[CONTENTID1]Snowfall[/CONTENTID1]

 [CONTENTID2]Chapter III [/CONTENTID2]

 [CONTENTID3]

         Don’t you look just like me? Irene casts her eyes on the gray clouds above and observes the soft snow slowly falling from them. Now that she is away from everyone else on this rooftop with nothing but a bench to sit on and the radio channel on her phone to accompany her, she finds herself slowly calming down from the earlier confrontation.

      How will I return to the studio now? She remembers all of their surprised gazes, and the anger she has inflicted on the other girl group members. Sighing heavily, she shuts her eyes and turns the radio’s volume up to drown away the thoughts that made her feel anxious.

      Then comes a faint sound that she could barely hear through the spaces of her earphones. “Miss Irene? Miss Irene.” A tap on her shoulder snapped her back to reality. Almost as if on cue, her shoulders straighten, her chin lifts an inch higher and her eyes narrow to observe the sudden intrusion of her peaceful moment.

      A tall figure with small eyes, capped head, silver chains dangling on his neck, a black loose shirt and baggy pants, stands before her. She is quick to realize that it was the same man she had unintentionally shoved earlier and the same man who raps Winner’s songs with his deep voice. Song Mino, his name is Song Mino.

      The man’s eyes cast up to the misty clouds just for a moment before he turned his attention to the female again. Quickly, he fishes out a white pad from his pocket and hands it to her.

      A heat pack, she realizes upon feeling the warmth seeping to her palm. “Thank you, but I don’t need it,” she reasons in a heartbeat as she takes her earphones off and attempts to hand the pack back.

      “I insist. Otherwise, you can just throw it if it really is useless.”

      Stubborn, Irene observes, however she doesn't really mind. Compared to the ones who run away, this is quite refreshing. “If you insist. Thank you, Mino. Also, you need not be so formal around me.”

      “Really?” There is an evident spark of interest that can be seen from his eyes. “Then should I call you noona? Irene noona?” He lets the name roll off his tongue carefully and delicately.

      She stiffly nodded and tore her gaze away. What else is there to say? Irene has always hated to be in the presence of awkwardness and for some reason, it follows her way too often.

      "What are you listening to?" He asks with a subtle point to the earphones now placed on her lap.

      "A... love radio channel. The DJ is currently sharing a story sent to them." Irene dares to look up to him once more and is able to see a lopsided smile on his lips. "You think it's silly."

      "I think it’s quite endearing." He counters without a second more, which showcased his honesty, leaving her mum again. His gaze flickers to the spot beside her before returning to her gaze, as if he was asking for permission and Irene frowns at his persistence, to which he only chuckles, "I promise not to be so annoying, noona."

      There was something quite polarizing on how he calls her that – in a