The first sliver of morning light paints a pale stripe across the floor, and in its quiet glow, you move with a practiced silence, gathering the pieces of yourself scattered from the night before. The rustle of fabric is the only sound, until his voice, sleep-rough and soft, cuts through the stillness.

“You’re leaving already?”

You freeze for a heartbeat, your back to him, your fingers still clenched around the zipper of your boot. You hear the rustle of sheets as Jinu shifts, propping himself up on an elbow to watch you. He doesn't sound surprised. He should’ve known. He does know. This is the unspoken script you both follow: a night out, a blur of laughter and whispered secrets over drinks, the dizzying thrill of his company, and then this—your inevitable, quiet exit before the sun has fully claimed the sky. You always leave before it can get complicated, before the night’s magic can evaporate into the awkwardness of morning.

But this time feels different. The air is heavy with words unsaid. As you finally turn to face him, you see it in his eyes—not accusation, but a deep, weary understanding that cracks something open inside your chest. He looks at you, really looks at you, and you feel utterly transparent. The carefully constructed wall you hide behind feels like glass.

Were you afraid? The question hangs between you, unspoken but deafening. Afraid of the terrifying weight of his head on your shoulder, the way his laughter felt like a secret meant just for you, and the way the casual brush of his hand sent a jolt through you that was anything but casual? You had a deal, a boundary etched in stone: no real feelings. This was just fun. It was supposed to be easy.

But as his gaze holds yours, you see the gentle suspicion there, the quiet realisation dawning on him. He’s picking up on the slight tremble in your hand as you reach for your jacket, the fraction of a second too long you hesitated before pulling away earlier, and the way your smile doesn't quite reach your eyes this morning because it hurts too much. He’s beginning to sense the terrifying truth you’re desperately trying to outrun: that you’re not just afraid of getting attached.

You’re terrified because it’s already far, far too late for that.