Silence.
Thick. Undeniable. Almost unbearable.
Then—
“I’m trying not to break you,” Seungho said.
The words hit the air like thunder—unexpected, deep, raw.
Haneul blinked.
“I’m trying,” Seungho repeated, softer now, “to figure out how to protect you without making it worse. I’ve already started a war with the Jang family. I’ve cut ties with Hye-jin. The moment anyone finds out we’re together, they’ll use you to bleed me out.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do. I’m trying to keep you safe,” Seungho said finally.
“By pulling away?”
Seungho’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t—”
“Yes, you did!” Haneul turned now, fury blooming in his throat. “You did, Seungho. Ever since that stupid ballroom, you’ve been walking around like you’ve already buried me. You keep saying you care, but I’m the only one here.”
Seungho flinched. Not visibly. But enough that Haneul saw it.
“You don’t get to call this protection,” he said, voice trembling with something too big for his body. “You kissed me. You chose me. And now you act like I’m a problem to manage.”
“I’m trying not to lose you.”
“You can’t lose what you never held!”
The words echoed.
Both of them stood still, breath ragged.
Seungho’s jaw tightened. “You think I don’t want to hold you?”
“I don’t care what you want,” Haneul snapped. “I care what you do.”
Another silence.
This one deeper.
Then—Haneul shoved past him. Not hard. But firm. Shoulder bumping Seungho’s as he stormed toward the closet room.
“You don’t get to look at me like I’m yours,” he muttered. “Not if you’re gonna leave me in the hallway.”
He didn’t slam the door behind him.
But the click still hurt.
??????
That night Haneul didn’t go to Seungho’s bedroom, he curled back into the closet room like it was a bunker built for grief.
The walls were too close. The sheets were cold. The air smelled faintly of shampoo and sawdust and lavender spray—his attempt to make this space feel like it belonged to him.
It didn’t.
