ENHYEOK POV
I feel it again.
The weight.
My eyes open fully.
And reality punches me straight in the face.
She's there.
Right there.
Jiah is asleep on me.
Not near me.
Not beside me.
On me.
Her head is tucked into my chest like it's been paying rent. One arm slung across my stomach, fingers fisted into my shirt like it's an anchor.
Her leg is thrown halfway over mine, knee warm against my thigh like gravity personally betrayed me.
What the hell.
I don't move.
Not because I'm careful.
Because my brain stalls.
This is wrong. Objectively. Practically. Morally annoying. I didn't agree to this. I didn't invite this. I didn't even fall asleep like this.
I stare at the ceiling again.
Count once.
Twice.
She exhales. Slow. Comfortable. Completely unbothered by the fact that she's using me like a mattress upgrade.
I try to slide my arm out from under her shoulder.
Careful. Minimal movement. Precision.
She reacts instantly.
Her grip tightens.
She presses closer.
Her face ends up an inch from mine.
I freeze so hard my spine locks.
She's smiling.
Not awake-smiling.
Sleep-smiling.
Soft. Small. Like her brain decided everything's fine now and forgot to inform the rest of us.
"No," I mutter. Low. Warning. "Get off me."
She doesn't.
She hums. A quiet, pleased sound. Her cheek nudges my chest. Her fingers flex against my shirt.
I roll my eyes so hard it almost hurts.
Then she murmurs—
"Mmm… soft."
My entire body goes rigid.
Absolutely not.
Nope.
I grab her shoulder and roll her away from me in one clean motion. No hesitation. No gentleness. Just efficient removal.
She makes a small sound of protest and curls around the blanket, still asleep, smile gone but breathing steady like nothing happened.
I sit up immediately.
Heart annoying. Jaw tight. Skin buzzing like I just avoided something stupid.
I stand.
Back away.
Once. Twice.
Then I turn and walk out of the room because what the hell.
______________
JIAH POV
I wake up because my body hates me.
Every bone protests at the exact same time, like they held a meeting overnight and agreed today is pain day. My neck is bent wrong.
My lower back feels like it got jumped. My arm is completely dead, pins and needles screaming like it's offended I slept on it. I groan and try to roll over—
—and immediately smack my elbow on the floor.
Floor.
I blink. Once. Twice.
Yeah. Floor.
Cold. Hard. Zero forgiveness. I'm lying on a thin blanket that did absolutely nothing to protect me from gravity's personal vendetta. My brain lags, buffering like bad Wi-Fi, and then everything from last night crashes back in all at once.
Rain. The house. Granny. The fucking man.
Enhyeok.
I shoot upright and instantly regret it. White-hot pain flares up my spine and I hiss, clutching my side like I've been stabbed by sleep itself. "Ow—what the hell," I mutter, voice hoarse, hair everywhere, dignity nowhere.
The room is quiet. Too quiet.
I look around.
Empty futon. Neatly folded blanket. His bag gone.
No Enhyeok.
Of course.
My chest does this stupid little drop, like it expected him to still be here. Which is insane. Criminal. Embarrassing. I scowl at myself and push up slowly, moving like I'm ninety.
Perfect.
I shuffle toward the door, limping slightly because apparently sleeping on the floor turns you into a Victorian child with weak constitution.
The house smells like something warm and nice—rice, maybe soup—and sunlight spills through the open hallway like it's showing off.
I step outside.
And freeze.
Enhyeok is in the garden.
Not brooding. Not scowling. Not leaning against something looking like he hates the world.
He's smiling.
Actually smiling.
Not that stupid smug half-smirk he uses when he's annoying people on purpose. Not the polite curve he gives teachers. This is open. Real. Soft at the edges like it escaped by accident.
He's crouched slightly, talking to the granny, hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed. She's laughing, full-on laughing, swatting his arm with a towel like she's known him his whole life.
Sunlight hits him just right. His hair's a mess, not styled, just falling into his eyes. His face looks unfair. Like illegally handsome. Beautiful in that quiet, sharp way that makes you mad about it.
I've never seen him like this.
He always looks untouchable. Closed off. Like smiling costs money.
Except—apparently—not here.
Something tight twists in my chest and I immediately hate it. Nope. No. We are not doing this. I slept on the floor. He abandoned me. Enemy status reaffirmed.
The granny notices me before I can retreat.
"Oh! You're awake," she says brightly. "Come, come. Breakfast is ready."
Enhyeok turns.
Our eyes meet.
His smile vanishes instantly. Like it never existed. His face shutters closed, expression flattening into that familiar unreadable mask. If I didn't just see it, I'd think I imagined the whole thing.
Great. Love that for me.
I walk over, trying not to limp, failing a little. The garden is stupidly beautiful. Green everywhere.
Plants hanging from wooden beams, flowers climbing walls, little stone paths like this place exists just to flex on apartments. Birds hop around like background actors.
I suddenly feel very loud. Very city.
"Morning," I mumble.
The granny beams. "You slept well?"
I choke. Enhyeok looks away.
"Yeah," I say weakly. "The floor was… character-building."
She chuckles.
Breakfast is laid out on a low table. Rice, soup, side dishes I don't recognize but smell incredible. I sit gingerly, every movement reminding me I am, in fact, made of glass now.
The granny keeps feeding us. Enhyeok eats quietly, polite, thanking her, answering questions.
