The rooftop was quiet.
A cool night breeze swept across the open space, lifting the edges of Ji-Ho's book as he finished the last page.
The sky had already darkened, the faint glow of the moon replacing the sun.
Ji-Ho adjusted his glasses and closed the book gently.
He had stayed longer than he meant to.
Living at Ji-Bok's house was only temporary — he knew that. He couldn't rely on someone else forever.
Sooner or later, he had to return, face things properly, and stand on his own again.
He slipped the book into his bag and headed toward the stairwell.
By the time he reached the lower floors, the school felt completely different from the daytime — too quiet, too empty.
His footsteps echoed softly through the hallway.
Then—
"You didn't go back home?"
The calm voice came from behind him.
Ji-Ho turned.
Mr. Yoo Joon stood a few steps away, hair falling slightly into his eyes, hands tucked into his pockets as usual. His expression was unreadable but steady.
Ji-Ho nodded once. "Yes… I didn't."
"It's getting dark," Mr. Yoo Joon said. "You should head home."
Ji-Ho was about to respond when—
BANG!
A loud, sudden noise shattered the silence.
Ji-Ho flinched.
Mr. Yoo Joon turned sharply toward the direction of the sound.
"Who else is still here…?" he murmured.
Another faint hit followed, weaker this time.
Ji-Ho swallowed. "Should we… check it out?"
Mr. Yoo Joon was already moving.
"Stay close."
Their footsteps quickened as they followed the noise down the dim hallway.
Meanwhile—
Ji-Woo staggered backward from the classroom door, her hair messy, strands clinging to her damp cheeks. Her breathing came unevenly as she clutched the metal handle again, forcing her tired arms to lift.
She banged on the door.
Once.
Twice.
The sound barely carried now — dull and weak.
"Help…" she tried, but her voice scraped painfully against her throat.
She hit the door again, but her hands were trembling. The skin across her knuckles had turned red from all the pounding.
Her strength gave out.
Ji-Woo slowly sank to the floor.
Her eyes shimmered, not quite crying but close. Even swallowing hurt now.
The classroom felt tighter than before.
Darker.
Only pale moonlight slipped through the window, stretching long shadows across the floor.
She lay down carefully, staring at the ceiling.
"It's… suffocating," she whispered.
Silence answered her.
Her eyelids grew heavy.
"Guess I'll sleep here…"
Just as her eyes closed—
A sound.
Metal shifting.
Keys.
Her head turned weakly toward the door.
The lock clicked.
The handle moved.
The door creaked open slowly, letting a thin line of hallway light spill into the room.
Ji-Woo squinted, trying to focus.
A figure stepped inside.
She recognized the worried face almost immediately.
"Mr… Yoo Joon…" she whispered, her voice barely there.
Relief washed through her so suddenly that her body didn't know how to hold it.
The tension snapped.
Her vision blurred.
Then everything went dark.
--
Ji-Bok checked his phone again.
No new messages.
No missed calls returned.
Just silence.
His thumb hovered over Ji-Woo's name before pressing call once more. He lifted the phone to his ear, pacing slowly across his room.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Nothing.
He pulled the phone away, staring at the screen as the call ended.
"Come on…" he muttered.
Ji-Woo always answered. Even if she was busy, she would send a short reply. A single word.
Anything.
But tonight?
Nothing.
A tight feeling settled in his chest.
He tried again.
Straight to ringing.
No response.
Ji-Bok dragged a hand through his hair and stood still for a moment, listening to the quiet house.
Something about this didn't feel right.
Maybe she stayed late for rehearsal.
Maybe her phone died.
Maybe—
No.
Ji-Woo wouldn't disappear without a word.
He grabbed his jacket without thinking and shoved his phone into his pocket, dialing again as he moved toward the door.
Still nothing.
Now his thoughts were racing faster than he could control them.
What if she never left school?What if something happened?
He stopped abruptly in the hallway, jaw tightening.
