The following days passed like a slow-motion film — a succession of gestures, dialogues, mechanical smiles that seemed to belong to another person.
A Nari from before.
A Nari who no longer truly existed.
She woke every morning in the same bed, next to a now-ecstatic fiancé who talked about rings, reception halls, guest lists, travel ideas…
He glowed.
He radiated even.
And his joy was so pure it became painful to witness.
Nari nodded.
Smiled.
Answered.
She played her role perfectly.
At work, the usual giggles returned as if nothing had changed.
The girls in the open space examined her ring with a mix of jealousy and sarcasm.
— Ohhh, she's getting married!
— Didn't think she had an emotional life, said one, chewing her gum.
— Maybe the boss is disappointed now, added the other with a mocking laugh.
Nari didn't react.
Not a glance.
Not a flicker.
She was hermetic.
An empty fortress.
Mr. Kang walked behind her, heavy, imposing, his eyes gleaming with an inappropriate interest.
— Congratulations, he said slowly, as if the syllables weighed in his mouth.
— Thank you, she replied without turning around.
He dropped two massive folders onto her keyboard, far too close to her arm.
— You're staying tonight. I need you.
She felt a shiver of disgust crawl up her spine.
Before, she would've said yes.
Out of fear.
Out of reflex.
Out of learned submission.
Today… no.
She shut the folders with a sharp snap.
— I'm not staying. I have a life now.
Silence.
The entire open space froze.
The girls stopped laughing.
Kang stared at her, stunned, as if she had just slapped him.
Then, in an icy murmur:
— You remember I can make your days very long here?
Nari stood up, grabbed her things, and left the office.
She could feel that this strength was strange, unstable, dangerous—like a new skin she hadn't learned to wear yet.
Winter arrived brutally.
The nights became cold, long, silent.
Life was "normal."
Stable.
Reassuring.
A month had passed since Sion's disappearance.
A month during which she had tried—truly tried—to become who she was before him again.
To rebuild herself, to return to that simple, peaceful, predictable life.
And sometimes, she managed.
A few minutes.
A few hours.
Then a memory returned.
His hands.
His voice.
The way he touched her as if she were the only woman on earth.
The way he broke her as if she'd been made for that.
No matter what she did… he remained.
One evening, she was alone at home.
Her fiancé had gone to watch the match with his friends.
The apartment was soaked in soft calm: dim light, the hum of the fridge, fine rain tapping against the windows.
Nari took a hot shower, put on soft pajamas, slipped into bed.
She was about to fall asleep when—
KNOCK.
KNOCK.
KNOCK.
Sharp knocks.
Far too insistent.
Too impatient.
She thought it was her fiancé, probably drunk, probably loud.
She opened the door, ready to tease him.
And her heart stopped.
—
SION.
Standing in the doorway.
His hair drenched.
His shirt open, wrinkled, stained.
His eyes red.
His lips parted.
A bottle hanging from his hand.
The smell of strong alcohol mixing with his dark, woody scent.
He was dead drunk.
But even drunk, he was painfully beautiful.
Too beautiful.
Too dangerous.
He walked in without asking, without greeting, without thinking, almost stumbling.
And everything in her collapsed all at once—a wave of heat, fear, craving, love, all mixed, all tangled.
She tried to speak.
Nothing came out.
Her throat was blocked.
He lifted his eyes to her.
And in a collapsed, broken, intoxicated breath, he murmured:
— …So…
did you miss me?
The room spun around her.
Her heart too.
Nari didn't move.
Her breath froze.
Her heart, frozen too, beat one second too early, one second too hard—as if it recognized before she did what she refused to feel.
Sion remained there, swaying, the bottle in his hand, his head slightly lowered, his eyelids heavy.
But his eyes… his eyes, despite the alcohol, were fixed on her with an intensity almost painful, a burn that pierced the skin to reach the bone.
A mix of distress and desire.
A mix he had never shown.
Not even that night.
Not even in the rawest moments.
He took a step forward.
Just one.
And that was enough to change the air between them, to electrify it, to make it too heavy to breathe.
— Why… why are you like this…
His voice cracked at the end, making him almost human.
Nari opened her mouth, but no sound came.
He kept walking, each step clumsy but driven by a force she had never seen in him—not the dominant, confident Sion who controlled everything.
No.
A broken Sion.
A falling Sion.
A Sion coming back to her like a dying man crawling toward a light.
— Why can't I… forget you…
The bottle slipped from his fingers.
The sound of glass on the floor rang like a gunshot.
And before she could react, he was on her.
Not violently.
Not brutally.
Not like before.
He collapsed against her.
Literally.
His forehead dropped to her shoulder.
His hands found her waist, gripping her as if she were the last thing keeping him from sinking.
His breath—warm, uneven, desperate—died against her collarbone.
— I don't know what you did… but you're in my fucking head… he murmured, his voice trembling, drowned in alcohol, drowned in something even stronger.
Nari felt a sharp pain cross her chest.
A beautiful pain.
A terrible pain.
A pain that said: he came back.
She placed her hands on his shoulders, hesitant, almost afraid of the fragility of this giant collapsing against her.
— Sion… you smell like alcohol.
— I don't love you, he growled, defensive.
— I don't love you, I don't want you… but you're everywhere…
He lifted his head.
And there—
she saw.
She saw her Sion.
Not the one who played.
Not the one who lied.
Not the one who manipulated.
No.
The one who had never learned to love.
The one who had been broken too early.
The one who didn't know how to live with what she awakened in him.