The silence after Min-Cheol left didn't feel like silence at all.
It buzzed.
It vibrated through the room, through the couch, through Ji-Hyun's spine, as if the entire universe had pressed pause to watch what happened next.
The door wasn't even fully shut yet; it was still quivering from the force Min-Cheol had slammed it with. The echo hung in the air like a bad aftertaste. Ji-Hyun kept staring at it, breathing shallow, her hands frozen where they'd been mid-gesture.
Her ex always had that effect — stepping in, leaving chaos, walking out as if he didn't drop a grenade in the middle of her life. But this time, the grenade hadn't exploded the way he wanted.
This time, something else was stronger.
Seon-Woo.
He didn't move for a long moment, as if giving her space without stepping away. His eyes stayed on her, steady, grounded — silently reminding her that she wasn't alone anymore, not in this.
Finally, Ji-Hyun swallowed hard.
"Sorry," she murmured, but her voice cracked slightly.
"You're apologizing?" Seon-Woo frowned. "For what?"
She rubbed her arms nervously. "For him. For the drama. For ruining the mood—"
"You didn't ruin anything," he said quietly.
His voice dropped lower, gentler.
"He did. Not you."
She lifted her head. His expression wasn't angry. It wasn't annoyed. It was… soft. Concerned. Tender in a way she hadn't expected from him — the same guy who spent half their early interactions teasing her mercilessly.
"You okay?" he asked.
Ji-Hyun tried to nod, but the breath she let out shook a little. "Yeah. Just… surprised."
"I get that." He hesitated, then added, "If you want to stop for tonight, we can."
Stop?
Her heart clenched at the thought — but not in a painful way. In the way that made her realize how much she didn't want to step away right now.
"No," she said, her voice steadier. "I don't want to stop."
Something flickered across his face — relief, maybe — but he hid it with a soft exhale.
"Alright then."
He didn't grab her or pull her immediately. He simply waited, like he wanted her to choose the next move.
Which made her chest ache a bit more.
Slowly, Ji-Hyun shifted closer. Her knee brushed his. Then her hand found the side of his arm, fingers curling lightly into his sleeve. Only then did he move — carefully guiding her back to the spot she'd been in before the interruption.
His lap.
She hesitated for half a second, not because she didn't want to — but because the moment felt too fragile, too important. But Seon-Woo's hand settled gently at her waist, grounding her, steady.
"It's okay," he murmured. "I'm here."
It was ridiculous how words so simple could make something inside her melt.
She eased onto his lap, her legs folding across the couch to either side of him. The space between them disappeared until her chest brushed his with every breath. She couldn't look at him at first — too aware, too flustered — but he tipped her chin lightly with his fingers.
"Hey," he whispered. "Look at me."
And she did.
His hair fell slightly over his forehead, shadows softening his features. His eyes were warm, focused entirely on her, like she was the only thing existing in the world right then.
"You sure you're okay?" he asked again.
"I am now," she said, barely above a whisper.
His thumb brushed her jaw, slow, steady. "Good."
Then, with a gentleness that contradicted the tension simmering between them, he tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered, tracing the curve of her cheek lightly enough to make her breath hitch.
The atmosphere thickened.
"Where… were we?" she asked, trying to sound casual, failing terribly.
He laughed softly — that low, rumbling kind of laugh that she could feel through his chest since she was sitting so close.
"I think we were right about here," he said.
Slowly, he placed his palm on the small of her back, guiding her just a tiny bit closer. His other hand settled on her knee, warm through the fabric.
Her heartbeat was ridiculous. Out of control. Loud enough she wondered if he heard it.
"Feels familiar," he added.
She rolled her eyes, cheeks warm. "Shut up."
He smirked. "Why? You look cute when you're flustered."
She swatted his shoulder, but he caught her wrist halfway — not tightly, just enough to steady it — and brought her hand to rest against his collarbone.
"What are you—"
Her voice trailed off.
Because he didn't let go of her hand.
And because his heartbeat under her palm was just as fast as hers.
