Time has always been a struggle for me. In the wake of it all, I felt like a lifeless shell going through motions.

Wake up, eat, work, eat, sleep. Have the occasional, semi-mandatory .

My days started out the same and ended the same. I didn’t know when exactly it was when I started to lose track of my days. In the blur of reality, everything was the same. I no longer cared for expectations and that included seeing my husband, whom I haven’t seen much of this year.

Now as I stare at the divorce papers in front of me, it all feels too much like I’m closing a chapter of my life. The chapter of my twenties. I was disappointed. Not because I regretted getting married.

Maybe it was spending my life holding back so much. Holding off on this vacation or this expenditure and making excuses.

But when you spend the first bit of your adulthood with later’s and next time’s, all of a sudden, those times are gone.

I pick up the pen. It’s ice in my hands. For what I’m about to do, I’m grateful I feel a semblance of emotion. Maybe it’s not what I should be feeling, but nonetheless, it made me feel somewhat human.

As I sign, flipping through the pages, I see that he’s taking his cars, leaving me mine and the house. What stops me sharp in my steps is reading the line about our couch.

It should be silly that I’m hung over on the couch, but there was a sort of betrayal that I felt so intensely in my gut. I didn’t care about the memories.

It’d been what the couch meant to me.

Our couch wasn’t fancy by any means in its aged plush velvety stature, its color vague depending on the day of time.

I don’t initial that line. It’s stupid. I’m so aware of how childish I sound for wanting to keep that couch, but it didn’t matter.

It was mine.

He’d given it to me on our first anniversary. It was my lucky couch where I worked on the very first drafts of my published journals and well, I wasn’t necessarily superstitious by any means, but it’d been the only thing that kept me company through those evenings of being alone and eating takeout like I was some sad, pitiful wine-drugged housewife.

I realize shortly that I’m wallowing, and that’s just ironic, considering my degree and field of work.

Shaking my head and clearing my negativity, I abandon the papers in search of food. I probably haven’t eaten anything today. I had some appointments this morning, and by the time I checked my watch, it seems that my entire day has once again skirted by me.

As I’m about to go open the door, instead, two brief knocks sound, before the door bursts open, hitting me square in the forehead.

I release a groan muffled by my hands as I go to cradle the pain that radiates to the back of my head.

“!” I hear somebody curse, and frankly, a rough crash follows somewhere in the distance because this person’s thrown whatever it was that they’d been holding onto. “Are you alright? Any nausea? Your field of vision clear? No muddiness? Can you hear me—“

I slap a hand up midair to distance us and frankly, to stop this person from bombarding me with questions I can’t process at light speed.

My palm makes contact with something warm and hard, and when I finally come to, it’s Sehun I’m touching.

I’m not sure what to be more astonished about. The fact that he’s somehow in my office, or the fact that this boy slammed the door on my face?

His chest heaves, and he stares at me, pupils dilated from shock and concern and the bulk of all those big expressions of his.

And this is the moment when I lose my sanity. Laughter erupts out of me, and the momentum knocks me on my .

Sehun’s eyes narrow, half in weighted concern, half in question.

It was simply the most ridiculous thing. Me sitting sprawled out on the floor, and there he is, above me, with his hands tucked on his hips under his lab coat, face contorted with fear of him having given me a concussion.

My hysteria eventually subsides, and he sticks out a hand. I take it, waiting for him to pull me up to eye level. Instead, he overestimates, or should I say—I underestimate, his strength and dive straight into his chest.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” I say through a mouthful of his scrubs.

He releases me into a more breathable space but there’s still an arm locked behind my back. I watch as he uses his free hand to check out my forehead, squeezing, touching, and tapping.

“Dude, quit going all doctor on me,” I complain, pushing off of him.

Hearing me drop my guard must’ve done the same to his because I’ve somehow coaxed a smile out from under him. A smile that was once hard to earn.

“You’re mostly fine, seeing that you’re as boisterously pushy as ever,” he informs.

I slap his arm. “When did you get so cheeky?”

A flash of amusement dances between his eyes. “Did you expect me to be the same withdrawn brooding teenager?”

“I must say, it’s weird seeing you in scrubs.”

“What? You’re not gonna even ask why I’m here?”

“Well, you’re wearing a doctor’s attire, and considering the length of your gown, you’re in your last year of residency.”

He shakes his head. “Oh, god. You’re like a mind-bender now.”

“No, it’s called the magic of deduction, my sweet child.”

“Ha. Ha. Well, yes, to answer your question, I’ve been generously offered to work my last year of fellowship and guaranteed a permanent position within next year by the Emory gods. Given that I can pass my boards.”

I can’t hide the smile on my face. It feels so good to just be the same old Chan and not Dr. Ryu. “Where’d you come from before?”

“Hopkins,” he tells me, too casually.

My jaw falls. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What? Emory’s plenty prestigious.”

“You left the temperate climate of Baltimore and relocated to traffic-congested bipolar Atlanta? You’ve lost your mind.”

He beams. “Why not? The gods have answered my prayers. Here I am, in front of my first love.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“So I’ve heard,” he says. Mischief and misconduct gather at the end of his mouth.

I shake my head. “I’m banning you from my office.”

“No can do. I brought food.” Then, his eyes go wide when he realizes that he tossed it earlier in the midst of chaos.

I laugh again, feeling it resonate in my stomach, and from that, warmth blooms and lingers in my chest even when I’ve stopped. “You’re still such a nutcase, Sehun.”

He pauses and stares at me.

“What?”

He blinks it away, grinning. “Nothing important. Let’s hope we didn’t spill curry all over your pristine floors.”

[a/n] hmm i didn't know where this chapter was headed but even though, it's short it feels whole to me. i explored more of their casual dynamic. you see less of the stoic chan you saw in the first chapter. i like the pacing and the vibez so hehe we'll end here for now!