Steam rose into the night like pale ghosts finally deciding to abandon the earth, drifting upward in slow, reverent spirals as if even vapor understood ceremony. Paper lanterns swayed gently above the wooden entrance of the hot spring bathhouse, their amber glow trembling softly against polished wood and dark stone.
Noa stopped in front of the entrance with the most shamelessly satisfied expression a man could wear without being arrested for emotional crimes.
Vionette stared at the sign. Then at him. Then back at the sign again, as if hoping the letters would rearrange themselves into something less embarrassing.
"This… was your reward?" she asked slowly, her voice suspended somewhere between disbelief, betrayal, and faint resignation.
Noa nodded as if he had requested something extremely reasonable, folding his arms with the proud posture of a man who had just solved a political crisis through personal comfort.
"You said I could ask for anything."
She narrowed her eyes at him, though the corners of her lips betrayed her. They twitched upward like flowers trying to bloom in winter.
"You didn't even care about these kinds of places."
"That's for other people," he said casually, as if discussing weather patterns instead of social expectations.
There was a pause. The wind brushed past them, carrying distant laughter from the city streets like echoes from another world.
Then Vionette sighed.
"Fine," she said. "But if this becomes awkward, I am blaming you forever."
"Yes ma'am!"
Noa stepped forward first, like someone entering a battlefield he had already decided he would win through sheer confidence. Vionette followed, walking beside him rather than behind him, though she kept her arms lightly crossed as if protecting her dignity from the possibility of scandal.
The moment they entered, the workers froze.
Whispers spilled like ink dropped into clear water.
"Who is she—"
"T-That's her Majesty!"
"Why is she here?"
Vionette waved lightly as if she were greeting neighbors at a market stall, not subjects in a sacred bathing establishment. Her carefree smile did nothing to diminish the weight of her title; instead, it made her presence feel like a royal sun choosing to walk among common stars.
Noa leaned toward her and whispered, "See? Even the steam respects you."
"Be quiet," she muttered immediately.
"Please relax. Tonight I am just a customer."
The whispers softened, though the bows did not rise.
"Can we get a private room, please?" she asked the receptionist, who was already bowing so deeply it looked like she was apologizing to gravity itself.
"By your will."
Dude, stop saying the same thing, Vionette thought with weary amusement.
The receptionist glanced between them. Her cheeks slowly bloomed red as if she had just solved a complicated romantic mystery in her head.
"…We have other appropriate accessories too, Your Majesty."
"Y-you have what now?!" Vionette's hands shot up in automatic surrender as her face exploded into crimson embarrassment. "Nonono! Not something like that!"
"Ah! My apologies!" The receptionist bowed repeatedly, panic blooming behind her professional composure.
…
They were led to a private open-air bath.
Warm light from lanterns and candles flickered against stone walls and polished wooden beams. Steam drifted upward into the cool night air, blurring the stars into trembling halos—as if the heavens themselves were uncertain whether to remain clear or melt into soft memory.
Noa entered first after washing. He sank into the bath with a satisfied breath, the hot water wrapping around him like a motherly embrace after years of wandering.
On the other side of the wooden screen, Vionette finished washing. She clutched a small bath towel tightly, holding it like a shield raised against invisible arrows.
Crap. Crap. Crap. Why did I agree to this?
Her thoughts screamed louder than battle drums inside her chest.
She inhaled slowly. Then stepped around the screen.
Noa turned lazily at the sound of her steps.
Holy—…shit.
He almost had a nosebleed.
Lantern light traced the elegant curve of her shoulders, the delicate line of her waist, and the long, graceful silhouette of her legs. She looked like a sculpture carved by patient gods who had spent centuries deciding where beauty should breathe.
Vionette looked backat him.
He was leaning back against the smooth stone edge of the bath, hair slightly damp, dark strands clinging to his forehead like tired shadows. His shoulders were broad, arms relaxed but defined, water resting just below his chest and exposing the clean architecture of muscle beneath skin.
Her thoughts betrayed her immediately.
Those abs though…
She stepped closer to the bath, refusing to let him see the heat rising in her face like sunrise.
"Don't stare."
"I wasn't," he replied instantly.
"Don't lie!"
"I was appreciating the steam." He closed his eyes, rolling his shoulders casually like a man admiring scenery.
She lowered herself into the water slowly. The surface parted around her skin like silk being cut by a ceremonial blade. Warmth wrapped around her, melting tension from her shoulders like snow surrendering to spring.
"You know," she said quietly, looking up at the night sky above them, "this is my first time in a hot spring."
Her voice softened, carrying a faint nostalgia. "Back in Korea, I never really had the mood to come to places like this."
Noa tilted his head slightly, smiling.
"Then I am more than honored to be your first."
"?!!"
