Evening light

We went to eat.

Nothing fancy. A tiny place two blocks from the office. The kind where the tables are sticky, and no one asks how your day was.

Jiwoo ordered rice with egg. She said nothing for fifteen minutes, stared at the plate like it owed her money, then muttered, “I hate everything,” before scraping the bowl clean.

Yumi kept showing us things, photos, memes, edits. A blurry shot of Jong-Su with the caption: angel energy. She giggled. “Tell me that doesn’t heal something in you.”

I nodded. I always do.

I barely tasted my food.

The rice was warm. The miso too salty. But I chewed it. Swallowed. Nodded again.

Afterward, we split the bill without speaking. The waitress smiled at us like we were something worth noticing. We weren’t.

—

When I got home, the silence greeted me like an old friend, gentle, total, mine.

The door closed behind me with a soft click. I slipped my shoes off. The apartment smelled like warm dust and maybe the last instant coffee I made.

Same walls. Off-white. Slightly cracked. A desk I never used. A chair no one else had ever sat in. One bed.

The kind of space that didn’t ask questions. That didn’t notice if you changed.

I sat on the edge of the bed, coat still on, flip phone resting beside me like a quiet observer.

I looked at the walls.

Should I paint them?

Light purple, maybe.

Not lilac. Not lavender. Just… muted. Almost gray. Something that wouldn’t shock the room, just breathe with it.

But I didn’t move.

Maybe I should change my phone instead. Or buy a plant. A real one this time. Not the plastic thing I stuck by the window last spring.

Or maybe I should just sleep.

I sighed. Deep, hollow.

Didn’t do any of those things. Just laid down. Stared at the ceiling. Waited for nothing to happen.

—

The next day arrived on schedule.

Deadlines. Clogged traffic. Coffee that tasted like regret and made my stomach turn.

Yumi was buzzing again, talking about NEONIX’s latest radio appearance. She played the clip on low volume. Jong-Su’s voice came through like silk spun over gravel. Something in me wanted to listen closer. Something else told me not to.

Jiwoo rolled her eyes hard enough to cause structural damage. “Do you ever stop?”

Yumi shrugged, unbothered.

By evening, we stood in front of the elevator.

Same hallway. Same posture. Same weight behind our silence.

The doors opened.

Them again.

Four of them. Hooded. Masked. Not idols now. Just people. Shadows.

Not loud. Not trying. Just there.

Yumi didn't say a word. She plugged in her earphones and backed into the corner. But I saw her foot tapping slightly. A body remembering it was alive.

Jiwoo didn’t blink. If you told me she’d astral projected halfway through the day, I’d believe you.

I stepped in last. Stood near the buttons.

I looked down.

Nice shoes.

Really. Clean lines. Expensive soles. Thoughtful styling.

Matched, but not screaming for attention.

I gave a small nod. Not at them. Just at the shoes.

That was it.

The floor numbers lit up.

No one spoke.

They got off at the lobby first. Quietly. Ghosts with good posture.

The doors closed.