the laugh lingers in the air between them, soft and almost believable. jinho watches it settle on yedam’s face, that easy curve of expression that used to disarm him instantly. it still does, in ways he doesn’t want to examine too closely. ❝ yeah. . . ❞ he murmurs, gaze drifting briefly past yedam’s shoulder as if the past might be standing there with them. ❝ they were. ❞ golden, he almost says, however the word catches in his throat. as yedam’s hand brushes the handle of his suitcase, jinho feels it immediately. not exactly the touch itself, but rather the intention behind it. there’s something probing in it, tentative really. as if yedam is testing the temperature of water before stepping in. for around a second, jinho hesitates. though it’s not exactly because he thinks yedam would steal from him. that thought doesn’t even cross his mind. it’s something more subtler. . . an instinctive reluctance to let go of the only solid thing anchoring him to the present. the suitcase is proof he had just arrived. proof he hasn’t fully stepped back into this life yet. alas, the rain begins to fall harder, cool droplets dotting his lashes, and exhaustion weighs down his limbs like gravity intensified. as a result, he loosens his grip. ❝ i don’t mind at all. ❞ he says quietly. ❝ thank you man. ❞
his fingers graze briefly against yedam’s as the handle transfers between them. barely a second, but enough to spark an old yet familiar awareness beneath his skin. it’s disorienting how easily it resurfaces. the rain comes down in earnest now, soaking through the shoulders of his coat. jinho steps inside when yedam braces the door open, the warmth of the stairwell air wrapping around him in a way that’s almost suffocatingly familiar. the flickering light above hums faintly, and he instinctively glances up at it. ❝ that thing is still broken? ❞ he says, a faint crease forming between his brows. ❝ you’d think someone would have already fixed it by now heh. ❞ he steps further in as yedam closes the door, the outside world sealing off behind them. the scent of old concrete, detergent, and something faintly metallic hits him all at once. it’s quite strange how smell alone can undo years of distance, and the rooms are still the same. his gaze lifts toward the staircase, following the path muscle memory already knows. third floor. the board that creaks near the railing. the faint scratch in the paint from when they’d raced up too fast. ❝ i remember, yeah. ❞ he replies softly. as they begin ascending, he falls into step just behind yedam, listening to the rhythm of his footsteps against the concrete.
there’s something relieving about it. steady, yet unhurried. ❝ it doesn’t feel like much has changed, to be honest. ❞ jinho admits after a moment, voice lower now in the enclosed stairwell. ❝ like i just left for a semester and came back. ❞ but that isn’t true. everything has changed. his uncle is gone, the air feels thinner, the silence is heavier. he watches the back of yedam’s shoulders as they climb, noticing how he carries the suitcase without complaint, like it weighs nothing. noticing, too, how solid and rooted he seems here. ❝ did you ever. . . ❞ he starts, then pauses, uncertain why the question feels suddenly important. ❝ did you come by often? while i was gone, i mean. ❞ the question is casual on the surface. almost offhand. but beneath it, something quieter stirs. more specifically, something searching for proof that not everything from before has been erased.
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