Silence returned. Haneul didn’t move.
But when Seungho stood and set the teacup on the console table—just within reach—Haneul’s fingers twitched toward it.
He didn’t drink. Not yet.
But the scent curled upward. Honey. Steam. Lavender.
And he breathed it in.
That was enough.
??????
The first call came before the silence had fully settled.
He let it ring.
The second call buzzed with urgency—Jaewan’s name lit up the screen. Seungho exhaled through his nose, picked it up, pressed it to his ear.
“Tell me he’s with you,” Jaewan said without preamble.
“He’s here.”
A beat of silence. Then Jaewan swore—soft, panicked.
“Thank fuck. Do you know what happened?”
“I know enough.”
“Well, I just got a very charming call from Hye-jin’s mother. Furious. Said her daughter came home early in tears—something about being dismissed outside your building like a cab driver. She’s threatening to call your board.”
Seungho said nothing.
“She said you looked like you’d seen a ghost. That you said a name. ‘Sky,’ was it?”
Still nothing.
“Seungho… What the hell is going on?”
“He knocked on my door,” Seungho said quietly. “Distraught. Shaking. And I left a woman I don’t love to follow a boy I barely know.”
“Oh, that clears everything up,” Jaewan snapped. “Thanks.”
“I’m not explaining this to you.”
“Then explain it to yourself. Because whatever this is, it’s starting to burn.”
Seungho’s eyes dropped to the boy curled up on the corner, still curled, still shaking.
“I know,” he said.
“You can’t fix this by playing sanctuary. You’re not his savior.”
“No,” Seungho said. “But I am the one who stays.”
A long silence. Then Jaewan sighed—long and tired.
“I’ll deal with the others. Keep your doors locked.”
