4:30 a.m.
The darkness hadn't fully lifted yet.
A faint breeze slipped through the curtains, carrying the night's scent like a memory still lingering in the air.
At the far end of the 20th-floor hallway, the elevator doors opened with a quiet sigh, and Jinwoo stepped out, silent.
One step. Then another.
Everything looked familiar, but tonight, the stillness felt... unfamiliar.
The first thing that reached him was the scent—deep, smoky traces of whiskey still hanging in the air.
On the table: scattered glasses, a nearly empty bottle.
Last night's shadow hadn't quite let go of the space.
He stopped in front of her door, knocked once—softly.
No reply.
When he eased the door open, the scent of her wrapped around him—faint perfume softened by damp hair, like she'd just stepped out of the shower.
There she was, asleep in the middle of the bed, her breath steady, her body relaxed.
One hand rested near her face, fingers still wearing the ring he gave her.
Even in sleep, she held onto him.
Jinwoo moved closer and sat down beside her.
He didn't say a word—just watched her.
Watched the gentle rise and fall of her breath, the way the shadows curved along her cheek.
He reached out, brushing his fingers along the line of her face, and a quiet smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
There was peace in simply looking at her.
He didn't need to say anything.
Then—her lashes fluttered.
She opened her eyes slowly, still heavy with sleep, but as soon as they landed on him, she knew.
Her gaze dropped.
She noticed his wrist.
White patches of cooling plasters, a hand hovering slightly, hesitant and unused.
"…what happened to your wrist?"
She pushed herself up, voice still hoarse, but already filled with worry.
He shrugged, keeping his tone light.
"Just a pulled muscle. Really, it's nothing. Don't worry."
"…Are you sure?" She reached for his hand, gently holding it between both of hers.
"Agh—" A quiet sound slipped out of him.
His brows tightened just enough for her to notice.
"This is something. You should've had it checked"
He let out a quiet laugh, as if trying to ease her tension.
"So you party all night on your day off, and I'm the one who gets scolded?"
"Don't change the subject. That needs to be looked at."
"I'm fine. Really. I just wanted to see you. And now that I have… I feel better."
He lifted the blanket and tucked it gently around her, then lay down beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Their breaths found a rhythm. No more words—just warmth.
She didn't let go of his hand.
Her fingers traced his slowly, as if trying to feel his pain through her skin.
"…You really should go," she whispered.
He looked at her and smiled, soft and quiet.
"There's an audition in a few days. I was going to take time off anyway. Might as well start now. It's okay. Really."
He brushed a hand over her shoulder, then along her cheek.
His fingers slipped gently to the nape of her neck.
He pulled her closer.
And kissed her.
At first, it was light—cautious, almost reverent.
His lips moved slowly, like he was afraid she'd disappear if he pressed too hard.
She closed her eyes, leaned in.
Their breaths mingled between parted lips.
Their foreheads met. And in that silence, wrapped in the softness of each other, they stayed.