The abandoned house was quiet, as always. The world outside had gone black hours ago, and the only light came from the faint glow of a flashlight resting on a cracked windowsill. Moths fluttered lazily against it, their wings catching the dim light in soft flickers.

You were packing up your things—books, pens, loose pages—while Beomjin crouched near the door, tying his worn sneakers. The wood creaked faintly beneath his weight, and for a long moment, neither of you said a word. It was a comfortable silence, the kind that only came after nights spent together in the same space.

When you finally zipped your bag, he glanced over his shoulder. “You done?” His voice was low, rough with fatigue, but still steady.

You nodded.

Beomjin straightened up, stretching his arms until his joints popped. The motion drew the fabric of his shirt tight across his shoulders, his shadow long and broad against the wall. “You should’ve gone home earlier,” he said, picking up his jacket from where it was draped across a chair. “It’s pitch black out.”

You hesitated, glancing toward the window. The world beyond was swallowed in dark—the kind of dark that erased paths and made everything feel a little less certain.

He noticed your hesitation. “I’ll walk you,” he said simply, as if that decided it.

You followed him downstairs, your footsteps light compared to his. The first floor was colder, filled with the smell of damp wood and dust. Beomjin stopped near the doorway, scanning the corner of the room before reaching down to pick something up—a thick wooden branch, long enough to use as a makeshift walking stick.

When he turned with it in his hand, the weak flashlight caught his face from below, casting deep shadows across his sharp features. His eyes glinted in the dark, and for a second, he looked terrifying—like the rumors people whispered about him were real.

You froze in place, the image sending a small shiver down your spine.

Beomjin blinked, noticing the look on your face. For a moment, his brows knit together in confusion, and then he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “What? This?” He lifted the branch slightly, its rough bark catching the light. “Relax. It’s not for hitting anyone.”

His tone softened—barely, but enough for you to hear it. “You’re gonna hold it,” he said, holding one end out toward you. “I’ll take the other.”

You blinked, not quite following.

“So you don’t get lost,” he added, as if it were obvious. His lips curved faintly, the hint of a smirk hidden there. “I can see fine in the dark. You can’t. This way, if you trip, I’ll know.”

He waited until you reached out and took the opposite end, your fingers brushing the rough wood. The bark was cold and a little damp, but steady—something solid to hold onto.

“Yeah,” he murmured, adjusting his grip. “That’s good. Don’t let go.”

When he pushed the door open, the night spilled in—cold, quiet, and full of whispering wind. The flashlight beam cut a thin path across the overgrown grass, but beyond that was only darkness.

Beomjin started forward, the wood between you keeping a quiet rhythm as it swayed with your steps. His pace was slow at first, measured, careful. Every now and then, he’d glance back just to check if you were still close.

“You’re walking too quiet,” he muttered, his voice carrying over the night air. “I can’t even hear you. Makes me think something’s sneaking up on you instead.”

You gave a small tug on the wood in protest, and he chuckled under his breath—just once, quick and quiet, like he hadn’t meant for you to hear.

The two of you passed the fence, the tall grass brushing against your knees. Crickets sang somewhere nearby, and a distant streetlight blinked in and out of life. The night was peaceful, but heavy, the kind of silence that pressed around you on all sides.

Beomjin’s voice broke it. “When it’s dark like this,” he said, still walking ahead, “I used to think the whole world just…stopped. Like everyone else was asleep, and it was just me left awake.”