“She didn’t have to,” Hajun replies as he pulls the stairwell’s door open, stepping aside for a cluster of swimsuit-clad men with thinning hair to waddle out. “Some wounds are deeper than skin. And—” He shakes his head, looking slightly guilty as he speculates on his friend. “I don’t know, it’s just…hardly anybody just falls from a skyscraper. Why was she up on the roof to begin with? She’s not a reckless person. She always thinks things through.” As the final Speedo jauntily struts out the door, Hajun and Seokga slip inside. The former turns as they enter, blocking the god for a moment as his normally kind hazel eyes narrow. “I’m telling you this so you’re gentle with her,” he warns, a fiercely protective light in his eyes. “She’s apprehensive about you already, but still, there’s the red thread. Anything can happen. I don’t want her to find the courage to dive in only to get hurt in the end. Okay?” He sounds almost terrified for Kisa, and Seokga closes his eyes, steadying himself.

“I think,” he hears himself saying, “that you should warn her to be gentle with me.”

The other man laughs, and he hears Hwanin yawn, waking from his nap. “You’re both so scared of each other. For the record…” As Seokga opens his eyes, he sees Hajun offering him a small smile and gestures to the red thread tied to his left pinky, the knot like a floral ring around the small finger. It’s invisible to anybody but Seokga and Kisa, but she must have told him about it. “I don’t know much about mythology, but I know that’s there for a reason.”

“Right,” mutters Seokga, uncomfortable with the amount of kindness Hajun has shown him. He hates nice people, but still adds another rough and awkward “Thank you” before gulping down some more coffee and attempting—in vain—to find a hidden passageway for what feels like hours, but can only be fifteen minutes before a wrinkled hand clamps around his shoulder.

Stiffening, Seokga whirls away from the wall he’s been knocking on (hidden passageways, he hopes, would at least throw him a bone and sound hollow)…and makes eye contact with a very grumpy-looking Jang Heejin. She’s no longer wearing the rubber-duck dress, and Seokga finds himself muttering “thank the heavens for small mercies” aloud. A few steps above, Hajun freezes, holding baby Hwanin with an uncertain expression.

Luckily, Dr. Jang doesn’t seem to see the infant. Behind a giant pair of flamingo-pink sunglasses, he gets the sense that she’s glaring at him, stare boring through the inner depths of his soul. “Seokga,” the elderly therapist chides. “You’re avoiding me.”