The rooftop was empty.
Except for two folding chairs, a plastic table, one shared cup of convenience store cola, and the faint sound of someone's pop ballad playing on a distant floor.
Noa slurped ramen.
Ren ate a piece of kimchi like it had wronged him personally.
"This is the spiciest thing I've ever tasted," he said, fanning his tongue.
"You said that last time."
"This time I mean it with emotion."
Noa smiled, tired but amused. "Then stop eating it."
"I can't. It's emotional damage, but delicious."
They sat in silence again, the wind brushing against their hair.
It was almost peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Like the kind of quiet that demanded truth.
Noa took another bite of ramen and stared at the city lights below. "What happens after this?"
Ren blinked. "This trip?"
"No. Us."
He set his chopsticks down slowly.
"I don't know," he said honestly.
"Me neither."
They didn't look at each other.
Didn't need to.
Because the weight of the moment already hung in the air between them.
—
Ren finally spoke. "I was thinking…"
"Dangerous."
"…if this weren't a work trip, if this was just us... would we still be here together?"
Noa looked down at her cup.
"I think so."
"You think?"
"I mean, I want to."
He turned to her now.
Not joking. Not teasing.
Just… honest.
"Noa."
She looked up.
And suddenly, everything was too still.
"Do you want to keep doing this? Not the job. Not the chaos. Just... this. You and me. Whatever this is."
She didn't answer for a moment.
Then: "I'm scared."
"Me too."
"But I still want to."
A beat.
Then Ren laughed—soft and low.
"Cool. We're scared together."
She smiled.
And for the first time in days, she felt light.
Like the world didn't need them to define anything just yet.
Just to say yes, quietly.
And mean it.
—
They finished the ramen in comfortable silence.
The wind picked up.
Ren casually draped his hoodie over Noa's shoulders.
She didn't give it back.
Didn't offer a thank-you.
Just wore it like it had always been hers.
And he didn't ask for it back.
Because it kind of always was.