The persistent patter of rain whispered against the windows like a soft lullaby, a quiet rhythm that filled the spaces between their words. Beyond the glass, the world had blurred into shadows–the kitchen window black as ink, reflecting only the warm light from inside.
Calmly returning to the task at hand, Ryul set the cups down on the counter and added the sliced pieces of dried jujube into the pot, letting them simmer in the bubbling water for a while.
"Would you prefer to have ginger in your tea? Some people don't really like it, so-"
He stopped mid-sentence when he glanced back up and noticed Jihoon frozen in place like a statue.
"What happened?" Ryul asked, arching an eyebrow as he stirred the mixture with a silver spoon, the quiet chime of metal against ceramic threading through the soft percussion of the heavy downpour outside.
Jihoon slowly turned his head, lips parted like he meant to speak, his brows drawn together in quiet confusion.
