

Aeri walked to the shower and turned on the water. Steam began to rise. She adjusted the temperature and stepped in. She turned to look at you, waiting.

You joined her. The water was hot, almost scalding. It cascaded over your shoulders, washing away the evening. You stood under the stream, letting it pound against your skin.

Aeri moved closer. She took a bottle from a shelf and poured a clear gel into her hands. She began to wash you and once she was done, she turned so you could do the same for her. You took the gel and worked it into her skin. She leaned into your touch, her head tilted back to let the water run over her face.

After you both washed off, she turned off the water. She grabbed a couple of towels and you watched each other dry off.

She looked at you, her hair wet and clinging to her neck, her skin glowing from the heat.

“Bedtime?”

“Bedtime.”

The two of you walked back to the bedroom. You dropped your towel on the floor and slid under the duvet. She did the same and curled up to you. Her head found your shoulder again and she threw her leg over your hip.

Your body was tired and your mind was quiet for the first time in weeks. The memory of Jen, the breakup, the birthday sadness, it all felt distant, blurred by the heat of Aeri’s skin against yours.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“For tonight. For deciding to leave your own birthday party to come here with me.”

You turned your head to look at her. Her eyes were closed. “I’m glad I did.”

You kissed her forehead. She sighed and closed her eyes again.

You felt your thoughts drifting, scattering. You held onto one, just before sleep took you.

This is real.

The light coming through the blackout curtains woke you up. Aeri was still curled up next to you, her head tucked under your shoulder.

You were awake and the world was quiet.

You watched her as you remembered how amazing last night felt.

She is incredible.

You carefully slid out from under her making sure not to wake her up. You grabbed a pillow to replace the shoulder she had her head on. She murmured something you couldn’t understand and grabbed the pillow before falling back sound asleep.

You walked out to her living room and found your boxer briefs next to the couch, sliding them on. You walked to the window and stared out.

Seoul felt different in the morning. It was a weekday. The world was waking up, starting its routine. You felt divorced from it, you were just a spectator from above.

Your stomach rumbled and you looked towards the kitchen.

The fridge was nearly empty. It was stocked for an idol who’s been on tour and unable to settle in. A bottle of imported water. A carton of oat milk. A small tray of strawberries. A package of smoked salmon. A block of butter. Eggs in a ceramic bowl. Everything was fresh, high-quality, and looked like it had been placed there by a stylist. You also felt like you were doing an impression of a Stefan bit from SNL, This fridge has everything.

You closed the fridge and opened cabinets. You found a cast-iron skillet and a small saucepan. You found coffee. Real coffee beans in a bag, and am espresso machine that looked intimidating.

Okay. You can do this.

You filled the kettle to make some tea, deciding the espresso machine was a battle for another day. You grabbed a few eggs along with the butter and salmon. Cracking eggs into a bowl, you whisked them with a fork. You melted a pat of butter in the skillet, watching it foam and sizzle.

You were doing this.

The smell of cooking butter filled the air.

You were pouring the whisked eggs into the skillet when you heard someone behind you.

Aeri was leaning against the doorway that led to the hallway. She was wearing your shirt. It was way too big for her, hanging off one shoulder, the hem fell to her thigh. Her hair was a wild, beautiful mess. She had one arm crossed over her stomach, the other holding a mug of water. She watched you, her eyes still puffy with sleep.

“You cook.”

“I try to,” giving the eggs a gentle push with the spatula. “I didn’t know if you’d be hungry.”

“I’m always hungry.” She pushed off the doorway and came to stand beside you at the island, watching the eggs cook.

“You left the bed.”

“I woke up. Didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You didn’t. I woke up when the pillow replaced you. I prefer the warmth of you.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. What are you making?”

“Scrambled eggs. With salmon. If that’s cool.”

“Of course it is. I think the only thing that’s ever been cooked on that stove is water for ramyeon. I think you might want to check the eggs though, they look like they are going to stick.”

You looked down. She was right, you’d been distracted. You quickly scarped them in the pan.

“Rescued.”

She smiled. She pulled out one of the stools at the island to sit on. The shirt rode up, exposing more of her thighs. You looked back at the eggs.

“Tea’s in the kettle.”

“I’ll get it in a minute.” She rested her chin in her hand, her elbow on the countertop. She was studying you now, the same way she’d studied you in bed last night.

“You’re good at this. The morning after thing.”

You kept your eyes on the eggs. “What’s the morning after thing?”

“The not freaking out. The making breakfast. Just being normal. It’s rarer than you’d think.”

You didn’t know how to answer that. You divided the eggs between two plates, put the salmon on top, and added a few twists of black pepper. You slid one plate in front of her, then brought yours around and sat on the stool next to her. You handed her a fork.

“Thank you,” taking a bite. She chewed slowly and she closed her eyes. “Mmm. Okay, you’re not trying. You’re actually good at this.”

You ate. The eggs were creamy, the salmon salty and rich. It was good. The simple pleasure of food, of doing something competently, felt great.

You ate in silence for a few minutes. The sun climbed higher, and the stripe of light through the main living room windows stretched across the floor.

