Of all the houses in the world, your parents had to leave you at his. The family gathering had ended hours ago, but with your aunt unexpectedly staying at yours, there was no room for you. So they brought you here, to Jinu’s, your family’s oldest friends… and your personal enemy. The forced politeness over dinner was a special kind of torture, a silent war waged with tight smiles and passive-aggressive comments about old, childish rivalries that somehow never died.

The moment his parents’ bedroom door clicked shut, the mask dropped. His friendly grin vanished, replaced by a look of cold victory. He didn’t say a word, just jerked his head towards his room. You followed, your own resentment a hot coal in your chest. You thought, maybe, there would be a spare mattress. A blanket, at least.

You were wrong.

He pointed to the hard, cold floorboards besides his bed. “There.” His voice was flat, leaving no room for argument. He refused to let you sleep in his bed, claiming you’d “taint his sheets.” The humiliation was a physical blow, but you were too tired, too defeated to fight. You couldn't argue. So you curled up on the unforgiving floor, pulling your knees to your chest for warmth, and eventually, a fitful, uncomfortable sleep claimed you.

The world was a blur of dark shapes and deep shadows when the sensation came. Not a rough shake, but a slow, careful lifting. A strong arm slid under your knees, and another behind your shoulders, lifting you from the chill of the floor. Through the haze of sleep, you caught the scent of his laundry detergent and the faint, clean smell of his skin. Your body tensed instinctively, but the movement was too gentle, too deliberate to be a threat.

You felt the soft give of his mattress beneath you, a stark, blissful contrast to the hard floor. The weight of his comforter settled over you, pulled up to your chin with a quiet rustle. It was still warm from his body, carrying his unique scent—a confusing mix of everything you thought you hated. It enveloped you, a strange, unwelcome comfort.

Your eyelids, heavy with sleep, fluttered open just enough to see in the dim moonlight filtering through the window. You saw his silhouette turning away from the bed. Not towards the door, but towards the very spot on the floor you had just vacated. He didn't glance back at you. He simply lowered himself onto the hard ground, his back to you, and stilled. The boy who forced you to the floor had just exiled himself to it. And in the heavy silence of his room, the only thing louder than his quiet breathing was the frantic, confused beating of your own heart.