Fridays usually carried the taste of freedom—cheap snacks at the corner store, Na-yeon's endless chatter about new dramas, Ji-hyun sighing as he tried to keep her from dragging us into karaoke again.
But today, the hallway felt different.
Maybe it was because of him.
For the past few days, I couldn't stop thinking about Ha-neul. His voice still echoed in my head: "Good work."
Simple words, but they had cracked something open inside me.
Every glance, every brush of his presence in class felt heavier, like gravity was stronger when he was near.
So when the final bell rang and Na-yeon looped her arm around mine, saying, "Let's grab tteokbokki on the way home," I found myself hesitating.
"You guys go first," I muttered, trying to keep my voice casual.
Na-yeon blinked. "Eh? Since when do you ditch food?"
Ji-hyun gave her a look. "Don't pry."
But her smirk told me she'd already guessed something. "Fine, fine. Don't come crying when you're hungry." She tugged Ji-hyun away, still teasing, and just like that, the classroom was emptier.
I slung my bag over my shoulder, and that's when I noticed Ha-neul standing by his desk, carefully sliding his notebooks into his bag. He moved with that same precise rhythm—never rushed, never sloppy.
Before I could stop myself, the words tumbled out. "Do you… want to work on the project today? Together?"
I braced for silence, for rejection, but instead he paused. His gaze lifted, blue eyes catching the fading light from the windows. They were so startlingly clear it felt like they could look straight through me.
"…Come with me," he said simply.
Come with him?
Whère?
For a moment, I thought I'd misheard. But then he walked toward the door, not waiting to see if I followed.
My heart kicked against my ribs. Somehow, my legs carried me after him.
The ride was quiet. Too quiet.
A sleek black car was waiting at the gates. The driver opened the door without a word, bowing slightly. I froze, unsure if I was even allowed inside. But Ha-neul glanced at me once, a flicker of expectation in his eyes, and that was enough.
I slid into the leather seat beside him, the unfamiliar scent of polished wood and expensive cologne surrounding me. The car purred to life, gliding through the streets as though the city belonged to it.
Where Are we going ?
His house?
I kept sneaking glances at him, but Ha-neul's gaze stayed fixed on the passing scenery. His posture was straight, hands folded neatly in his lap. The silence pressed against me until I couldn't take it anymore.
"Do you… always get picked up like this?"
He didn't look at me. "Yes."
"Must be nice," I said before I could stop myself. Then quickly added, "I mean—convenient."
His lips twitched, not quite a smile. "Convenient," he echoed, as if tasting the word.
I wanted to ask more—about his parents, his home—but something in the curve of his shoulders warned me off. So I bit my tongue, letting the hum of the engine fill the gap.
When the car stopped, I nearly forgot to breathe.
Ohh my god!
I... I didn't know he... he rich?
The mansion rose before us, tall iron gates swinging open to reveal a sprawling house framed by manicured gardens. The walls gleamed ivory in the late-afternoon sun, windows tall and glimmering like watchful eyes.
It didn't look like a home. It looked like a painting—beautiful, flawless, untouchable.
We stepped out, the gravel crunching underfoot. The driver bowed again before pulling away. For a second, I stood frozen at the gate, clutching my bag like a shield.
"Come in," Ha-neul said softly, already walking up the stone steps.
Inside, the air was cool, faintly scented with lilies. My footsteps echoed too loudly on the polished marble floor. The halls stretched wide and empty, lined with paintings and vases that looked far too expensive to exist in real life.
There were no voices. No laughter. No warmth. Just silence that pressed against the walls.
Is this his house?
Like ghost house?
Where are his parents or brother sister?
I thought of my own small apartment, the faint smell of kimchi stew clinging to the curtains, my sister's crayons scattered across the floor. It was messy, loud, imperfect. But suddenly, I was grateful for it.
"This way."
Ha-neul's voice pulled me from my thoughts. I followed him up the grand staircase and into a room at the far end of the hall.
His room?
It was immaculate, like the rest of the house—books lined neatly on shelves, bed made with crisp precision, a single desk by the window stacked with tidy notebooks. The only thing that hinted at him was a sketchpad left half-open on the desk. I caught the faint outline of a landscape drawn in pencil before he shut it with a quiet motion.
"We can work here," he said, pulling out two chairs at the desk.
I sat, my fingers itching with curiosity, but I stayed silent.
For a while, we worked. Or tried to. I read aloud from the short story we were assigned, and he scribbled notes with quick, precise strokes. The sunlight softened as the sky turned orange outside the window.
But the longer we sat, the more aware I became of the silence. Of him. Of the space between us that felt charged, fragile, waiting.
At one point, I stood to grab my bag, but my foot caught on the edge of the chair. I stumbled forward, crashing into him.
"Ah—!"
The world tilted, and before I knew it, we both tumbled backward, landing on the bed. The mattress dipped beneath us, the scent of clean linen rising around me. My chest pressed against his chest , face to face, our hands tangling for balance.
Time froze.
His blue eyes widened, shock flickering across them. My breath caught in my throat, the closeness overwhelming—the warmth of his body, the faint rise and fall of his chest beneath mine.
I scrambled to push myself up, face burning. "S-sorry! I didn't mean—"
But his hand twitched against mine, not pulling away. Just resting there, still and unsure.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. The silence wasn't heavy this time—it was electric, like the air before a storm.
Then, slowly, he turned his face toward mine. His gaze locked on me, unreadable, but not cold.
"Be careful," he murmured.
Too embarrassing
My heart thudded painfully against my ribs.
I nodded, too quickly, sitting back up. The bed creaked softly as I moved away, the spell breaking. He straightened his uniform, his expression smooth again, though I swore I caught the faintest flush at the tips of his ears.
We returned to our work, but the air between us had shifted. Every brush of his sleeve against mine, every accidental glance, felt sharper, louder, impossible to ignore.
When the driver dropped me off later, my legs still felt unsteady. I barely heard Na-yeon's voice message asking where I'd disappeared to.
All I could think about was that moment on his bed—the warmth, the silence, the way he hadn't pushed me away.
For the first time, I wondered if maybe… just maybe… his silence wasn't a wall meant to keep me out.
Maybe it was waiting for someone patient enough to step through.
Maybe I can?