The night was still—too still.
Ra-hee stood by the window of the dimly lit room, staring into the rain that had begun to fall softly against the glass. It wasn't a storm. It was the kind of rain that soaked everything quietly, patiently, as if even the sky had run out of words.
Behind her, Jae-hyun was silent.
She could hear his breathing—measured, slow, but not relaxed. That was the thing about him. Even in his stillness, he was coiled like a wire, a man born in chaos trying to pretend he belonged in this peace.
Ra-hee didn't move for a long time. She let the silence stretch between them, wondering if he would speak first.
He didn't.
Finally, she turned. "You didn't eat again."
Jae-hyun sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, head bowed as if the shadows on the floor held answers. His white shirt was stained with dried blood—not his, she hoped—but he hadn't changed. He hadn't said a word since coming in hours ago.
"I wasn't hungry," he muttered.
That wasn't true. She knew his tells now. The way he avoided eye contact when he was hiding something. The subtle clench of his jaw when he was angry—not at her, but at himself.
Ra-hee stepped closer. "You can't keep shutting down every time something happens."
Jae-hyun looked up. His eyes were hollow, but not numb. There was pain there—raw, sharp, the kind that left wounds even time couldn't reach.
"I told you to stay away," he said, voice low. "I told you this world would take things from you. It's already started."
Ra-hee's chest tightened. She sat down across from him, folding her hands in her lap.
"It's taken nothing I wasn't willing to give," she replied. "But if you keep locking me out, it'll take something else."
He raised an eyebrow.
"It'll take you."
His gaze dropped. "Maybe that's for the best."
"No, it's not." Her voice was firmer now. "You don't get to decide what's best for both of us. You're not protecting me by shutting me out. You're just hurting yourself."
Jae-hyun stood suddenly, pacing toward the window she'd just left. He braced a hand against the glass, rain gliding over the other side like tears.
"There was a kid tonight," he said. "Barely fifteen. He tried to stab me. I disarmed him, broke his arm. He screamed. And I—"
He didn't finish.
Ra-hee stood too, slowly walking toward him.
"I don't regret staying," she said quietly. "But I will regret it if you don't let me in."
Jae-hyun turned to face her. His eyes were burning now, not with anger, but with grief.
"I'm not like you, Ra-hee," he whispered. "You save lives. I destroy them. The longer you stay, the more you'll become like me."
She reached for his hand. His knuckles were bruised and scraped, but he didn't pull away.
"Maybe," she said. "But I'd rather lose parts of myself standing beside you than lose you to the war inside your head."
Jae-hyun closed his eyes, and for a moment, Ra-hee thought he might break.
Instead, he kissed her.
It wasn't desperate. It wasn't soft. It was something in between—a fragile truce made of breath and shared weight. His hands framed her face like she was something holy, and hers curled into his shirt like she was holding onto a man standing on the edge of a cliff.
When they pulled away, he leaned his forehead against hers.
"I don't deserve you."
"You don't get to decide that either," she said, smiling through the ache in her throat. "We're past the point of deserve."
He chuckled, low and tired. "You're getting good at this."
"At what?"
"Walking into hell and dragging me back out."
Ra-hee's voice was barely a whisper. "Then don't make me keep doing it alone."
To Be Continued...