The door closed behind them.
Jisoo didn't say anything.
He walked to the couch, sat down, and reached for the remote like muscle memory.
Sera stood for a second, unsure.
Then followed.
They didn't speak. Not for a while.
Just sat there, side by side, watching some low-volume show neither of them was really paying attention to.
Sera curled her knees up to her chest. Jisoo leaned back, his head tilted slightly her way. The bandage on his hand still looked fresh, but she didn't ask about it again.
Not yet.
A few minutes passed.
Jisoo finally broke the silence.
"You should've gone home."
Sera turned toward him slowly.
"You should've opened the door."
That made him flinch — just a little.
She softened her voice.
"But I'm glad you did. Eventually."
He turned off the TV.
The silence grew thick again, but not heavy this time — just… full.
"You scare me sometimes," he said suddenly. "The way you care."
"You scare me too," she whispered. "The way you push everyone away."
Their eyes met.
Not intense.
Not rushed.
Just still.
"Are we okay?" she asked.
Jisoo swallowed hard.
"I don't know. But I want us to be."
Then, slowly — like the world had gone quiet around them —
he leaned in.
Not too close.
Just enough to see if she'd pull away.
She didn't.
Sera leaned forward too, lips parted the slightest bit.
Their foreheads brushed.
Breath met breath.
And then — like a sigh —
their lips touched.
It wasn't a dramatic kiss.
No swelling music.
No fiery heat.
Just honesty.
A whisper against skin.
The truth neither of them could say out loud yet.
They stayed like that, forehead to forehead, after.
And she smiled — tired, peaceful.
"Still not leaving," she murmured.
"I won't make you," he replied.
That night, they didn't say anything more.
She dozed off against his shoulder.
He stayed awake a little longer, watching the way her chest rose and fell.
And for once,
his hands didn't ache to be used.
His heart didn't scream.
It just beat.
Softly.
For her.