They didn't turn on the lights.
There was something comforting in the darkness.
It felt safer. Like the shadows could swallow the weight of everything left unsaid.
Hae-won lay curled on her thin mattress, back to the wall.
Ji-hoon sat on the floor beside her, legs stretched out, staring at the ceiling.
The silence between them wasn't awkward anymore.
It was full.
Full of things neither of them had words for.
He finally broke it with a quiet murmur.
"I hated you when I first saw you."
She didn't flinch.
"I thought you were just another sad girl pretending to be pitiful for attention," he said.
She turned her face slowly toward him.
"But the way you flinched… the way you froze when I touched you, when I joked… it wasn't fake. You weren't pretending. You were surviving."
She whispered, "I still am."
He nodded. "Yeah."
A pause.
Then—
"You know… I don't live with my parents."
She blinked. "What?"
"They travel. For business. For fame. For whatever they think matters more than me."
He laughed bitterly. "I've been alone in that big-ass house since I was twelve. Nannies. Tutors. Guards. No one to talk to. Just… noise and silence."
She sat up slowly.
"You always looked so… loved," she said.
"Yeah," he smirked. "Looks lie."
Silence again.
But this time, they were both a little closer.
Hae-won whispered, "My mom died when I was eight. Car accident. She was running from him."
Ji-hoon's breath caught.
She continued, her voice like shattered glass, "After that… he stopped pretending to be a father. Started drinking. Started hitting. I became the thing he punched when the world didn't go his way."
She wiped a tear from her cheek.
Ji-hoon leaned forward.
She didn't stop him.
He brushed the hair from her face, gently, like she might break.
But she already had.
"Come here," he whispered.
She hesitated.
Then, slowly, she crawled off the mattress and into his arms.
They sat against the wall, her head on his chest, his heartbeat in her ear.
"I've never told anyone that before," she whispered.
"Me either."
Minutes passed.
And then—
"Do you ever feel like… you're not real?" she asked.
"All the time."
They stayed there.
Not kissing.
Not touching in any other way.
Just breathing.
Just being.
Just surviving—together.
And when she finally fell asleep, her fingers still curled into his shirt, Ji-hoon whispered into the dark:
"I'm not going anywhere."
The sunlight was different that morning.
Softer.
Quieter.
Like the world had taken a breath with her.
Hae-won woke up to the smell of coffee.
She blinked. Her room—her room—was still trashed. But Ji-hoon was standing by the window, holding two mugs and looking like sin in sweatpants.
He handed her one.
"You need to get ready," he said.
"For what?"
He smirked. "A new life."
It was on the quiet side of town.
Modern. Simple. Safe.
The elevator pinged open, and Ji-hoon led her inside.
She froze.
Everything was new.
A gray couch.
A glass coffee table.
A bed with soft sheets.
Curtains that actually closed.
And in the corner, a desk with a brand-new phone charging on it.
"I rented it under my name," Ji-hoon said, walking in casually. "It's yours. No one knows the address but me."
Her hands shook.
"Why?" she whispered.
He turned to her. "Because you deserve a place where you're not afraid to fall asleep."
Her eyes filled. "I can't pay you back—"
"I don't want you to," he said, stepping closer. "I just want you safe."
They went to the mall.
She tried on clothes she never imagined touching.
He picked them out for her—soft sweaters, warm coats, even cute socks.
He made her try sneakers, boots, flats.
At first she protested. Then she started smiling.
And Ji-hoon?
He couldn't stop staring.
Then the phone came out.
Click.
One girl whispered to her friend, "Is that Ji-hoon? With her?"
Click. Click. Click.
By the time they got to the grocery store, photos were flying across every group chat.
"Shopping like a married couple…"
"Wait, isn't she the girl from the fight thread?"
"Omg their vibes are actually insane together."
"Look at the way he looks at her."
"I thought she was just a trauma case. What is this fairytale turnaround??"
But Hae-won didn't notice.
Not really.
She was staring at cereal.
"Is this what real milk tastes like?" she asked, holding up a box.
Ji-hoon laughed. "You're so weird."
She smiled. "Maybe."
He took her cart and piled in more food. "We're stocking everything. You're not starving again, got it?"
When they got to the checkout, people were definitely recording.
But this time?
She didn't care.
She stood next to him, groceries in her hand, and for the first time in her life—
She looked like a girl with a future.
The sun set like a soft sigh through the big windows of the apartment.
The space still smelled like new furniture and pine-scented cleaner.
Hae-won stood in the middle of it, hugging the oversized hoodie Ji-hoon had thrown over her shoulders at the grocery store.
He was in the kitchen.
Cooking.
Or trying to.
"Is that rice supposed to be bubbling like that?" she asked, peeking in.
Ji-hoon looked up, smirking. "I don't know. I usually just order takeout."
She giggled. Honest-to-God giggled.
It surprised them both.
He watched her quietly as she laughed.
"You should do that more," he said.
"What?"
"Laugh. It suits you."
They ate on the floor.
Just two kids with paper bowls and canned juice, laughing over burnt eggs and salty kimchi.
"You know," she said, wiping rice off her lip, "I used to watch cooking shows just to pretend I had something warm to eat."
Ji-hoon went still.
"You don't have to pretend anymore," he said.
LATER
The shower steamed up the little bathroom.
She took her time.
Washed her hair twice.
Scrubbed the fear off her skin.
Stood under the hot water until her fingers wrinkled.
When she came out, she found Ji-hoon had changed into sweatpants and a black tee. The TV was on, playing some old K-drama.
"Is that Boys Over Flowers?" she blinked.
He rolled his eyes. "Don't judge me. It's a classic."
She sat beside him on the couch.
They didn't talk for a while.
She leaned her head on his shoulder.
He laced their fingers together.
For once, the silence wasn't full of pain.
Just comfort.
There was only one bed.
Ji-hoon hesitated. "I can take the couch—"
"Stay," she said, before she could talk herself out of it.
So they lay side by side, under the clean sheets.
Backs to the ceiling.
Hearts thudding softly in the dark.
"I don't know what this is yet," she whispered.
"Neither do I," he murmured. "But I don't want it to stop."
She turned her face toward him.
He reached out, brushing her cheek.
They didn't kiss.
They didn't need to.
They just existed, together, in the quiet heartbeat of the night.
And for the first time in her life, as she drifted off to sleep—
Hae-won felt safe.