Who is this man. This is not the same guy who tells me to "move" like I'm furniture at school.
I keep sneaking looks. He never looks back.
After breakfast, we change into our uniforms. I bow deeply, thanking her probably too much. She pats my head like I'm five and tells me to visit again.
Enhyeok bows too. Perfect posture. Respectful. Infuriating.
Outside, the bus stop is quiet. Morning air is cool, my muscles still screaming. We sit apart. Silence stretches.
Then, right before the bus comes, he speaks.
"Don't tell anyone," he says, voice low. Flat. "About yesterday. Or this morning."
I snort softly. "Relax. I'm not exactly dying to relive sleeping on hardwood."
"Forget it happened," he adds.
I hum. .
His jaw tightens. The bus arrives. He gets on first and moves away immediately, like proximity is a disease.
Figures.
We reach the school gate too fast. He gets off, doesn't wait, doesn't look back, just walks straight toward the building like he's late to escape me.
I slow down.
Then I see Jiho.
He's standing near the field, laughing with someone. Sunlight on his hair. And just like that, my brain betrays me.
Flash.
His hands on Shin Ara's waist.
Her fingers in his shirt.
His mouth on hers.
My chest tightens so hard it hurts. My eyes burn instantly, traitors, threatening to spill everything I promised myself I was over.
I swallow. Hard. Once. Twice.
Not here. Not now. Not again.
I stand there like an idiot, staring at the school gate, pretending the concrete is the most interesting thing I've ever seen.
It's not working.
My chest still feels tight, like someone tied a knot and forgot where they put the scissors.
I keep walking because stopping feels dangerous, like if I pause for even a second, everything I shoved down is going to come back up and make a scene.
And I am not doing that. Not again. Not in front of this stupid field and these stupid lockers and this stupid school that has watched me embarrass myself for two years straight.
Yeah. I really liked Jiho.
Past tense. I think.
I liked him in that quiet, hopeful way that sneaks up on you. The kind where you start noticing dumb things, like how he always adjusted his backpack straps before class or how his laugh sounded different when he wasn't trying to be polite.
I waited. God, I waited so hard. Like patience was going to magically rewrite reality if I just did it long enough.
Six times.
Six whole confessions.
Six polite rejections with gentle eyes and careful words, like he was handling something fragile.
Me. I nodded every time like, yeah, totally, I get it, no pressure, it's cool, while my insides did cartwheels straight into a wall.
I was an idiot. A hopeful one, but still an idiot.
I should've known better. Not everything is written for me. Not every crush turns into something pretty. Sometimes the story just… doesn't pick you.
And Shin Ara? She fits him. She looks like she belongs next to him, smiling like that, fingers laced with his, like the universe personally approved it.
I don't even know when they became a thing. Maybe they always were. Maybe I was just standing there in the rain, waving at a closed door, thinking it might open if I knocked again.
My throat tightens and I shake my head hard, like I can physically dislodge the thought.
Nope. Not crying. Absolutely not. I am done crying over boys who don't choose me. I've cried enough to qualify for a loyalty program.
I adjust my bag strap and keep walking.
"Jiaah."
The voice hits me like a brick.
My body freezes instantly. Not slowly. Not dramatically. Just full stop, like someone pressed pause.
My spine goes stiff and my fingers curl into my palms before I can tell them not to. There's this weird second where I consider pretending I didn't hear it. Like if I just keep walking, maybe the universe will take the hint.
It doesn't.
I turn around.
Jiho is running toward me.
Actually running.
His tie is a little loose, hair messy, breath slightly uneven like he rushed. He's smiling too, wide and bright, like this is something he's excited about. Like seeing me made his day better instead of ruining it.
That should've done something to me.
It doesn't.
I just stand there, planted in place, watching him get closer, my heart weirdly calm in the worst way. Not fluttering. Not racing. Just heavy. Like it already knows what's coming and doesn't feel like playing along anymore.
He stops in front of me, hands on his knees for a second, catching his breath. Then he straightens up, still smiling, eyes warm and familiar and painfully kind.
"Hey," he says. "I was looking for you."
Of course you were.
I blink at him, waiting for the spark. The excitement. The stupid little hope that used to light up my whole chest whenever he said my name.
Nothing.
Just dread. Thick and uncomfortable, settling in my stomach like bad food.
"What is it?" I ask.
My voice comes out steady, which surprises me. No shake. No edge. Just flat. Almost bored. Like I'm asking for homework notes instead of standing in front of the guy who used to own my entire emotional ecosystem.
His smile flickers for half a second, like he expected something else. He rubs the back of his neck, glancing away, then back at me. Nervous. I've seen this look before. Every time I confessed.
The irony almost makes me laugh.
"Jiah," he says again, softer this time. "I wanted to talk to you."
I nod once. Waiting.
He shifts his weight, shoes scuffing the ground. Students pass by us, laughing, shouting, living their lives like this isn't a pivotal moment for me for the seventh time in a row.
"I've been thinking," he starts. "About us. About you."
My chest tightens again, but this time it's not hope. It's something sharper. Like warning bells going off.
He takes a breath. "I think I—"
Time slows down in the worst possible way.
I see Shin Ara's smile in my head. Her hand in his. The way he leaned into her like it was natural. Like it was easy.
I think about all the night I told myself it was fine, that I was over it, that I didn't care anymore.
He looks at me.
"I think I like you,"