104. Wrong Luggage

The elevator hummed softly as it climbed upward, casting a warm glow across the marble walls and polished brass trim. Ashley leaned her back against the wall, letting out a quiet sigh. Her heels had left an unmistakable ache pulsing in her feet, but the pleasant residue of the evening—melting ice cream, laughter, and the kaleidoscope of lights reflecting off the park lake—still lingered like warmth beneath her skin.

Josh stood beside her, his posture casual, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding his jacket over his arm. He looked composed, but every few seconds his gaze flicked toward Ashley, as if silently checking on her. He didn’t speak, didn’t press. He just... stayed close. And somehow, that was enough.

When the elevator finally chimed and the doors slid open, they stepped into the penthouse—new, pristine, still smelling of polished wood and the faint trace of vanilla air freshener. The place was unfamiliar, sure, but not cold. Slowly, the sterile walls were beginning to feel lived in. Like something that could, one day, be called home.

Ashley kicked off her shoes with a groan and flopped onto the sofa. She rubbed her aching feet, her brow furrowed in regret. “I should’ve brought sandals.”

Josh let out a chuckle as he placed his jacket on a nearby hook. “Tomorrow, I’ll buy you the softest pair in the city.”

She gave him a small nod, too tired to muster anything more. “Thanks,” she mumbled, pushing herself back to her feet. “I’ll shower first, then maybe unpack a bit.”

“Take your time,” Josh replied, already making his way to his own room. “I’ll clean up later. You’ve earned the first shower.”

The bathroom was warm, the water even warmer. Ashley let it wash away the fatigue of the day, the flight, the emotional undercurrent of the move—everything. She wrapped herself in a thick towel afterward, the fogged mirror revealing a pale face, damp strands of hair clinging to her temples. A soft frown formed as she crouched beside her suitcase—the one she had packed in a blur back in Korea.

She unzipped it.

And froze.

Staring back at her wasn’t the orderly arrangement of clothes she’d carefully folded. No blouses, no pajamas, no T-shirts.

Just... snacks.

Packets of ramen. Rows of biscuits. Vacuum-sealed kimchi. Dried seaweed. Boxes of honey butter chips.

"What the hell..." she muttered, rifling through the contents with growing panic. She dug beneath the ramen like a determined archaeologist, hoping, praying for one familiar piece of sleepwear. Nothing.

“No way. No. No.” She looked around in disbelief, muttering under her breath. “I packed this myself... didn’t I?”

She reached for her carry-on suitcase and opened it. There were clothes—yes—but the kind made for daylight: sleek dresses, linen trousers, elegant tops. Not a single item fit for sleeping. And the rest? Still in transit, arriving in a few days with the rest of their things.

She closed her eyes and let her forehead rest against the wall, whispering to herself in defeat. “Of course. Of course this would happen.”

Then, from outside the bedroom, Josh’s voice floated through the air.

“Everything okay in there?”

Ashley cracked the door open, her face peeking out, cheeks flushed and damp hair sticking to her neck. “Do you... by any chance, have a spare T-shirt? Oversized?”

There was a pause, then a small laugh. “You mean, after swearing up and down that you'd never wear my clothes even in a global apocalypse?”

Ashley narrowed her eyes. “I packed a whole suitcase of Korean snacks instead of clothes. I’m allowed to revise my principles.”

He chuckled again, stepping into his room. A moment later, he returned with a soft gray T-shirt and cotton shorts, handing them over with a smug grin. “These should do.”

Ashley took them, trying not to meet his gaze. “Thanks. And wipe that look off your face.”

Josh raised both hands. “Who, me? I’m just being helpful.”

Back inside, she changed into his clothes, letting the oversized shirt fall past her thighs. It was... oddly comforting. It smelled like him—a mix of clean soap, faint aftershave, and something else she couldn’t name. Something warm and familiar, like cinnamon and summer nights spent beside him long ago.

She shook the thought away and stepped out into the main room.

Josh, seated at the kitchen bar, turned—and choked on his breath when he saw her.

Ashley arched a brow. “Don’t look at me like I’m an alien.”

He slowly closed his laptop, biting back a smile. “You look like someone in a laundry detergent commercial.”

A pillow flew in his direction. “I swear—”

He caught it midair with a laugh. “I’m serious. You look... comfortable. That’s all.”

Ashley sank into the sofa again, curling her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. There was a lingering sense of embarrassment, sure, but it mixed with something lighter. Easier.

“I brought the snacks... just in case I got homesick,” she murmured.

Josh joined her on the couch, careful to leave a respectful space between them, but close enough to reach her if she needed grounding. “You always plan ahead.”

“I try,” she said. “But this time... I screwed up.”

“It’s okay. Everything happened fast.”

Ashley nodded faintly. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of the T-shirt. “I don’t know if I’m ready to start over. In a strange city. With you.”

Josh’s expression softened. “I don’t know if I’m ready either. But I want to be. And if you fall... I’ll be right there. First in line to catch you.”

Her breath caught for a second.

Simple words. Not grand. Not manipulative. Just… honest.

Outside, the wind played with the curtains. Los Angeles stretched out beyond the glass balcony—lit up in every direction, a canvas of motion and life. Cars whispered along the streets. Somewhere, a siren blared faintly, as if to remind them the world was still spinning.

Ashley leaned her head back. “Well... at least we have ramen.”

Josh gave her a sideways glance. “At midnight?”

“Midnight ramen hits different.”

He laughed. “You win. But you’re cooking.”

Ashley groaned, rising to her feet. “Just because I packed the entire Korean supermarket doesn’t make me the chef.”

He leaned back and folded his arms. “That’s exactly what it makes you.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her grin as she shuffled toward the kitchen. She opened a ramen packet with practiced ease, poured water into the pot, and moved around the kitchen like she had done this a hundred times. And maybe she had. But not here. Not in this kitchen. Not with Josh standing nearby, watching her in that quiet, easy way.

The steam rose as the water began to boil. Ashley threw in the noodles, the scent quickly filling the penthouse—spicy, savory, deeply nostalgic.

Josh sat at the small dining table, resting his chin on his hand, watching her without speaking.

When she finally placed the steaming bowls on the table, he smiled. “Looks perfect.”

They sat across from each other, feet brushing beneath the table. Neither of them pulled away.

Ashley lifted her chopsticks. “To homesickness and stupid packing mistakes.”

Josh clinked his chopsticks against hers. “And new beginnings.”

They ate in silence for a while, letting the warmth of the ramen and the calm of the night settle around them. The awkwardness that had existed between them just days ago felt like a distant echo now—still present, but softer, less jagged.

Ashley didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. The past still lingered in both their hearts. There were wounds that wouldn’t vanish overnight. But here, in this new city, under dim kitchen lights with a half-empty suitcase and a shared bowl of ramen, there was also space for something else.

Hope.

And for now, that was more than enough.