Aeri finished her eggs and pushed the plate away. She swiveled on her stool to face you.

“So… it’s the day after your birthday.”

“It is.”

“How does it feel?”

You put your fork down. You looked at her. She was waiting for a real answer.

“Different. It feels different than yesterday did.”

“Good different?”

“Just… different. Yesterday felt like an ending to something. Like how it feels after a storm passes, you’re not in the middle of it anymore, but you’re still wet and you don’t know what the storm washed away.”

She nodded and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.

“I know that feeling.”

She was quiet for a long moment, looking out at the city.

“Sunghoon told me. About your girlfriend. The dancer. That it was recent.”

You felt a familiar pang. You nodded. “Jen.”

“He said you were taking it hard. That’s why he… did all of this. To give you a distraction.”

“It was some distraction.”

A ghost of a smile touched her lips, then faded. “Was it just a distraction?”

The question hung in the air between you.

You met her eyes. “No, it wasn’t just a distraction.”

“Good. Because I don’t really do those. Not anymore. The ‘let’s make you feel better for a night’ ones. They get complicated. And lonely.”

“This doesn’t feel lonely.”

“It doesn’t, that’s what’s confusing.”

“Why is it confusing?”

“Because my life isn’t built for… that. My life is built for airports and schedules and managers and cameras. For being ‘on’. For keeping things simple. Uncomplicated. This…” She gestured between the two of you. “… feels complicated already. And we haven’t even had a real conversation.”

“We’re having one now.”

“Are we? Or are we just skirting around the edges of it? The ‘what happens now’ part.”

Your throat felt tight. “What do you want to happen now?”

She unfolded her legs and stood up and walked up to the window.

“I want to be honest. Which is stupid, because I barely know you. And being honest is the one thing I’m literally trained not to do in public. Last night was real. For me. It wasn’t a performance. It wasn’t a favor for Sunghoon. I liked talking to you on the balcony. I liked that you were sad and didn’t try to hide it. I liked that you looked at me like I was a person, not a photo. I liked… all of it.”

Each sentence was a quiet hammer blow.

“But, my life is not my own. I have a schedule for the next few years. I have a contract. I have rules about dating, about being seen, about… everything. I live in this fishbowl,” waving a hand at the penthouse. “A very nice, very expensive fishbowl, but still a fishbowl. Anyone I’m with gets put in the bowl with me. And it’s not fair to them. It’s a lot of pressure. It’s a lot of hiding.”

She pushed off the window and walked back toward the island, stopping a few feet away. “So when I ask ‘what happens now,’ I’m not asking for promises. I can’t make them. I’m asking… what do you want? Knowing all that? Knowing that if we walk out that door together, someone might see. Knowing that I might have to go to Japan for three weeks tomorrow. Knowing that I can’t just… be your girlfriend. Not in any normal way.”

You stood up.

You took a step closer.

Then another.

You stopped when you were within arm’s reach. You could see the faint pulse in her throat and the uncertainty in her eyes.

“I don’t know what I want. A week ago, I thought I wanted Jen back. Or I wanted the pain to stop. I wanted the life I thought I had. That’s gone. I know that now. Last night… it didn’t fix me. But it showed me I wasn’t as broken as I thought. That I could still feel something that wasn’t just hurt.”

You took a final step, closing the distance. You didn’t touch her. You just looked down at her. “I want to see you again, Aeri. That’s what I want right now. I don’t know what it looks like. I don’t know about fishbowls or schedules. I just know that yesterday, you were a surprise guest at a party. And today, you’re the realest thing in my life. And I don’t want to let that go just because it’s complicated.”

Her eyes searched yours. She was looking for the lie, the placation, the starstruck fantasy. You held her gaze, letting her see whatever was there, the confusion, the hope, the raw need for connection that had been starving inside you.

Slowly, her expression shifted. The tension around her eyes softened. The defensiveness in her posture melted away. A small smile bloomed on her lips, shaky at first, then steadying.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

Her fingers brushed against the back of your hand.

“We can… figure out the complicated part. Together. Slowly.”

You turned your hand over, catching her fingers in yours.

“Sounds good to me.”

“I have to leave this afternoon. I have yet another fitting then vocal practice.”

“That’s okay.”

“And you probably have… a life. A job?”

“I do. It’ll keep.”

She laughed. “See? Complicated,” squeezing your fingers. “But we can text. Like normal people. And maybe… when I have a window. A real one. Not just a stolen night.”

“I’d like that.”

She stepped forward then, letting go of your hand to place both of hers on your chest. She looked up at you.

“Last night was a birthday present. Today is… today. No expectations. Just this.”

She rose onto her toes and kissed you.

It was nothing like the kisses from the night before. There was no whiskey-fueled hunger, no desperate heat. This was a morning kiss. Soft. Closed mouthed. A gentle press of lips that spoke of quiet understanding, of a beginning rather than a culmination. It lasted only a few seconds. When she pulled back, her eyes were bright.

“I should get ready,” she said, but she didn’t move her hands from your chest.

“You should.”