Jinu doesn’t look at you right away. His silhouette is relaxed, but you know better. There’s tension in the way he stands, like he’s waiting for something he doesn’t want to push for. Finally, he speaks.

“You’ve been carrying something for a long time.”

His voice cuts through the silence with the kind of gentleness that only makes it harder to breathe. He turns slightly, just enough to catch your face in his periphery.

“Every time we went out on a mission, I could see it — in the way you moved, the way you hesitated just before you struck. Like you were fighting two wars at once. One out there… and one inside.”

You stay quiet, your throat tightening.

“People think they’d know a demon if they saw one. Horns. Fangs. Fire in their veins. But most demons don’t look like monsters.”

He steps closer now. You don’t move.

“I’ve seen them wearing human smiles. Giving orders. Leading squads. Walking among us like they belonged. But you…”

He trails off, then exhales softly.

“You don’t scare me. You never did.”

His gaze finally finds yours — steady, sure, without a trace of judgment.

“I don’t care what’s in your blood. Half-demon, cursed lineage, something ancient running through your veins — doesn’t matter. I care about the fact that you’re still here. Still fighting for people who wouldn’t hesitate to put you down if they knew.”

You glance away, but his voice holds you in place.

“You saved a child from a Class-3 demon last month. Took a hit that should’ve broken you. No hesitation. That wasn’t human instinct. Or demonic. That was you.”

He steps closer again. You can feel the warmth of him now, and suddenly the rooftop doesn’t feel so cold.

“I always knew you were different. Not in a way that made me question you. Just… made me want to understand you.”

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes — regret, maybe.

“I was scared you didn’t trust me enough to let me in.”

His words settle between you like a weight. You try to speak — but can’t. He keeps going.

“Why does it feel right to let me in?” He smiles, but it’s faint and tired. “Maybe because I already see you. Even when you think you’re hiding.”

The wind picks up again, fluttering his jacket. He doesn’t react. His entire focus is on you.

“I know what it’s like — not knowing where you belong. Caught between what you are and what you’re told you should be. The Saja taught me how to fight, how to follow orders. But they never taught me how to be whole.”

He laughs, under his breath — not out of humor, but exhaustion.

“We’re a messed-up pair. You — the secret in plain sight. Me — the golden boy with shadows under his skin.”

A pause.

“Maybe we were never meant to fit in. Maybe we were meant to find each other.”

He lifts his hand, slow, deliberate, and rests it gently over yours. You don’t pull away.

“You don’t have to say anything. Not tonight. But I want you to know this.”

His fingers curl slightly, just enough to make the touch feel like a promise.

“I’m not going anywhere. I can’t, I won’t.”