The keypad beeped.
The door unlocked.
Celeste stepped inside, her shoulders sinking as the weight of the day slid off.
October nights were cooler now, and the ache in her feet from a full day in heels had settled in deep.
"You're here,"
Noah's voice came from inside—
lower than usual, and softer.
"Yeah. Wrapped up earlier than I thought."
She was slipping out of her coat when he came over, taking it—and her bag—without a word, setting them neatly aside.
"Bath's ready," he said.
"Don't say a word. Just go, soak, and come out when you're done."
He held out a small towel.
"Warmed it up, too."
Her mouth curved, just slightly.
"…Oh. Good service."—
Thirty minutes later, she padded out with damp hair,
only to find the small dining table laid out—
two boxes of fried chicken,
three cans of beer,
a bottle of soju.
Two white glass cups in the middle.
Noah glanced up from the table, arms loosely folded, and smiled.
"I can't cook, but I know where to buy the best."
He flipped open a box.
"This place—best in the neighborhood."
She sat down, inhaled, and murmured,
"…Oh, that smell… unreal…"
He reached for a cup.
"Shall I pour for you, Madam?"
As the familiar rhythm of beer and soju filled the glass,
she hesitated—then said,
"…Make it the way you did back then. The same ratio."
He paused.
"Back then?"
"Yeah… that time at the Nest. We were eating sushi, and you poured it for me—said you knew the perfect ratio."
His mouth tilted faintly.
Without measuring, he poured—smooth, certain—the beer, the soju, stopping at exactly the right point.
"This it?"
She took the cup, sipped, and narrowed her eyes in quiet satisfaction.
"…Yeah. That's the one."
"Told you—chicken and this ratio are made for each other."
He placed a drumstick on her plate.
"This is why I make money."
She laughed, lifting her cup again.
"God… after a whole day of back-to-back meetings, this is exactly what I needed."
He raised his glass toward hers.
"I'll take care of you properly—right to the end, Madam."
The soft clink of glass meeting glass carried into the October night.
Inside 1501,
in the quiet warmth of their own space,
a small, steady ritual was taking root—
the kind only two people could share.