The hotel in Busan was… normal.
No rose petals.
No blinking AC unit.
No viral celebrities two rows away.
Just two single beds. Two separate keycards. Two polite welcome drinks left on the desk.
Noa stared at the room for a full minute.
Then blinked. "Why does this feel weird?"
Ren dropped his backpack with a soft thud. "Because no one's forcing us to share a bed for once?"
She nodded slowly. "Exactly. I should feel relieved."
"But instead," he added, "you feel kind of... disappointed?"
Silence.
Then she groaned into her hands. "Ugh. Why are you right."
Ren plopped onto one of the beds, arms behind his head, eyes on the ceiling. "Maybe we got too used to being uncomfortable."
Noa raised an eyebrow. "You mean *illegally close.*"
"I mean emotionally compromised."
She threw a pillow at him.
He caught it without looking. "Nice aim."
—
They both showered in silence. Changed into their sleep clothes. Settled into their *separate* beds.
For the first time on the trip… space existed between them.
And it sucked.
Noa scrolled her phone aimlessly. Ren flipped through TV channels in a language neither of them fully understood.
At some point, the quiet got too loud.
"I don't like this room," she said finally.
Ren looked over. "It's clean. Spacious. Nothing's broken."
"Exactly."
He sat up a little. "You're saying you miss the broken stuff?"
"I'm saying... I miss the *accidental closeness.*" She sighed, then corrected herself. "Not like that. I mean—"
Ren smiled. "I get it."
"I don't even get it."
"Want me to explain it to you like I'm a rom-com character?"
She glared. "Don't you dare."
But he did it anyway.
He stood, dramatically, walked to her bed, and said with exaggerated sincerity:
"Sometimes... what brings people together isn't candlelight or flowers. It's a broken AC and one terrible blanket. And in that chaos—*they* found each other."
She snorted. "You're so annoying."
He bowed.
Then, without asking, sat at the edge of her bed.
The room got quiet again. But a different kind of quiet.
Not the awkward kind.
The kind that waited for something.
—
"You can sleep here if you want," she said suddenly.
Ren blinked. "What?"
She flushed. "Not—*not* sleep here. Just… sit. Talk. Exist. I don't know."
He tilted his head. "No pillows thrown this time?"
"No promises."
He grinned.
And stayed.
They talked about nothing for a while—Busan food, the next shoot schedule, how the translator today wore shoes two sizes too big.
But under every word was something softer.
More fragile.
More real.
No games. No teasing.
Just two people who realized that the distance between beds felt bigger than it should.
—
Eventually, Noa's eyes began to flutter shut.
Ren shifted to stand.
But her hand caught his wrist.
"Stay."
His heart stuttered.
"Here?"
She nodded, barely audible. "You don't have to say anything. Just… be close."
So he lay down beside her.
Not touching. Just near.
The bed wasn't as soft as Seoul. The lights weren't as warm.
But her breathing was steady beside him.
And somehow, this was more comforting than anything five-star could offer.
—
Before sleep claimed her, Noa whispered, almost inaudibly:
"Maybe it wasn't the broken hotel room. Maybe it was you."
He didn't answer right away.
But his fingers gently found hers under the blanket.
And this time, he held on first.