“Soul?” Sungchan asked softly, his voice barely louder than a whisper.
The others had already retreated to their rooms, the house finally quiet after the long, exhausting day. It was well past midnight when the twins sat at the kitchen table, warm mugs of tea between their hands. The dim kitchen light cast long shadows across the floor, making everything feel more fragile, more honest.
“Hmm?” Soul hummed, lifting her gaze from her cup, her expression tired but attentive.
“I… don’t know what I should ask you first,” he admitted quietly, fingers tightening around the mug as if grounding himself.
She frowned slightly, confusion flickering across her face. “Huh?”
“Are you feeling better?” he asked at last, choosing the safest question first.
She smiled, soft and reassuring. “Yes. Much better.”
Sungchan nodded, eyes dropping back to the surface of his tea, watching the steam rise as if the answer hadn’t eased the tightness in his chest at all.
“What else?” she asked gently.
“Huh?”
“You said you didn’t know what to ask me first,” she pointed out softly. “So… there has to be a second question.”
“A-ah… y-yeah…” He hesitated, then shook his head. “Never mind.”
“Chanie…” She leaned forward slightly, eyes searching his face.
“Something’s bothering you,” she said quietly. “And I don’t have to be your twin to know that.”
“I don’t want to scare you,” he murmured.
“What do you mean?” she asked, her smile fading.
“What happened when hyung brought you home today?” he asked carefully, his tone measured but tense.
Soul froze. For a moment, she didn’t know how to answer at all.
She took a breath, opened her mouth—then closed it again. No words came. Finally, she sighed quietly.
Sungchan didn’t look away. He waited.
“Someone grabbed my wrist,” she said at last, her voice barely audible. “He turned me around. I was… lucky oppa was with me.”
“Who was it?” Sungchan asked immediately.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Oppa said he smelled like alcohol. He could barely walk straight. Just… some drunk stranger.”
Her gaze dropped to the tea again, fingers tightening around the mug.
Sungchan instinctively leaned forward—then stopped himself, hands hovering awkwardly in the air.
“What?” she asked, confused.
“I—I don’t want to scare you,” he admitted quietly. “I don’t want you to pull away again. You’ve done that… too often.”
She smiled softly—and then hugged him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders without hesitation.
It caught him off guard, but after a second, he hugged her back, holding her carefully, as if she might break.
“You can always hug me, Chanie,” she whispered. “You don’t scare me.”
“Well…” he muttered. “It was different when you first came here.”
