Ji-Hyun hovered near the entrance, hugging her blanket around herself.
"I'm not taking your whole bed. I'll stay on the edge. Like, extreme edge. I'll practically be on the floor."
"I'm not letting you fall," he said simply.
"I won't fall."
"You will."
Ji-Hyun glared at him. "Do you want me to sleep here or not?"
"Obviously yes," he replied, scooting a little to the side. "Come on."
She exhaled, feeling ridiculous, and finally walked toward the bed. Her heartbeat was annoyingly loud, and she prayed he couldn't hear it.
When she sat down on the mattress, it dipped slightly, and with that one movement, something inside her sank too — not in a bad way, but like settling into a familiar warmth she didn't know she'd been missing.
She lay down stiffly, facing the ceiling. "I'm here. Happy?"
"Yes," he said.
She froze.
He added quickly, "Because you're actually resting, I mean."
"Sure," she muttered.
They stayed silent for a moment.
The quiet was gentle. Safe.
Ji-Hyun found herself slowly relaxing into the pillow, the blanket pulled up to her chin. The warmth radiating from Seon-Woo's side of the bed wasn't close enough to touch her, but it was close enough to feel. Enough to calm her racing nerves.
"You're still tense," he said.
"I'm not."
"You are. You're lying like a plank."
"I always lie like a plank."
"No, you don't. Yesterday you curled like a shrimp on the couch."
She groaned. "Why do you observe everything I do? Are you bored?"
"Maybe," he replied. "Or maybe I just notice things about you without trying."
That did not help her heartbeat situation.
Ji-Hyun inhaled deeply. "Can you just… sleep?"
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm thinking."
She rolled her head slightly toward him, though she didn't fully turn.
"About what?"
He hesitated. She heard it — the tiny pause, the way he pushed out a breath before answering.
"About today," he said. "About how you were carrying everything alone again."
Ji-Hyun stared at the ceiling. "I'm not carrying anything alone."
"You are," he said quietly. "You always do."
She didn't know what to say. He wasn't wrong. She had a habit of hiding everything — her stress, her fears, her exhaustion — simply because she didn't want to inconvenience anyone. Especially him. He already had too much to deal with.
"Ji-Hyun."
"What?"
"I'm here, you know."
The words were simple, but something about the way he said them — calm, steady, completely serious — made her chest tighten.
She swallowed. "I know."
"Then why don't you ever rely on me?"
She turned to him a little more, meeting his eyes in the dimness. "It's not that I don't want to. I just… don't want to be a burden."
"You're not."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
His tone was unwavering. And it made her heart ache in a way she hadn't expected.
She looked at him properly now — his face softened by the warm lamplight, his expression open in a way he rarely let happen. He wasn't teasing. Wasn't pretending. He was just being honest.
"Come closer," he said suddenly.
She jolted. "No!"
"You're falling off the bed."
"I said I'd sleep on the edge!"
"And I said I won't let you fall."
He reached over — slowly, giving her more than enough time to pull back — and lightly tugged her blanket so she shifted a few inches toward the center.
Not touching.
But closer.
Her face burned. "You're impossible."
"And you're cold," he said, noticing how she was curled too tightly. "Here."
He adjusted the blanket around her shoulders, careful, almost gentle in a way she wasn't used to from him. It felt protective. Thoughtful.
Dangerously so.
She forced her voice to stay steady. "Aren't you tired?"
"I am," he admitted. "But I feel more tired when you're not okay."
Her heart stuttered.
"Seon-Woo…"
"You don't have to say anything," he murmured. "Just sleep."
But sleep refused to come easily. Not because she was uncomfortable — the bed was warm, the room quiet, the night deep and comforting — but because every breath she took reminded her that he was right there. Close enough that if either of them turned a little more, their sleeves might brush.
After a long silence, she whispered, "Thank you. For calling me."
He didn't reply immediately. Then —
"Of course I called you." His voice dipped, soft as the night around them. "It didn't feel right when you weren't here."
The spark ignited again — bright, sharp, terrifying, thrilling.
Ji-Hyun closed her eyes, letting the words settle into the quiet. Something between them had shifted — soft, unspoken, but unmistakable. Not defined, not confessed, not labeled. But real.
A warmth that wasn't loud or dramatic, but steady. Like a small flame cupped between their hands.
Finally, her breathing slowed. Her body relaxed. Sleep tugged at her mind.
Just before she drifted off, she heard him whisper — barely audible.
"Goodnight… stay close."
She pretended not to hear it.
But she did.
And she stayed.
Morning light filtered softly through the curtains, brushing against Ji-Hyun's face. She blinked awake, groggy and slow, only to realize—
She wasn't on the edge anymore.
She was nearer the center.
And Seon-Woo was still asleep, turned slightly toward her, the distance between them comfortably small. Not touching — but undeniably closer than before.
Ji-Hyun's cheeks warmed as she stared at him, his features relaxed, softer in sleep.
Something had changed last night.
Not loud, not dramatic — but deep.
A quiet shift.
A certainty.
She didn't kn
ow what would happen next, how complicated things might get, or what rules they would break without meaning to.
But for now, she let herself breathe in the moment.
Just this once.
She whispered, "Good morning, idiot."
And even half-asleep, Seon-Woo smiled.
"Ugh" Ji-Hyun grunted