He knocked on the door softly, hesitant, unsure whether she had actually come here or if he was about to disturb her again. When no answer followed, he slowly pushed the door open, careful, almost fearful of what he might find.
The sight in front of him made his chest tighten.
She was sitting on his bed, her knees pulled tightly to her chest, arms wrapped around them as if that was the only thing keeping her together. Her shoulders trembled faintly, her breathing shallow and uneven, every inhale sounding like it cost her effort.
She wasn’t crying anymore—but her eyes were wide, unfocused, as if she was still trapped in what she had seen downstairs.
She looked small there. Fragile.
And it hurt more than he expected.
The moment she realized the door had opened, her head snapped up.
Her breath hitched in a sharp gasp, her body tensing, fear flashing across her face before she could stop it.
He froze.
“Can… I come in?” he asked quietly, forcing his voice to stay calm, gentle, nothing like the one she had heard in the basement.
She didn’t answer.
Didn’t nod. Didn’t shake her head.
She just stared at him, eyes wide and glassy, as if even the idea of speaking was too much.
I
t was enough for him to know she was listening—but not nearly enough for her to feel safe.
He closed the door behind him with deliberate care, making sure it didn’t click too loudly. Every sound felt dangerous now.
He took a step closer—then stopped.
Instinctively.
He stayed at a distance that wouldn’t corner her, wouldn’t trap her. He remembered too well how it must have felt when a hand had grabbed her neck, how little space she must have had to breathe.
So he stayed where he was, hands visible, posture open, trying—failing—to look harmless. posture deliberately non-threatening.
“Listen…”
The word came out softer than he expected, stripped of authority, stripped of command.
“There was a reason why I told you never to enter rooms you find while walking around here—especially ones that aren’t part of the living area.”
He paused, swallowing hard.
“But it was my fault. I left it open. I wasn’t careful. I should have known better.”
Carefully, slowly, he sat down on the edge of the bed—far enough away to give her space.
She flinched anyway.
The reaction hit him harder than any slap ever could.
“I’m sorry,” he added immediately, his voice quieter now. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
The guilt settled heavy in his chest, unfamiliar and suffocating.
He didn’t even fully understand why it hurt this much—why seeing her like this affected him so deeply.
For months, he had kept his distance. On purpose.
He had avoided her gaze, shortened conversations, made decisions that pushed her further away, convinced himself it was necessary. That it was safer.
And now she was sitting on his bed, terrified, shaking because of what she had seen—and because of him.
He didn’t understand why he cared so deeply now—why it burned under his skin.
Maybe it was the way Jaehyun had looked at him earlier.
That mix of anger, fear, disappointment.
He imagined, just for a second, what it would feel like if it had been his sister standing there, seeing him like that.
The thought made his stomach twist violently.
But even that wasn’t the whole truth.
