Noa had a plan.
It was simple. Logical. Emotionally hygienic.
Step one: avoid Ren Kurosawa.
Step two: pretend nothing weird was happening between them.
Step three: go back to being a functioning human with boundaries.
Unfortunately, life—as usual—had other ideas.
—
Step one failed immediately.
Ren was literally everywhere.
At the elevator? There.
By the coffee machine? Already pouring two cups.
On her assigned shoot team? Miraculously swapped into her group, with a grin that said he absolutely bribed someone.
"I thought you were with Team D today," she said flatly.
Ren held up a clipboard. "Schedule changed."
"You changed it, didn't you?"
"I have no idea what you mean."
He did.
She knew it.
And he knew she knew.
—
By lunch, she was actively trying to dodge him.
She sat with different people. Took her break early. Avoided eye contact like it was contagious.
But every time, without fail, he showed up.
Like a glitch in the system. Like a magnet. Like—
"You know," he said, appearing next to her in the stairwell, "you're terrible at hiding."
"I'm not hiding."
"You're eating your sandwich in a stairwell."
"I like stairs."
He blinked.
Then sat beside her.
"I can sit somewhere else," he offered.
"Then why don't you?"
He shrugged. "Because you're here."
Noa looked away, cheeks burning for no good reason.
This was stupid.
—
Step two—pretending nothing weird was happening—also collapsed spectacularly.
Minami cornered her in the bathroom later that day.
"You two are totally in the pre-dating denial phase," she said, adjusting her lip gloss.
"There's no 'phase,'" Noa snapped.
"Exactly what someone in the phase would say."
Noa groaned. "Can we not psychoanalyze my entire life next to a toilet?"
Minami grinned. "Sure. But just so you know—when people try that hard to stay away from each other? That's usually when it's already too late."
Noa wanted to argue.
But her brain was too busy rewinding every eye contact, every shoulder brush, every stupid umbrella moment.
Damn it.
—
She found Ren that evening, alone in the editing bay, half-asleep over a keyboard.
His hair was messy. His hoodie too big. He looked tired in the most endearing, punchable way.
She leaned on the doorframe.
"I give up."
Ren blinked. "Huh?"
"Trying to keep distance," she said.
"Oh. Cool," he said, smiling sleepily. "Me too."
A pause.
Then they sat in the same room again—close, but not touching.
Quiet, but not uncomfortable.
Together, but not saying it.