Saturday sunlight cut across the apartment, picking out the chaos of Min-Kyung's departure morning: suitcases unzipped and half-filled, a tangle of designer dresses, airport outfits, scattered skincare, the faint scent of vanilla and perfume lingering where Min-Kyung's hands moved. Yura, freshly showered and still barefoot, was prepping herbal tea in the kitchen, lips curled in a fond, exasperated smile as Min-Kyung grumbled her way from closet to luggage.
"Are you sure you want that sweater?" Yura called, pouring hot water.
Min-Kyung reappeared, holding up a red cashmere turtleneck and a sequined bra. "Honestly? I'd rather pack your pregnancy glow. That shit would kill in New York. Don't tell me not to work too hard—last time you said that, I ended up doing double shifts for Fashion Week."
Yura grinned. "I'll send you a care package—masks, Korean vitamins, baby bump photos for the group chat."
