Chapter 7: This Is Not What It Looks Like!

The ice pack felt heavier in Hannah's hands than it should have.

Perched at the edge of the clinic bed, she furrowed her brows, her fingers wrapped carefully around the cold pack as she pressed it against Harin's bruised hand. The chill bled into her skin, but she didn't flinch. Across from her, Harin sat in a relaxed sprawl—legs slightly apart, shoulders loose—but his gaze was anything but casual. He watched her with a quiet intensity, studying her face as if committing it to memory.

"Hold still," she muttered, eyes stubbornly locked on the ice, refusing to meet his gaze.

"I am," Harin replied, his voice calm. "You're the one shaking."

She darted a glance upward—startled—and quickly looked away. "Shut up," she said, the words softer than before, almost embarrassed.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Harin's mouth, more a twitch than a full expression. His hand jerked slightly under the cold, but he didn't pull away. He simply let her take care of him.

The air between them thickened, yet not with discomfort. It was soft. Tentative. As if the very atmosphere held its breath, careful not to disturb the fragile thread spinning between them.

When enough time had passed, Hannah set the ice pack aside with slow precision. Her fingers, however, lingered against his hand longer than necessary—skin brushing skin, warm against cold.

She reached for the bandages next, movements steady and practiced, as if her body knew what to do even while her mind raced. Her touch was gentle, almost instinctive, like she had tended to wounds countless times before.

But Harin tilted his head slightly, still watching her, unmoved by the shift.

"What?" she asked, glancing at him mid-wrap.

"I could've done it," he said.

"You'd mess it up," she answered without hesitation.

"…Still. You didn't have to help."

"I know."

He smiled then, a little wider this time—unbothered, easy. "You don't talk much," he said, "but you say a lot."

Her hands stilled mid-motion.

The bandage lay unfinished across his knuckles. Her fingers remained resting on his.

She blinked, heart thudding.

And then, finally, she looked at him. Really looked at him. No pretending. No distractions.

Their gazes locked. The world beyond the room—beyond this moment—faded to nothing. Only the quiet thrum of shared silence remained, heavy and full of something unspoken.

Until—

SLAM.

The door burst open with a violent bang that snapped the moment in two.

"HANNAH—ARE YOU OKAY?!"

Naomi stood in the doorway, panting like she'd sprinted across the campus. Her eyes darted around wildly—until they landed on them.

On Hannah's stunned face.

On their still-touching hands.

She blinked once.

Then her lips curved into a slow, dangerous grin—the kind you'd expect from a cat spotting a trapped mouse.

Before she could say a single word—

"WAAH–!" Hannah yelped, yanking her hands back like she'd just realized they were on fire. Her face flushed red in an instant—an unfiltered, childish panic that made her look like someone caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Naomi blinked.

Then grinned like the devil.

"…Well, well, well," she purred, strolling in like she owned the room and had just uncovered its juiciest secret. "What do we have here?"

"Naomi—!" Hannah flailed in full defense mode, hands flapping like she could physically swat the situation away.

(Translation: "Nothing happened.")

"He's a stranger—I'm just treating his hand," she blurted out, her wide eyes darting toward Harin in desperate please-just-go-with-it panic.

But Harin only blinked at her, slightly dazed by the sudden shift in energy. Clearly, he wasn't used to this level of chaos.

Too late.

"Uh-huh, treating this stranger... Right~," Naomi repeated slowly, her smirk gleaming. She folded her arms and stepped between them like a referee with no intentions of being fair.

"Did I just interrupt something?"

"NO," Hannah answered, voice shooting up a pitch. "I just owed him. That's it."

Harin gave a hesitant nod, still piecing things together. Naomi then raised a single, skeptical eyebrow.

---

"So why are you two acting all…" she made a vague hand gesture, "…lovey-dovey?"

Hannah shot a look sharp enough to cut steel.

Noticing the rising tension, Harin awkwardly cleared his throat. "It's not what it looks like."

"Oh, sure. Because things always look so innocent when hands are involved," Naomi said, eyes glinting with pure menace.

She then dramatically pointed at Harin like she was in the middle of a courtroom. "YOU, SIR. I've been waiting for your answer."

"Me?" Harin blinked, confused.

"Yes. You."

He glanced between the girls like he'd walked into a play without reading the script. "Just like Hannah said. I saved her from—"

"NOOOOO!!!"

Naomi screamed as if someone had just spoiled her favorite K-drama.

"I don't want facts! I want drama!"

"Naomi," Hannah groaned, her soul leaving her body.

"YOU—" Naomi lunged forward and grabbed Hannah by the shoulders—"just fell into a teenage rom-com and didn't even invite me!"

Harin instinctively took a step back. Was… was this normal?

"I thought we were in this together!!" Naomi wailed dramatically. "Now you're falling—literally and emotionally—without me?!"

"What are you even talking about?!"

Naomi sniffled like she was mourning a betrayal. "You're living my romance plot."

"WHAT—NO—!"

"And don't tell me you're finally going gay for—"

"STAWPPP!!"

Hannah slapped a hand over Naomi's mouth before the sentence could finish.

Silence.

Harin froze like a statue.

In record time, Hannah dragged Naomi to the corner, whisper-yelling. "WHAT are you doing?!"

Naomi pouted, eyes wide with fake innocence. "I just thought… maybe you liked him."

"…You're insane."

"Well, I have a knack for spotting things."

