As the night drew on, the unofficial truce between Jiyeon and Kang was beginning to fray, held together by little more than the exhaustion and caffeine coursing through their veins. Yura, already sensing the fragility of the peace she'd demanded, eyed both of them suspiciously over her coffee. A raised eyebrow here, a sideways glance there; it was like she was refereeing a silent boxing match, waiting for the next verbal jab to be thrown.
The three sat around Yura and Jiyeon's cozy living room, which looked deceptively calm, almost like a museum piece. The mantle was stacked with carefully curated knick-knacks and, because it was still technically autumn, an army of decorative gourds lined the table, staring them down. Yura's designer touch was evident everywhere, from the pristine throw blankets to the alphabetically organized shelf of coffee table books — none of which had ever actually been opened.
