The next morning arrived slow and gray — the kind of morning that carried the leftover scent of rain and the quiet ache of memories too fresh to name.
Hannah woke to the sound of droplets sliding down her window. Her throat burned, her head felt heavy, and the faint chill still lingered on her skin.
She sneezed once, twice, then groaned, dragging herself out of bed. Her reflection in the mirror greeted her with messy hair and tired eyes. "Perfect," she muttered dryly, grabbing a tissue.
A soft knock echoed through her apartment. She froze for a second before realizing it was just the cleaning lady dropping off a parcel. Still, for one small moment, her heart had thought — Min Jae.
She quickly shook the thought away, wrapping herself tighter in her blanket.
The day slipped by quietly — her cough came and went, her phone buzzed with notifications she barely had the energy to check. There was one unread message sitting stubbornly at the bottom of her screen:
Min Jae:Did you rest properly?
She stared at it for a while, thumb hovering over the keyboard, then locked her phone and set it face-down on the table. "You'll survive, Min Jae," she whispered to herself.
By the next day, her fever had broken, but work had piled up like an avalanche. Reports, presentations, deadlines — everything demanded her attention at once.
Coffee became her survival tool, and sleep turned into a luxury she couldn't afford.
She crossed paths with Min Jae once in the lobby of the office building — he was coming out of a meeting while she was rushing in. Their eyes met briefly. He gave a small nod, that quiet, knowing smile of his.
She replied with a polite one before walking past him, pretending not to feel the familiar pull in her chest.
And just like that, three days slipped by — filled with missed calls, unread messages, and stolen glances that never quite met.
The world moved fast around them, but underneath it all, something else was building — something neither of them was quite ready to face yet.
One day Hannah got back from work and was waiting for the lift. The elevator doors slid open, and there he was.
Min Jae.
He stood inside, sleeves rolled up, tie slightly loose, his dark hair tousled as if he'd been running his hands through it all day. The faint tiredness in his eyes didn't dull the way they instantly sharpened when they landed on her.
Hannah stepped in, earbuds still in place, music humming faintly. She looked exhausted — shoulders slumped, bag heavy on her arm, eyes dull from endless hours of meetings and deadlines. She didn't notice him at first. Not until the doors closed, trapping them inside that narrow space.
"Long day?" his voice came low, steady.
She blinked, pulling out one earbud. "What?"
"I said, long day?"
His tone was calm, careful — almost casual — but his gaze searched her face like he was trying to read everything she wasn't saying.
"Yeah," she murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "Long week, actually."
He gave a faint smile, the kind that barely touched his lips but softened the edges of his expression. "You look like you've been fighting wars in there."
"More like spreadsheets," she said quietly, a hint of dry humor in her tone.
He chuckled under his breath. "Those can be worse."
For a moment, silence stretched between them — not awkward, but heavy with something unspoken. The low hum of the elevator filled the air, along with the faint scent of rain still clinging to both of them.
When she glanced up, their reflections met in the mirrored doors — her tired eyes against his calm, steady ones.
And then, as if the universe had been listening too closely, the elevator jolted. Once. Twice. Then stopped.
The lights flickered, then cut out, leaving only the dim glow of the emergency bulb. The floor shuddered beneath them, then stilled. Silence.
Hannah's breath caught. "Oh no. Don't tell me—"
She jabbed the buttons, one after another, but nothing responded. "This cannot be happening."
Turning slowly, she shot Min Jae a look — a mix of disbelief and exhaustion. "Out of all the people in this building… why am I stuck with you?"
His lips curved, not quite a smile, not quite a smirk — something in between. "Fate has a strange sense of humor." He leaned casually against the wall, hands sliding into his pockets. "You should feel lucky. Anyone else would've been panicking by now."
"I am panicking," she muttered, glaring at the lifeless panel. "I just happen to panic quietly."
Min Jae tilted his head, studying her in the dim light, eyes glinting faintly. "Quiet panic suits you. Though…" His voice lowered, soft and teasing. "The way your ears turn red kind of gives you away."
She groaned and rubbed her temples. "Not this again."
He chuckled, voice smooth as ever. "Can't help it. You make it too easy."
But the darkness in the elevator grew heavier, the emergency bulb flickering on and off, shadows spilling across his face. Hannah's chest tightened; she hated small, enclosed spaces. Her pulse quickened, though she tried not to show it.
She took a breath. "Is your phone charged? Turn on the flashlight."
He didn't move. His gaze stayed fixed on her, steady and unreadable. After a moment, he said quietly, "Dead."
The word dropped like a stone.
She stared. "You're kidding."
He shook his head. "Guess we'll have to survive with just this light… and each other."
She hugged her arms to her chest. "Perfect. Exactly what I needed. Trapped in the dark with you."
"You say it like it's torture," he murmured, tone dipping into that low, teasing calm that always got under her skin. "Being here. With me."
"Isn't it?" she shot back, trying to sound unaffected — but her voice trembled slightly.
The elevator rattled once, lights flickering like dying candles, and then — snap.
Everything went black.
Not dim, not shadowed — black. Complete, suffocating dark.
"Perfect," she muttered, clutching her phone.
She moved, trying to stand straighter, but bumped into something solid — and warm.
Min Jae.
