It was enough.
Night came soft and slow.
Seungho stood at the window, arms crossed, tie undone. The city trembled in ripples of red and gold beneath him.
Behind him, the blanket rustled.
A small sound. Barely more than breath.
A half-sigh. A word caught between sleeping and surfacing.
Seungho didn’t turn.
He just said, low and steady:
“You don’t have to come back all at once. Just… don’t go further.”
Outside, the wind pressed against the glass.
Inside, the penthouse breathed with two uneven heartbeats.
??????
Chapter 18 – The Shower Is Cursed
The forth morning after the bridge came quiet as a held breath.
Outside, the world was slate and white. Snow lined the balcony railings. The Han River flowed like dull mercury under a lid of clouds. Inside, the apartment barely stirred.
Except—
Something shifted under the blanket.
A rustle. A groan.
And then: movement.
Haneul sat up on the couch like someone waking from a century-long spell. His hair was a nest of tangled silver. The oversized blanket had slid halfway to the floor. He blinked, sniffed the air—and recoiled.
“Fuck.”
He brought his arm up to his nose and gagged.
“I smell like a raccoon’s armpit.”
He stumbled upright, blanket dropping. His t-shirt stuck to his chest with dried sweat. His socks were inside out. He swayed once, then beelined for the bathroom, nearly tripping over his own foot.
Seungho stood near the kitchen counter, a mug in hand. Shirt sleeves rolled, hair tied back. Controlled. Distant.
Their eyes met for half a second.
Haneul scowled, then turned toward the bathroom again.
This time, slower.
He stepped into the space like it might bite him. The room was nearly too pristine to be real—marble countertops, warm under-lighting, mirrors without smudges. Everything gleamed.
He narrowed his eyes at the folded pile of black clothes laid neatly near the sink. Crisp. Minimalist. Folded like a religious offering.
