I didn't sleep right away.
The house was quiet now. Her friends were gone. No heels tapping across the floor, no wine glasses clinking. Just silence.
I was lying on my bed, half-dressed, scrolling my phone aimlessly. My room still smelled like the shampoo she used—probably from her brushing past when she left the folded laundry earlier.
I should've been tired.
But I wasn't.
At 12:42 a.m., the hallway light came on.
Soft footsteps moved past my door.
They stopped.
I didn't move.
Then a knock. Soft. Two taps.
"Are you awake?" she asked.
Her voice was quiet.
"Yeah."
"Open up?"
I got out of bed and slid the door open just enough for her to step in. She wore an oversized white T-shirt—bare legs underneath. No makeup, hair loosely tied. She carried a half-empty wine glass in one hand, her phone in the other.
She walked in like she'd done it before.
"Couldn't sleep," she said.
I stepped back. "Okay."
She sat down on the edge of the bed without asking. Looked around. "Your room's kind of plain. Didn't bring much?"
"Didn't plan to stay long."
She sipped from the glass. "We'll see."
I didn't answer.
"You don't talk much, do you?" she asked, turning to face me.
"I talk when I need to."
"You need to more. You hold everything in like it's valuable."
"Maybe I don't like being read."
She smiled. "Too bad. I'm good at it."
She leaned back, one hand resting behind her on the bed. Her shirt lifted slightly, revealing the top of her thigh.
"I told you my friends were bold," she said. "But I didn't think you'd hide upstairs like a scared little kid."
"I wasn't hiding."
"No?"
"They weren't the ones making me uncomfortable."
That landed.
Her smile faded for a second—then came back, smaller. Less playful.
"You don't like the way I talk to you?"
"I didn't say that."
"You think it's inappropriate?"
I sat down in the chair across from the bed. "I think you know exactly how it sounds."
She tilted her head slightly. "Do you want me to stop?"
I didn't answer.
She took another sip. Set the glass down on the floor. Looked me over.
"You're not a kid," she said. "But you act like you still need permission to look at me."
"I don't."
"Then do it."
I did.
She held my gaze. "See? That's better."
The silence stretched.
"Why are you here, really?" she asked.
"I told you. I needed time. Space."
"From what?"
"Life."
She looked at me like she didn't believe that. "Not from a girl?"
"No."
"No heartbreak?"
"No."
"No one you miss?"
I paused. "Someone messaged me earlier. Old friend."
"Hmm. Girl?"
"Yeah."
Her eyes narrowed just slightly.
"What did she say?"
"Nothing important."
"You sure?"
"She just wanted to catch up."
She didn't say anything for a moment. Then:
"She must've missed you."
"Maybe."
She shifted her weight. Her leg brushed the blanket. She looked away briefly, then back at me.
"I don't like games," she said.
"Neither do I."
"I'm not teasing you for fun," she added. "If I make you uncomfortable, tell me."
"You don't."
"But I distract you."
"Yeah."
She stood up, slow and quiet.
Walked over to me. Stopped just in front of the chair.
She looked down at me. Her voice softened.
"You've been staring at me since you got here. You think I don't notice?"
I swallowed.
"You can," she said. "It's not against the rules."
She didn't touch me. She just stood close enough that I could feel the warmth off her skin.
Her hand reached for my face—then stopped short.
"You should sleep."
She turned and walked out without another word.
The door shut behind her.
I stayed in the chair, arms resting on my thighs, staring at the floor. My chest felt tight, not in a dramatic way—just pressure.
She hadn't done anything. She didn't touch me. But the way she stood there, the way she looked at me, like she was holding something back on purpose.
I stood and paced the room once. Sat back down. Then laid on the bed.
I couldn't stop thinking about her voice.
"You don't need permission to look at me."
She knew what she was doing.
She just wanted to see how far I'd let it go.
It was around 2:15 a.m. when I finally reached for my phone again.
I had a new message.
Soo-ah 🐰
"Still awake?"
Me:
"Yeah."
Soo-ah 🐰:
"Thought so. Couldn't sleep either."
Me:
"What are you thinking about?"
Soo-ah 🐰:
"You. And how weird this all feels."
I stared at the screen.
Me:
"What part?"
Soo-ah 🐰:
"That we just started talking again. That you're staying with someone who's not really your family."
Me:
"She's not."
Soo-ah 🐰:
"Still. Must feel strange. Living in someone else's house. Sharing air with someone who doesn't really know you."
Me:
"She's trying to."
Soo-ah 🐰:
"You letting her?"
I didn't reply right away.
Soo-ah 🐰:
"Don't disappear into someone else's world again. You used to do that."
Me:
"She's different."
Soo-ah 🐰:
"So are you."
I put the phone down.
She was right.
I could feel it already. The house was starting to wrap around me—routine, silence, Yuna's constant presence in the back of my mind.
I didn't know what she wanted from me. Not exactly.
But I knew she was watching.
And I knew I hadn't said no.
Around 3:00 a.m., I got up to grab water.
The hallway was dim. Her door was cracked open. Just enough to let the light of her lamp spill across the floor.
I tried not to look.
But I did.
She was on her bed. On her side. Still in the T-shirt, legs curled up slightly, blanket tangled around her hips.
She wasn't asleep.
Her eyes were open, facing the doorway.
Facing me.
Neither of us said anything.
I stepped into the kitchen, filled a glass. Drank it slow. The air felt heavier in the middle of the night.
On my way back, I glanced again.
Her eyes were still open.
She didn't blink.
I didn't stop.
Back in bed, I stared at the ceiling until my vision blurred.
I woke to the sound of my phone buzzing on the nightstand. Mid-morning.
A message.
Yuna:
"I'm going out for groceries. If you want anything specific, message me."
Just like that. Like last night didn't happen.
I typed a reply.
Me:
"I'm good."
I stared at the screen.
Then added:
Me:
"Did you sleep?"
She didn't respond.
Not for a while.
Then:
Yuna:
"Eventually."