“Its function,” he explains, unexpectedly finding some amusement in the way Kisa is blushing. So different from how Hani would have reacted—a coy smile, a sweetly sarcastic joke—but it’s…it’s endearing. “Hearing each other’s thoughts. It lends a sense of intimacy, don’t you think?” He can’t help but smile a bit wickedly and take at least a little delight in how Kisa squirms, still blushing. “The red thread connects soulmates,” Seokga continues explaining as Kisa buries her nose in her cup. “Maybe they’re strangers at first. But what better way to know somebody intimately than to hear their thoughts?”

—wish I could—stop blushing—intimacy—intimacy—my cheeks are blue—ugly—

“Your cheeks aren’t ugly when they’re blue,” Seokga says with a small frown that masks a smile. It’s the first time her thoughts have been anything other than swiftly calculated jumbles, and it sends a little fissure of hope through him. She’s not as clinical, as emotionless, as he’d thought. It occurs to him, for the first time, that Kisa is just as nervous as he is. Already, their second meeting in this coffee shop is going much better than their first one only this afternoon.

Even if she still views him as an exciting research project, perhaps they can still become…friends. Seokga will take as much of her as he can, or as little as he’s allowed. After thirty-three years of searching, he’s finally found her.

But she’s dead, he remembers, and something tightens deep in his stomach.

No. He won’t think about that right now.

Kisa is peeking up at him over her mug. “Thank you,” she mumbles. “That’s very nice of you, actually.” A hand rises self-consciously to her indigo-stained cheeks before she hastily looks away.

He shrugs, even though he’s preening like a peacock inside. “Yes,” he replies, tracing the lid of his coffee cup. “I’m very nice.” It is important to him that she knows this. So important that Seokga risks sounding like a bumbling fool. Which he does. He grits his teeth and takes a long, long sip of his drink.

Kisa’s left eyebrow raises, nearly touching that little heart right above. “Hundreds of history books and tonight’s events might suggest otherwise,” she retorts. “You’re notorious for being, well, a bit of an unpleasant person.”

“I’m very nice,” he amends, “to the people I like.”

“And to the people you don’t?” Kisa looks like she might—just might—be hiding a smile. “Do you usually shape-shift into crows and attack them?”

“I usually prefer to shift into a panther and maul them,” he deadpans. “But the greenhouse was too small for that.” A moment later, he regrets it. Hani might have understood his dark humor, but Kisa…