"See?" he said quietly. "It's not just you."
Something in her chest pulled tight.
His voice dropped even softer. "So stop pretending like you're the only one feeling… this."
The last word hung heavily between them.
Her throat felt dry. "I'm not pretending."
"Good."
They stayed like that — close, breathing the same air, neither moving — like the moment itself was too fragile, too charged to rush. The closeness wasn't overwhelming; it was slow-burning, warm, magnetic.
"Seon-Woo," she whispered.
"Mm?"
"You didn't have to stay. Especially after that."
"I wanted to." His hand moved up from her waist to her back, steady and reassuring. "I want to be here."
She inhaled shakily, fingers curling slightly at his collar. "That's… new for me."
He tilted his head. "Someone wanting to be there for you?"
She looked down, embarrassed. "…Yeah."
"Then let me be first."
Her breath froze.
He didn't say it dramatically. He didn't make it a grand confession. He just said it like it was obvious, inevitable.
But the weight of it was enough to make her chest feel warm in a way she hadn't expected tonight.
She looked up again, and he was already watching her — eyes soft, almost vulnerable.
"Seon-Woo," she said again, quieter this time.
And this time, he answered by simply lifting a hand to her jaw, slow and careful, brushing his thumb along her cheekbone.
Not asking, not taking — just giving her the chance to lean in or pull away.
She leaned in.
Their foreheads touched first — a soft, warm connection that made her pulse jump. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a breath that hitched just slightly.
"This okay?" he asked, voice low.
"Yeah," she whispered.
The warmth of his breath mixed with hers. His hand slid up her back, fingers spreading gently, guiding her closer. She felt the quiet strength in his hold — not forceful, just steady, like he was anchoring her.
She rested both her hands on his shoulders, the fabric of his shirt cool under her palms.
It felt too natural, too easy.
"You know," he murmured, his voice almost teasing again, "you sitting on my lap didn't feel like an accident the first time."
"It was!" she protested softly.
He opened one eye. "Sure."
"Okay, maybe not completely an accident," she admitted.
"I knew it," he said, smirking.
She nudged his forehead with hers. "You're impossible."
"And yet you're still here."
She hated how true that was.
She also loved it.
They stayed close, her breath brushing the corner of his mouth. Not crossing the line — just hovering right at the edge, warm and electric.
It made her whole body feel awake in a way that wasn't overwhelming — just… deeply aware.
His hand on her back moved in small, slow circles, comforting and intimate without crossing any boundaries. His other hand rested at her hip, thumb brushing lightly back and forth.
That tiny movement alone sent a shiver through her.
"Ji-Hyun," he whispered, voice low.
"Yes?"
His eyes searched hers, steady, serious, warm. "Don't let anyone like him make you think you don't deserve better."
Her breath hitched. "I know."
"Do you?"
She hesitated. "…I'm trying to."
"That's enough."
She pressed her forehead gently against his again. "Thank you."
He brushed his nose lightly against hers — a soft, accidental touch that turned intentional when neither moved away.
"You don't have to thank me," he murmured. "I'm here because I want to be."
Silence wrapped around them again — but this time, it wasn't heavy. It was comforting.
Warm.
Charged.
Slowly, she settled more comfortably on his lap, her hands slipping around behind his neck almost without thinking. His arms wrapped around her waist in return, fitting naturally.
For a while, they didn't speak. They just held each other — breaths steadying, heartbeats syncing, the warmth between their bodies grounding them.
Not rushed.
Not wild.
Just close.
Closer than they'd ever been.
When he finally spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper.
"Tell me if this is too much."
"It's not," she said immediately.
His arms tightened ever so slightly, holding her with a gentle certainty.
"Good," he whispered. "Because I'm not going anywhere."
She leaned her head on his shoulder, her breath warm against his neck. She felt him relax under her, his chin resting lightly on top of her head.
It wasn't dramatic.
It wasn't wild.
But it was the safest she had felt in a long, long time.
And maybe… just maybe… that was better.