The moment the plane touched down at Narita, Noa felt her chest tighten.
Not from fear. Not even from fatigue.
But from the invisible pressure of returning to where everything was supposed to be "normal."
The flight had been quiet.
Ren sat beside her the whole time, arms tucked, blanket over his lap. He scrolled through photos, laughed once or twice at dumb filters they'd used in Busan.
But neither of them talked much.
The weight of *whatever that rooftop conversation was* still clung to them.
No words. No label. Just a yes, quietly shared between bites of ramen.
Now they were back.
And Tokyo didn't wait for feelings.
—
Back at the office, everything moved like nothing happened.
"Welcome back!"
"Did you get good footage?"
"How was Korea? Any drama?"
Noa smiled, nodded, made vague jokes about too much kimchi and subway chaos.
Ren did the same, effortlessly bouncing between coworkers like nothing inside him had changed.
But Noa knew better.
Because she had changed too.
—
Two days passed.
Then three.
Then five.
They hadn't messaged.
Not in a *we're avoiding each other* way.
But in a *what now?* way.
She opened her phone ten times a day.
Typed things like *"Wanna grab ramen?"*
*"I found your socks in my luggage."*
*"I miss you."*
Deleted all of them.
Maybe it was too soon.
Maybe she imagined the whole thing.
Maybe... he was waiting too.
—
On Friday, she bumped into him by the vending machine.
Literally.
Her forehead hit his shoulder when she turned too fast from the corner.
"Ow," she mumbled, rubbing her head.
Ren blinked. "You okay?"
"Yeah." She tried to step around him. "Sorry. Busy day."
"Wait—Noa."
She paused.
Turned.
He looked tired. Not physically. But in his eyes.
Like he was holding something too long.
"Do you have time after work?" he asked. "Just… to talk."
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
"Yeah. Okay."
—
They met on the rooftop of the office building.
Different sky.
Same distance between them.
"Look," Ren started, hands in his pockets, voice low. "I don't want to mess this up. But I also don't want to keep pretending like we didn't… *feel something.*"
Noa looked down at the city.
"It's easier to pretend."
"I don't want easy."
"Then what do you want?"
"You."
Her breath hitched.
"Even if we screw it up," he said. "Even if it gets weird. Even if people gossip. I'd rather risk that than keep acting like I'm okay not seeing you every day."
Noa swallowed hard.
Because part of her wanted to run.
And part of her wanted to fall into him like she had on that subway.
But this wasn't Korea anymore.
This was reality.
"I don't know if I'm ready," she whispered.
"I'm not asking for perfect," he replied. "Just honest."
She looked at him.
Really looked.
And the boy who once annoyed her at the office printer, who nearly burned his tongue off trying to impress a Korean producer, who caught her mid-fall at a market—
—was now standing still.
Not pushing.
Not pulling.
Just waiting.
That scared her even more.
Because it meant this wasn't a game.
—
"I'm scared," she said.
"I am too."
Noa bit her lip. "But I do want to try."
His shoulders relaxed.
"You sure?"
"No." She laughed nervously. "But I want to be."
Ren took a slow step forward.
Closed the gap.
"I'll wait. As long as it takes."
She smiled.
Half-broken, half-whole.
And leaned her head against his shoulder—right where it had belonged all along.
—
They didn't call it dating.
Didn't change their bios.
Didn't post anything.
But something changed.
They sat closer in meetings.
Shared drinks at the vending machine.
Passed post-it notes with dumb drawings instead of Slack messages.
People noticed.
Of course they did.
But no one said anything.
Because for once, Ren and Noa weren't fighting the chaos.
They were quietly choosing it.
Together.
—
That weekend, Noa finally texted him:
**"You still owe me ramen. Non-emotional one this time."**
He replied:
**"No such thing. But I'm in."**