This was different.

Aeri had stayed the night, for the first time since the beginning of your arrangement. She hadn't left five minutes after finishing, and that was strange.

My mind couldn't stop whirring as the older girl lay next to me, one arm sprawled across her bare chest, our warm legs tangled together under the sheets.

We used to call ourselves friends with benefits. It had started as friendship when Aeri, during her aespa days, would visit the bar I worked at almost every evening. She'd always come towards closing hours and chat while I cleaned, sipping Diet Coke with lemon and no ice - her way to detach from idol life and just be normal.

After months of those conversations, she invited me to her place after work. I remember the drive, the nervous atmosphere so different from our usual banter. I was terrified, and apparently so was she.

One glass of red wine and my shirt hitching slightly as I sat on her couch was all it took for her lips to find mine. Her hands traced every inch of my body, those first tentative touches now a distant memory - her fingers no longer trembled when they dipped into my underwear.

We never had set boundaries until the day 'fuck buddy' tumbled out of her mouth with light giggles. It stung more than I expected, but I let it be. Having her on her terms was better than not having her at all.

Truth be told, I was the one who enforced the dynamic most strictly. Though the words made my insides curl, I'd always leave her bed immediately, not wanting to be a burden or cross lines. I developed a talent for emotional detachment. Our conversations watered down to simple greetings and formalities, nothing personal. We weren't even friends with benefits anymore - acquaintances with benefits seemed more accurate.

Yet here she lay, her steady breathing the only sound in the dark room. Something was different. I'd noticed it as soon as she'd stepped into my apartment - face slightly sunken, newly dyed hair sticking to her forehead from the light drizzle outside. I couldn't find that familiar gleam in her eyes from when we first met almost three years ago.

She'd texted out of the blue after two months of no contact, and she didn't seem healthy. Dark circles under her eyes revealed clear exhaustion. I didn't even have time to greet her before her lips were on mine, more desperate than ever, fingers gripping me like I might disappear.

"What are you thinking about?"

Her whispered words dragged me from my thoughts. I sat up, grabbing a random shirt from the floor and slipping it on while she also sat up, turning on the precarious lamp by the bedside table. Soft light cast worried shadows on her features as her eyes filled with anxiety. She brought her thumb to her lips habitually, trying to read my face.