Se-Ri's POV
Two weeks into living together, the newness began to settle — not in a dull way, but like paint finally drying into color.
We found a rhythm.
Leo always made the coffee first.
I always left the bathroom light on.
He folded his shirts like origami.
I left my earrings on every available surface.
Sometimes we cooked together in the evenings.
Sometimes we worked side by side, laptops open, headphones in, exchanging glances that meant later.
Other nights, we barely spoke — not because something was wrong, but because the silence between us had become its own language. A soft, familiar kind.
Still, there were edges.
Sometimes he stayed up too late, lost in work.
Sometimes I caught him staring too long out the window, expression unreadable.
And sometimes — in the in-between moments, brushing teeth or folding laundry — I caught myself wondering how long this would last.
Not because I didn't trust him.
But because I'd never trusted the feeling of ease. Of things not falling apart.
The Photo Frame
One evening, I found Leo standing in the hallway, staring at a photo frame we hadn't hung yet.
It was the one from the lake — our boots in the foreground, the stillness of the water behind them.
"You printed this?" I asked, stepping beside him.
"I brought it from Shanghai," he said quietly.
"I didn't know you kept it."
He didn't answer right away.
"I didn't think I'd get to look at it with you again," he said finally.
My chest tightened.
"Do you want to hang it?" I asked.
He hesitated. "Let's leave it here… Not everything has to be displayed."
I looked at him. "But not everything has to be hidden either."
He met my gaze. "You're not hidden. Not anymore."
We stood there in silence — not tense, but careful. Thoughtful.
Eventually, we decided to hang the frame.
Not in the hallway.
In our bedroom.
Not front and center, but not tucked away either.
It felt right.
We were slowly becoming us.
Still figuring out what that meant.
Still folding into the rhythm of each other.
And maybe that was enough...
For now.