Stalking

Lee Han-jae's POV (continued)

That evening, the library was quieter than usual. The kind of quiet that presses into your ears until you can hear the smallest things — the flip of a page, the scratch of a pencil, the soft thud of a bag dropping.

I sat at the far end.

My usual seat now.

Where he used to sit across from me. Where he hadn't come in days.

I didn't open my book.

Didn't need to.

I was just waiting.

And then—he came.

Kim Beom-soo.

He stepped in like he didn't see me at first, or maybe he did but pretended not to. His hair was damp, sticking slightly to his forehead. His eyes were sharp, tired, but beautiful as always.

He walked toward the middle rows. Slower than usual. Hands in his pockets.

And then he saw me.

Our eyes met.

Something flickered in his — hesitation, maybe. Annoyance. But he still came over.

He dropped into the seat across from me like it was nothing.

"…This your new territory now?" he muttered.

I smirked. "It's ours. You just forgot."

He rolled his eyes, pulled out a book. But he didn't open it.

Neither of us spoke for a while. We just sat there. Quiet. The tension between us coiling tighter with every breath.

"You kissed me," I said suddenly. Soft, but not weak.

"I did."

"Then what was all that? With Lee-na."

I didn't flinch. "What was all that with Tae-min?"

He looked away.

Exactly.

I leaned forward. Lowered my voice.

"I want you," I said. "No games. No more running."

Beom-soo looked up, and for the first time in days, I saw it again—that flash in his eyes. Not confusion. Not hesitation.

But the beginning of surrender.

He didn't say anything.

But he didn't need to.

I leaned in slowly. My voice barely a breath.

"Do you like it when he touches you?"

Beom-soo didn't look up.

But he turned the page too hard. It tore slightly.

"I don't belong to anyone," he said finally.

I smiled.

"Not yet."

I started noticing the small things.

Like how he tied his shoelaces twice before walking.

How he always touched his wrist before answering a question in class.

How his eyes drifted to the door five seconds before the bell rang.

How he always knew when I was watching.

And how he never once stopped me.

That was what kept me coming back.

Not his face. Not his voice.

Not even the fact that he was different from everyone else.

It was the fact that he let me look.

---

I cornered him again two days later—outside the vending machines behind the old gym. No one came back there anymore. It was the one part of campus where everything looked like it hadn't been cleaned since 2005.

He was putting coins into the machine when I stepped beside him.

He didn't even glance up.

"You're following me now?" he asked quietly.

I smiled. "I think you're letting me."

He pressed the button for canned coffee and waited without replying. When the can clattered down, I reached and took it before he could.

"Rude," he muttered.

"You let Kang Tae-min touch you," I said. "But not me."

"That's because Tae-min doesn't pretend."

"And I do?"

He looked at me then, finally. His eyes weren't warm. But they were curious.

"You're always watching me, Han-jae. Always saying things that sound like you're warning me. But you don't do anything."

I tilted my head, still holding the coffee can.

"What do you want me to do?"

He didn't answer.

I stepped closer, slowly, until our shoulders brushed.

"I could kiss you right now," I said. "Would you stop me?"

Beom-soo's breath caught. Barely. But I saw it.

His fingers twitched at his side.

"I wouldn't stop you," he said softly.

I blinked.

"But I wouldn't kiss you back."

---

I should've left then.

I should've walked away.

But I stayed.

I leaned in, close enough for his bangs to graze my forehead.

"Are you trying to be cruel?" I asked.

He looked at me. And for the first time, I saw it—something raw in his expression. Not fear. Not guilt. Not indifference.

Lee Han-jae's POV (continued)

He looked at me. And for the first time, I saw it—

something raw in his expression.

Not fear.

Not guilt.

Not indifference.

It was longing.

The kind that slips beneath your skin like a quiet ache.

The kind that makes even silence feel loud.

"Are you trying to be cruel?" I whispered again.

"No," he said finally. "I'm trying not to be selfish."

I didn't move.

Neither did he.

The old vending machine hummed behind us, a static hum that filled the cracks in our silence.

"I think about you too much," he said quietly. "It scares me."

My throat tightened. "Then stop thinking. Start doing."

He laughed under his breath — bitter, but not mean. "Is that how you do it? Just take what you want?"

I looked at him and didn't flinch. "When it comes to you—yes."

He exhaled, eyes fluttering shut for a second. "You're dangerous."

"I've never lied about that."

There was a long pause.

Then, finally, he took the coffee can from my hand — gently this time.

Our fingers brushed.

He didn't let go right away.

And neither did I.

Later that night, I found myself back in bed, staring at the ceiling. No music. No lights.

Just the memory of his voice—

"I'm trying not to be selfish."

But what if I want him to be?

What if I want him to break?

Because I already have.

Lee Han-jae's POV (continued)

I stopped pretending.

Stopped acting like I didn't notice when he entered a room.

Stopped forcing myself to look away when his laugh broke through the noise.

Stopped lying to myself that I could handle being just another orbit in his world.

Because I couldn't.

Because I didn't want distance. I wanted damage.

---

The next day at school, he didn't sit beside me.

He didn't look at me.

But when our hands brushed while passing homework forward, he flinched—

like static, like heat, like something alive sparked in him for a second too long.

I kept my expression blank. I always do.

But inside, it curled.

Tight.

Dark.

Hungry.

---

At lunch, I saw him with her.

Lee-na.

Laughing. Too loud. Too fake.

She touched his sleeve and he didn't pull away.

Again.

Just like with Tae-min.

It's always the same. They touch, he lets them.

But when I reach for him—he recoils like I'm made of something worse.

So why is it me he dreams of?

I know he does.

He wouldn't tremble otherwise when I get too close.

---

That night, I waited outside his house.

Not texting. Not calling.

Just... waiting.

He came out to take the trash.

We locked eyes.

He froze.

I didn't move.

"Are you stalking me now?" he asked, not entirely surprised.

I shrugged. "You stalk my thoughts. Seems fair."

"Go home, Han-jae."

"Make me."

He sighed, rubbing his temple. "You don't stop, do you?"

"No," I replied. "Not with you."

He stood there, half in shadow, half in streetlight.

Then finally—finally—he said:

"Fine. Come in. Just for a minute."