Her breath hitched. His chest barely moved as he spoke, voice soft and close. "Careful," he murmured. "If you keep running into me like this, people might think you want to be close."
She inhaled sharply, cheeks flushing though he couldn't see it. "Ohhh… you… and your Delulu's."
His quiet laugh vibrated in the air between them. "Maybe. But tell me — why does your voice shake every time you say that?"
"I'm not shaking," she said quickly, though her throat felt dry.
"Then look at me," he whispered.
Her heart skipped. "How?"
"Just look at me," he said softly, "without even blinking."
The challenge hummed in the dark. Slowly, she tilted her head up, eyes adjusting to the faint light. He was close — too close. His gaze caught hers, sharp even in the shadows. The air between them thickened, alive.
"I can," she whispered, steady but quiet.
One corner of his mouth curved. "For how long?"
She didn't blink. She stepped back instead, refusing to break eye contact — until cold metal pressed into her spine.
Min Jae's hand landed on it beside her waist, the other braced above her head. The space between them dissolved entirely.
The emergency light flickered once, then died again, plunging them into absolute dark. His breath brushed her cheek, his voice a low whisper. "You're trembling."
"I'm not," she murmured.
"Yes, you are." His voice deepened — not mocking, not gentle, but something in between. "And the best part? You can't even look away."
She swallowed hard. "You're too close."
"That's the point," he said, his words ghosting against her skin.
Her chest rose and fell quickly. "Step back, Min Jae."
He didn't. "You can look away," he whispered, "or admit how much this gets to you."
Her voice came softer this time — controlled, not weak. "You think I'll admit anything while you're practically breathing down my neck?"
A quiet chuckle escaped him. "Maybe not. But your silence says enough."
She exhaled, steadying herself. "Don't test me," she said calmly but firmly, eyes glinting.
"I'm not testing," he murmured, "just observing."
Before she could respond, the lift jolted back to life, the harsh fluorescent lights flickering on. Her eyes met his immediately — the moment freezing between them.
He didn't move, one arm still beside her, the other resting against the wall near her head. His gaze burned steady, unreadable.
She straightened slowly, squaring her shoulders. "Are you done?"
His lips curved faintly. "Not really."
Her glare hardened. "Well, I am." She pushed lightly against his chest, enough to create distance. "Move."
The elevator hummed faintly, a dim light flickering overhead as silence pressed thick between them.
Min Jae leaned slightly closer, his voice low, smooth, dangerous in its calm.
"Oh, I'm not testing you," he said, eyes locked on hers. "I'm just seeing how long it takes for you to admit you feel it… that pull."
Hannah's breath caught for half a second, but she recovered quickly. Her eyes narrowed, chin tilting upward — calm, but cutting.
"ohh my gawd!!! There's no pull," she said flatly. "I'm not affected. Move."
The lift jolted then, lights stuttering before settling into a harsh, sterile glow.
Her eyes met his instantly — and neither of them looked away.
Min Jae's right hand pressed to the railing behind her, anchoring him, while his left braced the wall beside her head. The movement wasn't forceful — but the space between them dissolved in an instant. She could feel his breath, warm and steady, brushing faintly against her forehead.
"You're… angry," he murmured, his voice deep, low, testing. "Aren't you?"
Hannah didn't flinch. Her expression stayed calm, unreadable — a still lake under thunderclouds. She kept her gaze fixed on him, one brow arching as if daring him to keep pushing.
He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing with something between curiosity and admiration. "So you're just going to stare? Pretend I don't exist?" he pressed, a quiet edge of challenge threading through his tone.
Her shoulders straightened, arms crossing loosely over her chest. "If that's what it takes," she replied, cool and controlled. "You don't get to assume things about me, Min Jae. Not here, not now."
That earned a faint pause — a flicker in his gaze, subtle but there. Then the corner of his mouth curved upward.
"Bold," he murmured, tone softer now. "Angry, too. I like it."
Her glare didn't waver, but her voice lowered to a sharper calm. "Stop," she said. "I'm not playing your games."
She didn't shove him — not right away. Instead, she let the silence stretch between them until it felt like static. Then, slowly but firmly, she pressed a hand against his chest and pushed, just enough to make him step back.
"Move," she said, her voice quiet, precise, unyielding. "Now."
For a heartbeat, Min Jae didn't move. His eyes searched hers — not defiant, not mocking, but tracing every flicker of her expression, every steady inhale. Then, with a small sigh that carried the ghost of a smirk, he stepped back.
His hand slipped from the railing, brushing faintly against the wall as if reluctant to leave that space between them.
Hannah's chest rose and fell, her pulse steadying as she crossed her arms again. "I'm serious," she said softly but firmly. "Don't think you can charm your way out of this."
The elevator doors slid open with a dull chime. She stepped out first, her footsteps crisp against the marble hallway floor.
He followed — slower, quieter — his gaze still fixed on her back, as if waiting for her to turn. She didn't.
I took a step back, turning back in disbelief. "Woah!!!" I scoffed, crossing my arms. "Dead?" Min Jae's voice came low, almost cautious. "I—It's not what it looks like." Before he could explain further, I spun on my heel and slammed the door open, stepping inside the apartment. The click of the lock behind me was deliberate, final. I didn't wait for him to follow. "I'm done with this," I muttered under my breath, voice cold and sharp, as I moved toward the living room.