"Stop it."

"…Okay. I'm sorry."

A pause.

"…Unless you do like him~?"

"NO."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"You're lying."

"I'M NOT."

"…Girl, your hands were cradling his like a baby bird."

That was it. Hannah stormed back to Harin with the force of a thousand suns.

"Let's just tell her everything so she'll shut up."

---

And so they did.

The fall. The rescue. The awkward, ice-pack-filled aftermath.

Naomi listened intently, arms crossed, eyebrows practically dancing off her forehead.

Finally, she said, dead serious, "Let me get this straight. You were carried like royalty, slipped like a heroine, and this boy caught you?"

"…Yes," they both muttered, regretting every life choice that led to this.

Naomi nodded slowly, dramatically.

"That is the most romantic crap I've ever heard."

"NAOMI—!"

Harin chuckled under his breath. Naomi turned on him like a hawk.

"I mean… kinda," he said, scratching the back of his head.

Naomi narrowed her eyes, reading him like a book—then smiled.

"Alright. I'll drop it."

Hannah sighed in relief.

"…For now," Naomi added with a wink.

Hannah nearly imploded.

As the energy finally mellowed, Harin shifted in his seat and stood up, brushing imaginary dust from his uniform. "I should get going," he said, voice quiet.

Naomi tilted her head. "Already?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Just… make sure she gets her ankle checked, okay?"

Naomi blinked at the shift in tone. "Oh. Yeah. Of course."

Harin turned to Hannah, his expression softening. His voice dropped just a little.

"Take care, okay?"

Then he stepped out—quiet, calm, leaving behind a room that felt suddenly heavier without him.

Naomi stared after him, blinking.

"…He's kinda charming when he's not being mysterious," she said.

Hannah didn't answer.

Naomi turned, noticing the silence—and her eyes lit up like a neon sign. "You like him."

"Don't start—"

But Naomi's mouth opened anyway—

SHOVE.

A cotton wad. Right into her mouth.

"MMPH!!"

Naomi flailed, pulling it out and spitting like it was poison. "Was that cotton?!"

"Sanitized," Hannah deadpanned.

"I'm not your patient!"

"Then stop diagnosing me with fictional romance."

Naomi raised both hands in surrender. But her grin?

That said plenty.

She wasn't done.

Not even close.

---

5:09 PM – Hannah's House

After everything that happened, Naomi and Hannah went back to class like nothing was out of the ordinary. Though both girls acted normal, there were moments Naomi couldn't resist teasing her again.

Hannah, tired of her friend's stubborn persistence, ignored her the entire class hours—right up until they got to her house.

They played games, chatted, and ate whatever Hannah managed to whip up from the fridge. It wasn't much, but it was warm and shared.

Eventually, Naomi fell asleep.

Now, she was sprawled across the bed, snoring loudly like she owned the place.

Hannah sat quietly at her study table, a book open in front of her—reading God's word like she did every day. But her eyes kept wandering to her sleeping friend, a small smile forming. She looked... peaceful. Cuter than when she was awake, even.

Just as Hannah turned back to her book, she heard a faint click from outside.

She stood up immediately, stepping into the hallway—right as her grandfather opened the door.

He didn't say a word as he entered, wiping his shoes quietly on the mat.

Hannah walked over to him, slow but composed, and took his hand gently, pressing it to her forehead.

"Pops…" she murmured.

He gave a brief nod, his eyes scanning the entryway. Then they landed on the extra shoes beside hers.

His lips thinned. Barely. But Hannah noticed.

She straightened slightly, trying not to tense.

"So... your friend's here?" he finally said, heading toward the living room.

"Yes… she's sleeping right now." Her voice came out quieter than she intended.

He nodded again. This time, he didn't even glance her way.

She watched him sit down with the kind of careful patience that didn't seem casual—it was distant. Like he was forcing himself not to speak his thoughts aloud.

She stood frozen in place, unsure whether she was being dramatic or if she really felt the air shift.

His silence felt heavier than usual. Like it meant something.

Hannah's throat went dry.

"Pops…" she started, voice hesitating at the edge of uncertainty. "Y'know she's like a sister to me."

She didn't know what she expected—maybe a nod, a softening. Maybe even silence again.

Instead, he finally looked up at her.

"It should be," he said, voice flat. Final.

She didn't say anything else. She couldn't. The cold indifference in his voice felt worse than if he had shouted.

She turned and walked back to her room, the weight pressing harder on her shoulders.

Click.

The door clicked shut behind her, softer than it felt.

She sighed quietly, rubbing the back of her neck. When she looked up, Naomi was already awake.

Her friend didn't say anything at first. Just watched her, the kind of look that said she heard everything.

A small smile tugged at Naomi's lips—gentle, comforting.

Hannah scoffed softly, crossing the room.

"Don't look at me like that," she muttered, settling at the edge of the bed near her.

"I can't help it," Naomi replied, voice unusually still. The teasing was gone.

Hannah let out a dry chuckle, then leaned back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling as her thoughts blurred.

"I'm sorry," Naomi said suddenly.

Hannah blinked. "For what?"

"For what happened that day." Naomi's tone wasn't joking this time. It wasn't even nervous.

Hannah didn't answer right away. She hadn't expected Naomi to carry that with her. It felt like such a small, childish moment—but somehow, Naomi had held onto it.

She turned to look at her, eyes softening.

"You… don't have to feel sorry."