31

We left the library as the shadows began to stretch through the empty hallways, painting familiar corridors in unfamiliar darkness. The quiet around us felt deeper, sharper, the silence pressing close enough to hear the subtle rhythm of her breathing.

Hyerin walked beside me, matching my pace naturally now. Her footsteps echoed lightly against the polished floor, a gentle counterpoint to mine.

Neither of us spoke at first.

We didn't need to.

We moved quietly through halls I'd walked countless times before. Tonight, the building felt strangely different—emptier yet fuller, its energy shifting as we passed.

We rounded the corner, passing under the large arched windows that overlooked the main courtyard. Moonlight spilled softly across our path, illuminating her face just enough for me to notice her distant expression.

She glanced over, sensing my eyes on her.

"Do you ever get tired of it?" she asked suddenly, her voice low and careful.

"Of what?"

She hesitated. "The pressure. Always needing to be perfect."

My steps slowed. I considered her quietly. "Perfection isn't tiring."

"No?"

I shook my head slightly. "It's lonely."

She stopped walking, turning to face me fully.

"You don't have to pretend with me, you know," she said, her voice soft but unafraid.

"Pretend?" I echoed.

She met my eyes steadily, unwavering. "I think you've gotten too good at hiding how much you really care."

"Care about what?"

She paused, her gaze softening. "Everything."

The word hung heavily between us.

Dangerously close.

Dangerously true.

"I don't hide things from you," I said quietly.

"Then let me ask you something," she murmured, taking a single, careful step toward me. Close enough now to blur the edges of formality. "Do you really like being feared more than you like being known?"

I considered her quietly, my pulse picking up as the question lingered. "Do you want to know me, Hyerin?"

"I think I already do," she whispered. "More than you want me to."

The quiet certainty in her voice caught me off guard.

I stepped closer, deliberately testing the fragile boundary that separated us. She didn't step away, didn't flinch—just held my gaze like a challenge.

"Then what do you see when you look at me?" I asked, my voice barely louder than a breath.

She tilted her chin up, brave despite the subtle tremor in her shoulders.

"Someone who's spent so long trying to own everything around her that she forgot how to ask for the one thing she actually wants," she said softly.

"Which is?"

Her lips parted slightly. "Someone to stay."

I stilled completely.

She was so close now, closer than she'd ever allowed herself before. Her eyes were wide, uncertain, but brave—braver than I'd given her credit for.

"I don't need anyone to stay," I whispered.

"You don't need it," she agreed gently. "But you want it. You want someone who doesn't flinch when they see the parts of you that aren't perfect."

I looked at her—truly looked at her—in the soft shadows, in the quiet of an empty hallway, alone and yet feeling more connected than I'd ever dared admit.

And slowly, dangerously, I reached out.

My fingers brushed her cheek, soft and careful, tracing a path along her jawline. Her breath hitched, a quiet, vulnerable sound that cut straight through every defense I'd carefully built.

"You're right," I murmured, my voice a quiet confession. "I do."

She swallowed, her throat tight, her eyes locked onto mine.

"Then stop pushing me away every time I try to understand you."

My hand lingered against her skin, a whisper of contact. "I'm not pushing you away."

"No?"

"No," I said softly. "I'm testing you."

"For what?"

"To see if you're strong enough to handle me," I said simply, voice low, steady, unapologetic.

She didn't waver. She didn't hesitate.

Her hand lifted gently, fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against mine, intertwining carefully, almost shyly, like she wasn't sure if I'd pull away.

I didn't.

"You think I'm not strong enough?" she whispered.

"I think you don't realize how much strength it takes," I replied quietly. "To stay beside someone like me."

She held my gaze, fearless now.

"Maybe I want to find out."

A dangerous offer.

A dangerous promise.

And yet—

In that quiet corridor, with no audience, no expectations, nothing but us and the truth that hummed between our joined hands—

I let myself believe it.

I stepped even closer, bridging the gap until our breaths mingled in the quiet air.

"You'll regret it," I warned softly.

She smiled faintly—unguarded, genuine. "Let me."

The quiet stretched, warm, charged.

My thumb brushed softly against hers, lingering carefully before I slowly, reluctantly, stepped back. Not fully, just enough to breathe again.

"Then prove it," I said softly. "Stay."

She didn't answer in words.

She simply tightened her grip on my hand, firm and sure, as if promising—

She wasn't going anywhere.

And I knew, in that moment, something had changed.

Something real.

Something dangerous.

Something that finally made all the perfection, all the loneliness, worth it.

Because tonight, in the shadowed halls of Seonghwa Girls' Academy, Yeon Hyerin made a promise—

And for the first time, I found myself believing it.

A slow, genuine smile spread across my face, one that felt both unfamiliar and freeing, my teeth catching faint moonlight filtering through the tall windows. I reached up casually, gathering my hair into a loose ponytail, pulling it back, the simple gesture grounding me.

"Then let's go," I murmured, my voice carrying just a hint of mischief. "A secretive place, just for the both of us."

She raised an eyebrow cautiously, though curiosity danced clearly in her eyes. "Another secret place? Is this another of your hidden black-market areas?"

"Not this time," I laughed softly, shaking my head as I tugged gently at her hand, guiding her forward. "Just trust me."

