An hour into wandering about, Shuhua stops. It’s abrupt and, without enough warning, Soojin collides into her backside. 

“Shu–” Soojin starts only to be cut off.

“You must be hungry. Ice cream isn’t–” Head swivelling, Shuhua scans the park. It’s only them, Ren, and the half dozen others out walking despite the heat. “I don’t see…” 

Unlike earlier, the food truck options appear nonexistent. 

Pinching at the skin hidden beneath the light blue fabric of Shuhua’s blouse, Soojin suggests, “I know there isn’t AC, but I was going to make a chicken garbanzo salad. We’d need to stop by the store,” she points out, “To pick up a bit more chicken, but it would feed three.” 

The pause isn’t long, “Okay.” 

Thankfully, the bodega on the corner by her apartment has chicken and a few extra ingredients that Shuhua tosses into the basket. 

“What are these for?” Soojin asks curiously as they approach the counter, motioning to the chocolate and cookies tossed haphazardly on top of the chicken . 

“Oh, you know,” Shuhua replies vaguely, eyes dancing about the walls of the store as she whistles an odd tune, “Cocoa is healthy.” 

As the man behind the glass deli case rings through the items, Soojin quirks her brow, “Healthy?” She starts, but tapers off when Shuhua sneaks in her card to pay. “You need to stop doing that,” she tuts.

Bag in hand, Shuhua waits until they’re on the street before she asks, “Is it the gesture of paying for the items or the fact that I paid for the ice cream as well that bothers you?” The question is soft amidst the chaos of New York. 

“It’s—” the words on the tip of Soojin’s tongue die, “That’s—.” 

There isn’t any rush. Not in the way Shuhua walks or the way she waits for Soojin to answer. 

“Both.” Like the word bears weight, Soojin slumps after it rolls off her tongue. 

“Why?” 

In the middle of the sidewalk, Soojin stops. “It’s—” Her shoulders grow rigid and her jaw clenches. The ire and frustration trickle out in the way she huffs and chews at the inside of her cheek. “It’s stupid,” she manages through her frustration. 

“Your concerns aren’t stupid, Soojin.” The way Shuhua speaks is delicate. Her hair is heavy with perspiration and the fabric of her clothes cling to her skin. “May I hold your hand?” The question lingers in her eyes. 

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