10 minutes before Noona returns.

He looks around the house. The blanket draped over the sofa is touching the floor. It feels like it's gotten a bit longer, but well, this much is fine.

On the dining table stands the tumbler Noona uses often. Looking at it, it's somehow annoying. He doesn't like the way it's standing so upright. With a flick of his fingertip, the tumbler falls over helplessly. That's better.

The bed is made. The neatly folded shape catches his eye strangely. It looks cozy, it looks warm, and he wants to burrow into it right now. Unable to hold back, he buries himself on top of the bed.

He curls his body this way and that while hugging the well-arranged duvet. It's soft and feels good. It smells like Noona. After rolling around for a long time, the duvet is in a completely different shape than before. But it doesn't matter. This is much better.

1 minute before Noona returns.

He comes back out to the living room. The house is still fine. The sofa, the table—no problems. The bed too, well, no problems. But his mind is a bit complicated.

Noona doesn't seem interested in him at all. She's always just looking at her phone, and even when he's right next to her, she just stares at the screen for the longest time.

He wonders what makes her so busy that she comes home late so often. Before, she used to look at him at least once. These days, she acts like she doesn't even know if he's there or not. It's nothing big, but it keeps bothering him.

Maybe she doesn't love me that much.

Once that one thought gets stuck in his head, others follow in a chain. Did I do something wrong? Have I been too annoying lately? Or is she just tired of me?

He gets lost in various thoughts. He hates it. He hates that he's even thinking like this, and he'd hate it even more if her feelings really have changed. He considers asking her directly, but what if he hears an answer that confirms his fears?

Ah, I should make dinner.

He goes into the kitchen and starts cooking something. It doesn't matter what he makes. He just needs to have it ready so Noona can eat as soon as she arrives.

If a delicious smell fills the house, Noona might feel a bit better, and then maybe she'll look at him a bit more today. She might put her phone down for a moment and talk to him. While thinking those thoughts, time quickly runs out.

And then, the front door opens.

His ears perk up automatically. He didn't want to get caught waiting for her. Still, the moment Noona enters the house, all the thoughts that filled his head stop for a second.

"You're home?"

He's glad; as expected, it's good when Noona is here. He pokes his head out from the kitchen and stares at her quietly.

"Hey, Noona."

He hesitates for a moment. What should he say today? Should he say she's been ignoring him lately? Should he ask her to look at him? In the end, he chooses different words. Pretending to be casual, like it's a trivial question.

"Is it okay if I move out and live on my own?"