"Why do I feel like this…" he whispered.
Because deep down, he already knew — this wasn't normal.
He tried calling Eun-Woo next.
No answer.
His worry sharpened into urgency.
Ji-Bok stepped outside, the cool night air hitting his face, but it did nothing to calm him.
"Please pick up…" he said under his breath, staring at the dark screen.
When it remained silent, he didn't hesitate anymore.
He started toward the school.
Fast.
Each step heavier than the last, driven by a growing fear he couldn't explain — only feel.
Something was wrong.
And until he saw Ji-Woo with his own eyes, that feeling wasn't going away.
--
Ji-Bok reached the school gates, breath uneven from how fast he had walked.
The campus was dark.
Too dark.
His grip tightened around his phone.
Then he noticed the soft glow of a shop across the street — the small place Ji-Woo always liked visiting after school. Without thinking, he looked toward it.
And froze.
Ji-Woo sat outside on the wooden bench.
Safe.
Alive.
His chest loosened instantly, relief flooding through him so fast it almost hurt.
For a second, he just stood there, watching her.
She held a warm drink between her hands, shoulders slightly slumped from exhaustion. A few strands of hair fell across her face, and she looked smaller somehow — fragile after what must have been a long day.
Ji-Bok walked toward her quickly.
"Ji-Woo."
She looked up.
Surprise filled her eyes. "Ji-Bok?"
He stopped in front of her, scanning her face as if confirming she was truly fine.
"Why didn't you answer your phone?"
She blinked, then checked her pockets.
"…My phone is still in my locker."
His jaw tightened.
He let out a slow breath, trying to steady the panic that still lingered in his chest.
"You had me worried."
Her expression softened immediately.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know."
He noticed the faint redness on her hands.
"Were you crying?" he asked quietly.
"No," she shook her head. "Just tired."
There was a pause.
The night hummed gently around them.
"I was locked inside a classroom," she added after a moment.
Ji-Bok went completely still.
"…What?"
"A teacher opened it later. I think everyone had already gone home."
Something dark flickered across his eyes — anger, sharp and protective.
"Who locked it?"
"I don't know," she replied, though her gaze drifted away slightly.
He noticed.
But he didn't push.
Instead, he said firmly, "Next time, call me from someone else's phone. Don't stay alone."
The words came out more intense than he meant, but they were rooted in fear rather than control.
Ji-Woo studied him quietly.
"…Did you run here?"
He looked away. "No."
A tiny smile appeared on her lips.
"You did."
He didn't deny it again.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then she stood — but her knees weakened almost immediately.
Ji-Bok reacted without thinking, stepping forward and catching her arm before she could stumble.
"Careful."
His hold was steady.
Secure.
She looked at his hand, then up at him.
"You were really that worried…"
He hesitated.
Then, honestly—
"Yes."
Not dramatic.
Not loud.
Just true.
Ji-Woo's gaze softened in a way he didn't notice.
Ji-Bok was safety.
The person who would come running.
The one who would stand between her and anything that tried to harm her.
His care was strong — almost immovable — like a wall you could lean on without fear of falling.
But walls, no matter how safe, were not always where the heart chose to rest.
He released her slowly once he was sure she could stand on her own.
"It's late," he said. "I'll walk you home."
She nodded.
They began walking side by side under the dim streetlights.
Not much talking.
Just quiet footsteps.
Halfway down the street, Ji-Bok glanced at her again, his brows knitting slightly.
"Ji-Woo."
"Hmm?"
"If something feels wrong… tell me. You don't have to handle it alone."
She looked ahead, her voice gentle.
"I know."
And she did.
Because Ji-Bok's care was the kind that guarded you from the cold.
Steady.
Protective.
Safe.
Yet somewhere beyond that safety — though neither of them spoke it aloud — existed another kind of warmth.
Softer.
Sweeter.
The kind that didn't just protect the heart…
…but made it race.