The pale morning light crept through the window, soft and unforgiving. Somewhere in the apartment, a clock ticked quietly — the only sound aside from two groggy groans as Gi-hun and Sae-byeok stirred awake.

Gi-hun blinked blearily at the ceiling, his head pounding like a drum.
"Oww… What the hell did we drink?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Next to him, Sae-byeok turned over with a groan of her own, the blanket barely clinging to her bare shoulders.
"Too much," she muttered hoarsely. "Definitely too much."

Then… it hit them both.

Gi-hun froze, eyes slowly widening as he looked down, saw the couch, the clothes scattered on the floor — his shirt halfway across the room, her jeans dangling from the corner of the coffee table.

"Oh god," he whispered. "Did we…?"

Sae-byeok blinked at him, then at herself, then at the couch.
"…Yeah."
She sat up a little, wincing. "We definitely did."

There was an awkward silence. Then:

"…Like, we actually just had sex. Last night. On my couch."
Gi-hun's voice cracked somewhere between disbelief and panic.

Sae-byeok gave him a slow, pointed look. "You really want to go over the details?"

He went bright red, flustered. "No! No no no. Just… making sure it wasn't some weird dream. A really vivid, emotional, painfully real-feeling… dream."

She raised an eyebrow, still half buried under the blanket.
"You say that like it wasn't good."

He hesitated — then gave a small, helpless grin.
"No, it was… I mean— you were— I mean—"
He buried his face in his hands. "God, my head."

Sae-byeok shook her head, hiding a smile. "You're hopeless."

"Completely."

They sat in silence a moment longer, both trying to make sense of it all — the night before, the mess of emotions, the exhaustion, the everything. Then she slowly pulled herself upright, wrapping the blanket around her.

"…Okay," she said with a small sigh. "I need pants. And coffee."

Gi-hun nodded. "Pants. Coffee. Maybe toast."

They gathered their clothes — avoiding too much eye contact while doing so — and quietly slipped into a sense of normalcy again, as best they could. In the tiny kitchen, Sae-byeok cracked a couple of eggs while Gi-hun fumbled with the ancient kettle.

"Okay," he said eventually, breaking the silence. "So… breakfast. Then we talk about whatever this is?"

She glanced at him over her shoulder, smirking faintly.
"Let's survive breakfast first."

A minute later, the clink of forks against plates and the low hum of the old fridge filled the quiet kitchen as they ate. The eggs were slightly overcooked, the toast a little burnt, but it was the first real meal they'd made in peace since—well, since before it all began.

Sae-byeok poked at her food, then glanced up at him, trying to cut through the still-thick tension in the air.
"So… what now?" she asked casually, like it was any ordinary morning after. "What do we even do?"

Gi-hun looked up at her, mid-chew, and arched a brow. Then, with a mischievous little smile, he replied,
"Well, I don't know… maybe first we should get your brother out of the orphanage?"

Her eyes widened—then she laughed. Genuinely laughed.
"God, right," she said, almost smacking her forehead. "Cheol. I can't believe I didn't think of him first."

Gi-hun grinned and took another bite. "Don't worry. You had a… long night."

She rolled her eyes, cheeks tinged just slightly pink, but didn't argue. Instead, she stood, grabbed her coat, and tossed his toward him.
"Well, let's go then."

They finished eating quickly, both suddenly buzzing with energy, purpose. Within minutes, they were out the door, the cold Seoul air a sharp contrast to the warmth of the apartment. They hailed the first taxi they could find, slid into the back seat, and Sae-byeok told the driver the name of the orphanage like it was a mission.

As the city rolled by outside the window, Gi-hun glanced over at her, catching the focused look on her face, the way her fingers nervously tapped against her leg.

"You okay?" he asked gently.

She didn't look at him, just nodded.
"I will be. Once I see him. Once I know he's safe."

He gave a small smile. "He's going to be real happy to see you."

She finally looked at him, eyes softer than he'd seen them in a long time.
"Yeah… and I'm going to make sure he never ends up anywhere near a place like we were in."

Gi-hun nodded. "You won't have to do it alone."

The taxi drove on through the heart of the city, carrying them toward a reunion long overdue — and maybe, just maybe, the start of something new.

The taxi cruised through the city, weaving between lanes as neon signs and office towers blurred past the windows. Seoul was alive and buzzing like always, but in the quiet of the backseat, it felt like the world had slowed down just for the two of them.

Gi-hun sat with his arm gently around Sae-byeok's shoulders, both of them staring out at the passing world. After a while, he glanced at her, voice soft with curiosity.

"Hey… can I ask something?"

She turned her head a little toward him. "Sure."

"When were you born?"

She blinked at the question, surprised by how simple it was. "30 August, 1996," she said after a moment. "So… Only a few weeks til I turn 24."

He smiled. "Huh. You're younger than I thought."

"Is that a good thing?" she teased.

He chuckled. "Just means you've got more years ahead of you to enjoy life. I mean… I was born 31 October, 1974. I'm more than halfway through my life."

Her eyes widened a little. "Damn. I guess I'm just really into older men," she said, completely deadpan.

Gi-hun burst out laughing, shaking his head. "Okay, I walked right into that one."

Sae-byeok smiled, the kind of soft, fleeting smile that didn't come easy to her. Then she looked down at her hands, her voice turning quieter.

"I had a friend, back in the North. Her name was Kang No-eul. She was a little older than me—born 25 June, 1994. We grew up together. She was like… like the big sister I didn't have. Smart. Brave. She always believed we'd get out someday."

She paused, swallowing hard. "She managed to defect in 2017. A year before I did. I never saw her again. I don't know where she ended up. I always hoped she made it. That she got to live. I wonder if she even knows I'm still alive."