Hyerin paused briefly, as though weighing the risk of placing trust in me once again. Her hesitation melted under the sincerity of my gaze. She exhaled quietly, her breath fogging slightly in the cool night air.

"Alright," she said finally, stepping forward to join me again. "I'll trust you."

I tightened my grip just a little—possessively, reassuringly—and led her carefully down the empty hallway. Our footsteps echoed softly against the polished floors, a quiet, synchronized rhythm that carried us deeper into the heart of the academy.

The school at night felt like an entirely different place. The imposing walls and polished wood seemed less intimidating, more mysterious. The empty classrooms, normally rigid and cold, felt softer somehow, bathed in silver shadows.

We reached a narrow staircase at the far end of the building, tucked behind an arched wooden door that few ever opened. Without hesitation, I guided Hyerin up the stairs, the creak of old wood punctuating our silence.

"What is this place?" Hyerin whispered, her voice low, tinged with wonder.

"Patience," I murmured, casting her a teasing glance. "We're almost there."

At the top, we emerged onto a small rooftop terrace, hidden away from view, surrounded by ivy-covered stone walls. A garden, carefully maintained by the school's gardener but forgotten by most, bloomed gently under the moonlight. Roses and lilacs swayed softly in the night breeze, their fragrance wrapping warmly around us.

"This—" I said, releasing her hand to spread my arms dramatically, "—is my secret."

She looked around, her eyes wide, captivated by the unexpected beauty. "I never knew this place existed."

"Most don't," I said softly, stepping closer to a stone railing that overlooked the dimly lit campus below. "I come here when everything gets too loud. When I need to remember what quiet feels like."

Her eyes met mine again, understanding dawning gently. "You mean when you're tired of being perfect?"

I smiled slightly, leaning back against the railing and crossing my arms lightly over my chest. "Yes. When I need a reminder that it's alright not to have everything under control all the time."

She stepped beside me, placing her hands softly on the stone ledge, her shoulder gently brushing mine. "I didn't think you ever allowed yourself to feel that way."

I laughed softly under my breath. "I don't. At least—not in front of other people."

"But you're letting me see," she murmured, glancing sideways at me, the moonlight reflecting gently in her eyes.

"Yes," I admitted, the truth slipping past my lips before I could even consider stopping it. "Because I want you to see."

She turned fully to face me, leaning slightly against the railing. "Why?"

I paused, the silence stretching between us as I weighed the risk of honesty against the habit of caution.

"Because you're not like anyone else I've met," I said finally, meeting her eyes directly, unflinching. "Because I don't have to hide with you. Because you haven't run away yet—even though you know you probably should."

She smiled softly, gently shaking her head. "You underestimate yourself."

"No," I said simply, stepping closer, my voice dropping to a whisper. "I underestimate everyone else. But not you."

Her breath caught audibly as I reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering softly against her cheek.

"Stay here with me, Hyerin," I said quietly, firmly. "Just for tonight. Away from everyone, away from everything. I want tonight to belong to us."

She stared at me, breath shallow, pulse visible at her throat. "You always ask for things in a way that makes it impossible to refuse."

"I know," I whispered, leaning in just enough that I could feel the warmth of her breath. "But tell me, are you going to refuse?"

She shook her head slowly, never breaking our shared gaze. "No."

A quiet thrill ran through me at her surrender.

"Good," I breathed, stepping back slightly to let the tension dissipate just enough—not too far, just enough space to breathe again. "Because tonight, all I want is you. No games, no competition, no pressure."

"Then what?" she asked softly.

"Just this," I murmured. "Just us."

Her expression softened, the guarded edges finally falling away entirely. "That sounds nice."

"It will be."

We moved to a nearby wooden bench tucked beneath a flowering vine. It was old, weathered, worn smooth by years of use. Hyerin sat first, and I took my place beside her, not letting much distance remain between us. Her shoulder pressed lightly against mine, warm and steady.

Neither of us spoke immediately. Instead, we sat quietly, watching the stars and the slow drift of clouds across the endless sky. Time passed quietly, peacefully. A rare moment of simplicity amid a life that rarely allowed for it.

After a long while, Hyerin finally broke the silence.

"Do you really think you'll remember this night?" she asked, quiet but genuinely curious.

"Yes," I said without hesitation, looking down at her. "I'll remember everything about it."

Her lips tugged upward slightly. "Why?"

"Because tonight, you're here, with me. Not because you have to be. Because you chose to be."

She glanced up at me, sincerity clear in her eyes. "I'll always choose this."

A quiet satisfaction settled deeply within me. The possessiveness I felt earlier was still there, softer now, but no less intense. I wanted more moments like this. More nights like this—hers, mine, ours alone.

Without a word, I reached over, taking her hand carefully into mine, intertwining our fingers. Her grip tightened gently, her warmth pressing into my palm.

"Good," I murmured, leaning my head softly against hers. "Because I'm not very good at letting go."

She laughed quietly, softly, leaning back into me. "Maybe I don't want you to."

We stayed there, side by side, holding on tighter than we needed to beneath the wide, endless sky, under a gentle sweep of moonlight.

And for once, the world felt quiet.

Not because I'd forced it to be—

But because, with Hyerin here beside me, I finally didn't need it any other way.