Vionette's eyes trembled like storm water struck by sudden lightning. Her face turned pale red, matching the color of her eyes in intensity.
She splashed water at him.
"Don't phrase it like that, you idiot!"
"Okay! Okay! Jeez!" Noa raised both hands defensively. "Stop it. You're disrespecting the culture."
"Uh… okay," she muttered, leaning back.
For a moment, they simply existed in silence.
Night insects hummed softly like distant prayers. Water rippled gently around their bodies. The usual chaos of their lives faded into quiet, comfortable breathing.
Then Vionette spoke again.
"You didn't… come to places like this with other girls, right?"
The question sounded casual, but the air between them tightened like a drawn bowstring. The scent of burning candles drifted through the open air, sweet and faintly ceremonial.
Noa did not look at her immediately. Instead, he looked upward at the star-filled sky.
They shone brighter tonight—brighter than four years ago, as if even the heavens had grown older and wiser.
"I didn't even have anyone to talk to as friends," he said calmly. "So how would I bring someone to a place like this?"
He had stretched his hand toward the constellations, only to learn that some heavens close their gates without cruelty as he fell down; understanding that even galaxies reject what disrupts their orbit, he embraced the fall and named himself a rock instead of a star.
The air softened. The night grew quieter, like a crowd holding its breath during a dramatic performance.
Vionette watched him longer than she intended, seeing not the teasing man beside her—but the lonely silhouette hidden behind his words.
Vionette, or rather Han Seoyeon, was surrounded by people who called themselves friends but followed her for money, while Noa had no one at all; the reasons were different but both knew the weight of being alone in different ways.
Then she leaned sideways slightly, letting her shoulder touch his.
"Well," she said brightly, like sunlight pushing through clouds, "I'm happy your first companion happens to be me."
What once fell as a lifeless rock was now being slowly tempered by warmth—like metal held in sacred flame, its edges softened by shared moments and gravity that was not oppressive but comforting.
"Are you jealous?" Noa from the present asked, returning to teasing tone, not the lonely version from four years ago.
"I'm! Not!"
"You are~"
Vionette pouted and splashed him again, harder this time. Water burst between them like shattered glass crystals under lantern light.
Steam rose between them, turning their silhouettes soft and dreamlike as if the night itself were wrapping them in quiet protection.
"If you splash me, I will drown you," she warned.
He grinned. "You can't drown me."
"Try me."
…
The steam had long faded from their skin when they moved to the private suite lounge attached to their chamber, but warmth remained inside their bones like stored sunlight.
They wore light robes. A low lacquered table separated them—not by distance, but by polite social ritual. A pot of herbal tea rested between two porcelain cups, steam rising lazily like sleepy spirits.
Vionette lifted her cup with regal elegance, damp white hair slipping over her shoulder like falling snow.
"I think we broke the rules too much by playing with water there."
Noa leaned back against the cushioned bench, hair still slightly untamed, looking like a man who had just fought and won against gravity itself.
"You started it first, you little princess."
"Whatever. No one noticed anyway."
She brushed her hair neatly. Meanwhile, Noa struggled with his own hair like a man trying to negotiate with a stubborn spirit.
He tried holding it. He tried pushing it to the sides. The strands refused to obey.
"Heheheh," Vionette laughed softly, blush spreading lightly across her cheeks, eyes relaxed and warm.
"Hey! Stop laughing," he said, one eyebrow twitching.
"Moron. Can't even fix your own hair."
She stood, placing her head gently against the table as she moved behind him. Then she knelt slightly, close enough to touch his hair without disturbing his personal space.
"Let me do it."
She touched his hair with careful gentleness, like a mother preparing her child for school in the morning light.
"First, get up, you idiot. You can't fix your hair when you're leaning down."
Noa reacted slowly, confused by the unexpected tenderness of the gesture. Vionette had simply decided to fix his hair without asking.
After he stood, she sat beside him on the same bench, reaching again for his silk-black hair.
What if—
An idea sparked inside her mind like a mischievous star being born.
She began experimenting with hairstyles.
One by one. Changing patterns. Testing possibilities like a strategist planning future kingdoms through aesthetics alone.
"Why are you playing with my hair?" he asked, face completely expressionless.
Vionette stuck her tongue out slightly like a child waiting for candy.
"Just stay like that."
This? Looks good. How about this? Hot. Then this? Cool.
No matter which style she tried, all of them suited him. Not because the hairstyles were special—but because the person wearing them did not change, even when the presentation did.
Beauty was not only in design.
It was in identity that remained constant through every shape.
"Whatever. Let's just go with the usual one," she said finally.
She returned his hair to its familiar style. The stubborn strands that had resisted even his own efforts now obeyed her gentle movements, like loyal soldiers recognizing their queen.
Outside, the night continued breathing softly, carrying their laughter upward like prayers that did not need to be answered—only heard.