Mr. Nice

Later that evening, as the dust of drama settled like ash after a wildfire, Carrie sat on the edge of her bed. Her silhouette was a marionette with its strings cut, limbs heavy with regret. Her eyes were glued to the swirling carpet, as if the tangled patterns might unravel the knot of her mistakes. Every breath was a soft shudder, the room around her a tomb of silent remorse.

No one needed to tell her how badly she had messed up—she knew it better than anyone.

The door cracked open, a soft sound that sliced through the thick air. Jae-wook leaned against the doorframe, his posture casual but his gaze sharp. He lingered there, a silhouette outlined by the hallway light, his expression a mask that even moonlight couldn't peel back.

"Do you want to go shopping?" His voice slipped into the room, calm and unbothered.

Carrie's head snapped up, eyes wide as if he'd suggested a stroll through a minefield. "Shopping? Aren't you mad at me? You're meant to be at least"

He shrugged, the movement fluid but restrained. "Are you interested or not?"

Suspicion crawled up her spine, it was better if he was mad at her than if he was nice to her after what she did. "This feels like a trap. I mean, I messed up, and now you want to take me shopping? You're not usually this...nice."

A smirk ghosted his lips. "You paid for your mistake by eating the pancakes. It would've been worse if you hadn't."

She stood, her limbs heavy but curiosity lifting her just enough. "See, that's even weirder. You're being nice. Did I die? Are you a grim reaper ?"

Jae-wook pinched the bridge of his nose, the faintest crack in his composure. "Carrie, don't make this more difficult. It's fine if you don't want to go." He turned, his movements sharp, as if cutting off an emotion before it could spill.

"Wait!" Her hand shot out, fingers curling around his wrist. His skin was warm beneath her touch, and the world paused, hanging on the thin thread of that contact.

He turned, his dark eyes meeting hers—two storms threatening to break. "What is it?"

"I'll go shopping with you." A smile bloomed on her lips, bright and genuine, and for a fraction of a second, Jae-wook's stoic mask slipped. His ears betrayed him, flushing a deep, telltale red.

She cocked her head. "Are you okay? Your ears are red."

"Just get ready," he muttered, retreating with brisk steps.

When the door clicked shut, Carrie stared at it. "He's definitely planning to throw me off a roof. At least I'll look chic when they find me." She yanked open her wardrobe with newfound resolve.

When she finally descended the stairs, she wore baggy jeans and an oversized hoodie—a uniform of comfort, the kind a soldier might wear when marching toward an uncertain fate.

Jae-wook's gaze swept over her, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Took you so long to dress like that?"

She rolled her eyes. "I thought about looking chic, but if I'm going to die, I'd rather be comfortable." She pushed past him, her shoulder brushing his arm, a spark she refused to acknowledge.

---

At the mall, Carrie was a force of nature. She darted between racks, her energy bright against the sterile backdrop of fluorescent lights. She modeled outfits with theatrical spins, the mirror her audience, while Jae-wook sat on a cushioned bench, his phone a flimsy barrier between him and the swirl of her presence.

"I like this one, but I'm not sure about the color," she said, a pout shaping her lips.

Jae-wook's phone stilled in his hands, his attention snapping to her. "I think it's cute."

Her face lit up, the warmth of his words more unexpected than sunlight in a storm. "Oh my God, that's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me! Are you sure you aren't an imposter?"

"Don't overthink it," he said, his voice slipping back into its cool shell. "I was talking about the dress."

Carrie leaned against the mirror, her reflection a mischievous echo. "They say it's the woman who makes the dress look good."

"In your case, it's just the dress." He rose, his shadow a blade across the floor. He nodded to the attendant. "Bag everything up."

She threw a mock glare at his back but couldn't quite smother the laugh that bubbled up. The truth sat beneath her ribcage—a soft hum she couldn't quiet.

---

The car ride home was a blanket of silence, but not the prickly kind. Neon lights painted the windows, and Carrie found herself leaning into the quiet, the gentle thrum of the road a lullaby.

Jae-wook pulled into a dimly lit parking lot of a modest restaurant, the kind where the food spoke louder than the decor. His hand rested on the gear shift, fingers tapping a rhythm that didn't match the song on the radio.

"You should eat something other than pancakes."

Carrie turned to him, her eyes narrowing. "I still don't get why you're being nice."

He let out a breath, the kind that held more than air. "I told you—if it wasn't for you, I'd have left a terrible impression on Mr. Liam. It's not every day someone saves you from a breakfast catastrophe."

She nodded slowly. "I would take that."

He shifted in his seat, the edge of a smile playing on his lips. "So, Ms. Evans, stop asking questions and enjoy it while it lasts."

His smile—small, almost imperceptible—sent a flutter through her chest, a bird trapped in a cage. She stepped out of the car, inhaling the night air, but it did nothing to cool the warmth spreading under her skin.

She stole a glance at him over the roof of the car. "If he keeps being this nice, I might not be able to contain it for too long," she whispered, the words slipping into the night before she could snatch them back.

And as they walked inside, side by side, the space between them felt like a secret—one neither was quite ready to share.