"You're interesting." I shot back, not bothering to deny it, holding his gaze with a boldness that surprised even me. "Sue me."
Something shifted in his expression — a flicker of surprise, followed by something warmer, almost pleased. "There it is again."
"There what is?" I accepted my tea from the returning server, wrapping my hands around the warm cup, letting the heat seep into my fingers.
"That." He gestured vaguely at me, his brow furrowing slightly as he searched for the right words to explain. "You'redifferent than you were when you first arrived. Not bad different. Just... different."
"People keep saying that." I took a sip of my tea, using the moment to gather my thoughts, the familiar warmth grounding me. "Min-jun mentioned it too."
"What did you tell him?" He leaned back in his seat, his posture relaxing slightly as he gave me space, but his attention remained fixed on me, dark eyes intent and searching.
"The truth." I set down my cup carefully, meeting his gaze directly, refusing to flinch from the intensity there. "That this is who I actually am. The snarky, weird, slightly annoying version — that's the real me. That's who I was before everything went wrong."
"And the quiet, careful version we met first?" He asked it without accusation, just genuine curiosity, his head tilting slightly as he waited for my answer.
"That was the mask." I admitted, the words coming easier now that I'd said them before, each repetition making them feel more true. "After my mom died, I just... shut down. Built walls. Convinced myself that if I was invisible enough, nothing could hurt me. I spent so long in my own head, overthinking everything, trying to keep myself together, that I forgot how to actually be myself."
"What changed?" He asked it the same way Min-jun had — patient and unhurried, like he'd wait all day for my answer if that's what I needed.
"I got tired." I traced the rim of my teacup with my finger, watching the steam curl upward like my thoughts taking shape. "Tired of surviving instead of living. Tired of showing everyone the walls instead of me. And then I met all of you, and I realized..." I paused, trying to find the right words, feeling the weight of his attention. "If I kept hiding, you'd never know whoyou were actually bonded to. You'd just know the mask. And that felt worse than being vulnerable."
"So you decided to stop hiding." His voice was soft, almost reverent, like I'd given him something precious, something he'd been waiting for.
"I decided to try." I corrected, because the distinction mattered, because I needed him to understand the difference. "It's not like I woke up one day and was magically okay. Every morning I have to fight the urge to retreat, to overthink, to sabotage myself. But I'm trying. Because the real me is snarky and weird and cries at dish soap commercials, and if that's too much..." I shrugged, aiming for casual but probably missing by a mile. "Then it's better to know now."
"It's not too much." He said it immediately, with a certainty that made my chest ache, his voice firm and unwavering. We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling between us like something tangible. Then Jae-won leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his expression shifting to something more serious, more intense.
"Can I tell you something?" His voice was low, meant only for me, his dark eyes holding mine with an intensity that made it hard to breathe.
"Depends on what it is." I managed, my heart rate picking up at the shift in his tone, something electric sparking in the air between us.
"I've been pack alpha since I was twenty-two." He said it simply, like it wasn't a confession, like it wasn't a window into something he kept hidden, his fingers drumming absently on the table. "The previous leader — the one who debuted with us — left after our first year. Creative differences, the company said. In reality, he couldn't handle the pressure. So they looked at who was left and decided I was the best option."
"That's a lot of responsibility for twenty-two." I said it softly, imagining a younger Jae-won suddenly thrust into a position of leadership he hadn't asked for, carrying a weight no one should have to bear alone.
"It was." He agreed, his jaw tightening with old memories, shadows passing behind his eyes. "I made mistakes. A lot of them. But I learned. I had to. Four people were counting on me to get it right." He paused, something vulnerable flickering across his features, a crack in his armor. "The hardest part wasn't the decisions. It was learning to hide the doubt. A pack alpha can't show weakness. Can't admit he doesn't know what he's doing. Can't let anyone see that he's terrified of failing the people who trust him."
"That sounds lonely." The words slipped out before I could stop them, heavy with recognition, heavy with understanding.
"It is." He met my eyes, and I saw something there I hadn't expected — a reflection of my own isolation, my own carefully constructed walls, the same loneliness I'd carried for years. "I've spent six years being the strong one. The certain one. The one who always has the answers." His voice dropped lower, rougher, raw with honesty. "I don't always have the answers, Keira. Sometimes I'm just guessing and hoping I'm right."
"Then we have something in common." I reached across the table and took his hand, feeling his fingers interlace with mine, warm and strong and steadying. "I've been faking certainty my whole life. Turns out I'm not very good at it."
"You're better than you think." He squeezed my hand, his thumb tracing patterns on my palm, the touch sending shivers up my arm. "The fact that you're here — that you're trying, that you're letting us see the real you — that takes more courage than anything I've ever done."
"I don't feel courageous." I admitted, my voice small, barely more than a whisper. "I feel terrified. Constantly."
"Courage isn't the absence of fear." His eyes held mine, steady and certain, anchoring me in place. "It's being afraid and choosing to try anyway."
We returned to the dorm as the afternoon light turned golden, warm rays slanting through the windows like honey. But instead of joining the others, Jae-won led me down the hallway to his room.
It was the first time I'd been inside. Like his office, it wasn't what I expected — warm tones, soft lighting, more books than furniture. A large bed dominated one corner, neatly made with dark linens. Everything was organized but not sterile, lived-in but not messy.
"I wanted privacy for this." He closed the door behind us, the click of the latch sounding loud in the sudden quiet, and I felt the energy in the room shift — becoming charged, electric, heavy with possibility. "The others will understand."
"Privacy for what?" I turned to face him, my heart hammering against my ribs, my back pressing against the wall behind me without conscious thought. He moved toward me slowly, deliberately, each step measured and intentional, his eyes never leaving mine. He didn't touch me, but he placed his hands on the wall on either side of my head, caging me in without actually trapping me. I could duck under his arm, could push him away, could leave if I wanted to.
I didn't want to.
