I turned.
There he stood, his hair tousled, a hoodie thrown on over what looked like pyjama pants. He looked better than he had in weeks. Less pale. Less fragile. Still thin—but alive in the ways that counted.
“I wasn’t expecting anyone,” I said, brushing the tray as if to hide my half-eaten noodles.
Dan grinned, stepping closer. “I was walking. Needed air. Then I saw a sad little noodle girl glowing in the moonlight.”
I rolled my eyes. “Shut up.”
He came around and sat beside me without asking, his knees bumping mine. “Are those... cup noodles?”
“They were supposed to be for Vincent.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You made Vincent cup noodles?”
“I tried.” I sighed, poking at them with the spoon. “I thought it’d make him smile. He used to get all weird and possessive about them.”
Dan lau
