Geum Seong-je

The music pounded in the background, muffled by the hallway walls. Outside, the party was still alive: laughter, clinking glasses, colorful lights. But inside, in that empty, dark room with white sheets hanging like makeshift curtains, time seemed to have stopped.

Seong-je was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on you. His mixture of coldness and inner turmoil struck you just as it had the first time you met him. He didn't say anything at first; he simply observed you, as if recording every detail before losing it.

"So... you're really leaving," he finally murmured, his voice low, almost dry. You nodded, feeling the lump in your throat tighten.

He let out a short sigh, looking away as if he didn't want to show too much... but his slow steps toward you gave him away. Every movement was measured, as always, but there was something different about it: a suppressed urgency.

When he stood in front of you, he raised his hand and brushed a strand of your hair to the side with unusual gentleness. His gaze locked with yours, and this time there were no masks.

"I want to feel you... one last time" whispered.

His voice was husky, sincere, as if the words weighed on him. Before you could respond, he leaned his head and kissed you. It wasn't hasty or clumsy; it was intense, determined. His fingers tangled in your hair while his other hand found your waist and pulled you closer, as if he didn't want to leave any room for goodbye.

Their breaths mingled, the white sheets stirred in the night breeze through the open window, and for a moment, everything was back to normal. Him, you... and that connection that, no matter how much they both pretended, had never disappeared