I know something is wrong the moment I stop writing.
Not distracted.
Not tired.
Just… empty.
The cursor blinks on the page, patient and cruel. My aqua pen rests between my fingers, untouched. For once, the words don't come when I ask them to.
I press my lips together.
I can't keep standing in the space between almost.
The thought arrives fully formed, calm and terrifying.
I'm not afraid of Jingyi anymore.
I'm afraid of losing him.
The realization hits harder than any confrontation ever did.
I stand abruptly, heart pounding, and leave the writers' area before I can talk myself out of it. I don't know where I'm going until I'm already there… the stairwell that leads up, past the access door everyone forgets about.
The rooftop.
It's colder than I expect. The city stretches out below, lights scattered like someone dropped a box of stars. The wind tugs at my hair, sharp and clean.
I breathe.
This is where everything feels quieter. Honest.
Footsteps echo behind me.
I don't turn.
"I thought you might be here," Jingyi says.
His voice carries differently up here. Softer. More real.
I close my eyes briefly before facing him.
"You remembered," I say.
He nods once.
"You always come here when you're trying not to fall apart."
I huff a breath that almost becomes a laugh.
"Am I that obvious?"
"Only to me," he replies.
We stand a few feet apart. The space between us feels charged, like the air right before a storm.
Then, behind us, there's a sharp click.
We both turn as the rooftop door swings shut.
A beat.
I reach for the handle.
It doesn't budge.
I try again. Harder.
Locked.
I let out a breath and rest my forehead briefly against the cold metal.
"This is ridiculous," I mutter.
Jingyi steps closer, not crowding. Just enough that I feel his warmth behind me.
"It happens sometimes," he says. "Security locks it after hours."
I straighten slowly and turn to face him.
"So we're… stuck."
"For a little while," he says.
The wind lifts his hair, pushes it into his eyes. He doesn't fix it.
Neither of us moves.
The city hums below us, distant and unconcerned.
I cross my arms, then uncross them. My chest feels too tight.
"I didn't mean to make things awkward," I say finally.
The words sound small the second they leave my mouth.
"I just didn't know how to exist without ruining everything."
His brows knit together slightly.
"You didn't ruin anything," he says.
I laugh once, hollow.
"You don't have to say that."
"I do," he replies. "Because it's true."
He hesitates, then steps closer. Still not touching. Just close enough that the space between us feels intentional.
"I owe you an apology," he says.
My heart stumbles.
"For what," I ask.
"For making you think you were alone with your past," he says quietly.
"For making you think I was just being nice."
The words land heavy and precise.
I freeze.
He continues, voice steady but soft.
"I tried so hard not to cross a line you weren't ready for… that I convinced you there was nothing there."
My breath catches.
"That's on me," he adds.
"I was too careful."
"I hid too much."
The wind rushes past us, loud for a moment, then fades.
"I never wanted you to feel like you had to minimize your pain," he says.
"I never wanted you to think you had to handle things alone."
My eyes burn.
"I'm sorry," he finishes.
No excuses.
No defensiveness.
Just accountability.
Something inside me cracks.
Before I can stop myself, I whisper, "I just… didn't want to be wrong again."
His expression softens completely.
"I know," he says. "I saw it."
He lifts his hand slowly, deliberately, giving me time to pull away.
I don't.
His palm settles against my upper arm, warm and steady. Not possessive. Not rushed. Just… grounding.
The world narrows to that point of contact.
He takes a breath.
"It's not fanservice," he says.
My heartbeat stutters.
"It's not acting."
My throat tightens.
"It's not friendliness."
I look up at him.
Really look.
No teasing.
No charm.
No mask.
Just Jingyi.
Then, quietly… clearly…
"It's you… Su-bin."
The city seems to tilt.
I barely breathe.
He holds my gaze, unwavering, and then says the line that destroys every guard I've built over years of careful survival.
"It's only ever been you."
The words don't echo.
They settle.
I don't cry right away.
I just… stop.
Everything inside me goes still, like the moment after a glass finally stops shaking.
"…You're sure," I whisper.
He doesn't hesitate.
"Yes."
That certainty is what breaks me.
I step forward without thinking, my forehead coming to rest against his chest. His heartbeat is strong. Steady.
Real.
His arms move immediately.
One hand comes up to the back of my head, fingers threading gently into my hair, stroking once, slow and careful.
The other wraps around my back, settling between my shoulder blades, firm and protective.
I exhale into him like I've been holding my breath for years.
He lowers his chin slightly, resting it near my temple.
No words.
No rush.
Just truth.
The wind moves around us, but I don't feel cold anymore.
When I finally pull back, just enough to look at him again, the world feels different.
Aligned.
He brushes his thumb once against my arm before letting go.
Not a promise.
A truth already kept.
Somewhere below us, the city keeps moving.
Up here, the line has already been crossed.
And neither of us is turning back.