Her voice cracked on that last word.

Gi-hun reached over, took her hand in his without a word.

She turned and looked at him—eyes glassy, face crumbling beneath the weight of everything—and then she leaned in and hugged him tight. Really hugged him. Like she didn't want to ever let go.

"Thank you," she whispered, voice breaking. "You saved me. You didn't have to. You could've let me to die back there. But you didn't. You kept me alive. And now… I get to see my brother again. I get to have a life. Maybe I can even bring my mom here, someday. All that only because of you."

Gi-hun held her close, blinking fast, emotion pressing behind his eyes.
"You gave me something too," he said softly. "You reminded me what it means to fight for someone else."

And outside, the city rolled on — a million lives, a million stories — while theirs quietly turned a new page.

The taxi pulled up in front of the small, slightly worn building that bore the modest sign: Seoul Children's Care Center. The sun was beginning to dip low, casting long shadows over the pavement. As the car slowed to a stop, both Gi-hun and Sae-byeok instinctively reached into their pockets and put on their masks. They still had July 2020, after all.

Sae-byeok stared at the building for a moment, her breath catching in her throat. Gi-hun noticed the way her fingers tightened just slightly, the way her body seemed to brace itself for the flood of emotion waiting behind that front door. He didn't say anything. Just stepped out and stood beside her.

"Ready?" he asked gently.

She nodded. "As I'll ever be."

Inside, the orphanage smelled of hand sanitizer and crayons. A kind worker recognized her immediately — the staff knew how much she'd fought to get her brother out, how she'd disappeared one day and never came back. Their reaction was warm but surprised. The woman led them down the hall, to a small common area where a handful of kids sat, reading or drawing.

And then, at the far table, was a small boy. Head down. Drawing something with all the focus in the world.

"Cheol!" she called, her voice trembling.

The boy looked up — a little older than when she'd last seen him, face rounder now, but those eyes. Those eyes hadn't changed.

"Noona?" he blinked. "Noona!"

He jumped from his chair and sprinted into her arms. She caught him, dropping to her knees, hugging him so tightly it looked like she'd never let go again. He was talking a mile a minute in Korean, barely breathing between words, tears forming in his wide eyes.

"I missed you—I thought you were gone—I was so scared—are you okay?"

"I'm okay," she whispered into his hair, rocking him gently. "I'm okay now. I'm here."

Gi-hun stood a few feet away, mask still on, his heart twisting at the sight.

Eventually, Cheol looked up at him, slightly wary.

Sae-byeok pulled back, smiling. "Cheol… this is someone very important. His name is Gi-hun. He helped me. A lot. He's the reason I could come back to you."

Cheol tilted his head. "You mean… he saved you?"

She nodded.

Gi-hun knelt down slowly to meet the boy's gaze. "Hey, buddy," he said with a gentle smile in his voice. "It's really good to meet you."

Cheol narrowed his eyes at him. "Are you her boyfriend?"

Gi-hun blinked. "Uhhh…"

Sae-byeok gave her brother a playful nudge. "Cheol!"

"I'm just asking!"

Gi-hun chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "Let's just… save that question for another day. For now, I'm your sister's friend. And your friend too, if you want."

The boy paused, still scrutinizing Gi-hun. Then, with a shrug:
"Okay. But only if you're good at drawing dinosaurs."

Sae-byeok laughed. Gi-hun looked at her, then back at the kid.
"Dinosaurs, huh? I can try. No promises though."

And just like that, the ice broke. The three of them sat together at the table, masks still on but hearts open, as Gi-hun picked up a crayon and began to draw something that might have been a T. rex, while Cheol critiqued him with all the seriousness of a small art professor. Sae-byeok just watched them, tears in her eyes, quietly realizing she wasn't just surviving anymore.

She was living.

They spent a little longer at the orphanage — not because there was anything left to do, but because none of them wanted to leave quite yet.

Cheol held his sister's hand like it was the only thing tethering him to the world, refusing to let go. She gently smoothed down his hair as they sat side by side on the bench in the courtyard, whispering things in his ear — promises that this time, everything really was going to be okay.

Gi-hun stood a little ways off, letting them have the moment, but keeping a watchful, gentle eye on both.

Eventually, he pulled out his phone and stepped aside. After a few rings, the line picked up.

"Hello?" Sang-woo's voice came through, cautious but warmer than it had been in days.

Gi-hun smiled faintly. "Hey. It's me."

There was a short silence. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, actually," Gi-hun said, glancing over at Sae-byeok and Cheol. "Listen, I need a favor. Just for a few days."

"What kind of favor?"

"It's… easier to explain in person. You'll see when we get there. But can you take care of someone for a bit? I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

Sang-woo sighed. "You always do this. But… yeah. Alright. Just get here safe."

Gi-hun grinned. "Thanks, man."

He hung up, slipping the phone back in his pocket. "Alright," he called over. "Let's go."

Sae-byeok nodded and stood up, holding Cheol's hand tightly. The boy didn't seem eager to leave the orphanage, but as soon as he realized his sister was coming with him, he followed without hesitation.

They walked together out to the main road, where a taxi was already waiting. Gi-hun opened the door for the two of them and then slid in after.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

Gi-hun smiled faintly, locking eyes with Sae-byeok through the mirror.

"Ssangmun-dong, please."

As the taxi pulled off into the streets of Seoul, the city passing by in blurred motion, there was silence for a while. But it wasn't the kind of silence that lingered with grief or fear. It was full of something softer.

Hope.

And as they crossed the bridge toward Seoul, the sun already beginning to dip behind the skyline, Gi-hun glanced to his side.

Cheol had fallen asleep against his sister's shoulder.