It was late, the city wrapped in a blanket of silence. The streets below were nothing but faint glimmers of neon and passing headlights, like stars scattered across the earth. But you weren’t asleep.

You sat cross-legged on the edge of a roof, the wind tugging at your hair, the night heavy with unspoken thoughts. Beside you, Jinu sat close, his presence steady, quiet.

His eyes weren’t on the city. They were on you.

You could feel them like heat against your skin, lingering on the faint, dark markings along your neck and arms. The demon marks. Your curse. Your reminder of what you were.

“I hate them,” you murmured, breaking the silence. Your voice was barely above the whisper of the wind, but it still felt like a confession screamed into the night.

Jinu’s expression shifted—just slightly, but enough for you to see. The faint ache in his dark eyes, the way his lips parted like he was going to say something but didn’t. You could feel his heart break, not because of the marks themselves, but because you hated a part of yourself that was… connected to him.

“Why?” he finally asked, his voice low and warm, cutting through the cool night air.

You turned away, staring at the distant lights of the city, your chest tight. “Because they’re ugly. Because they’re not me. Every time I see them, I remember what I became… what I am.” Your throat tightened, words catching like shards of glass. “And I hate that.”

Jinu shifted closer, the sound of his jacket brushing against the rooftop. Without saying a word, he reached for your arm. His hand was warm as it slid down to your wrist, his fingers gently linking with yours.

“You think they’re ugly,” he said softly, almost like he was thinking aloud. “But when I look at them, I see you. I see everything. Everything that makes you stronger than anyone I know.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His words dug deep, too raw, too close to the things you’d never wanted to face.

“I don’t hate them,” he said, and there was a quiet finality in his tone, as if nothing could ever make him change his mind. He brought your hand to his lips, kissing the inside of your wrist right over the dark, twisted markings.

The kiss lingered, warm against the cold night.

“I don’t,” he whispered again, looking at you with those earnest eyes that always seemed to cut through all your walls. “Because they’re yours. And I…” His voice faltered, the unspoken words hanging in the space between you like the weight of a heartbeat.

You stared at him, your chest aching, unsure whether to pull away or fall.