"He's protective. Of the group's image. Of stability."
Griffin studied me. "It feels more personal than that."
I looked away. "It's complicated."
"Most things are."
We sat in silence for a moment. The city hummed faintly beyond the windows, traffic and light bleeding through the curtains.
“Can I tell you something about my name?” I asked.
Griffin looked up. “You can tell me anything.”
I considered where to start. “When they asked what I wanted to be called, I didn’t pick something that sounded friendly. Or warm. Or easy.”
He waited.
“A rune is a mark,” I said. “Not a picture or a story. It means something, but only if you know how to read it. And even then, it doesn’t give everything away.”
I glanced down at my hands. "I wanted something that no one could fully explain. Something that didn’t belong to anyone else’s expectations.”
“You wanted control,” Griffin said quietly.
I shook my head. “No. I wanted privacy.”
That comment landed. He nodded.
“Everyone assumes a stage name is about image,” I went on. “But for me, it's about distance. About keeping part of myself untranslated.”
“And does it work?”
I thought about the threats. The watching. How Soo-jin looked at me sometimes. Then I thought about Griffin, and how easily he seemed to read things I never said out loud.
“Most of the time,” I said.
“You named the boundary.”
“Yes,” I said.
He didn’t respond right away. When he did, his voice was steady. “Thank you for telling me.”
I looked up. “Why?”
“Because it tells me what matters to you.”
I nodded. That felt right. He saw me.
"I should change," I said finally. "Get ready for bed."
When I came out of the bathroom in sleep clothes, Griffin had changed too, into track pants and a t-shirt. Still sitting on his bed, phone in hand but not looking at it.
I climbed under my covers. "You don't have to stay awake all night."
"Habit."
"Try to sleep. Please."
He lay back on top of his covers.
