Tick. Tock.

The clock’s rhythm fills the silence, slicing through the hazy morning light spilling through the blinds. The room is a mess—clothes strewn across the floor, tangled sheets, the scent of skin and sweat still lingering. And there you are, curled against him, your bare shoulder rising and falling with each quiet breath.

Jinu leans against the headboard, fingers absently threading through your hair. His gaze is distant, lost somewhere beyond the walls of this room. He can’t believe he’s the one who came to you this time. Not the other way around. But he needed this—needed you—to drown out the ache in his chest, if only for a night.

And you? You’ve always been there. Always said yes. Always loved him, even when he couldn’t love you back.

His thumb brushes over a mark on your collarbone, left by his own mouth. For a second, something tightens in his chest. It almost feels like more. But it’s not. It can’t be. This is just a transaction—his body for your money. That’s all it’s ever been.

Then his phone buzzes.

He reaches for it, fingers leaving your hair cold in their absence. And when he reads the name on the screen—Rumi—his breath catches. She wants to meet. His pulse kicks up, his body already moving on instinct, ready to bolt.

But then he stops.

Looks back at you.

What about you?

The question lingers, heavy and unspoken, as the clock keeps ticking.