Hansol pulled away, their lips parting with a soft reluctance. The moment hung in the air, and Nabi's eyes fluttered open, shock flashing briefly across her face. Neither of them was sure why they'd kissed, but there was no denying that it had been real. She could feel the heat still lingering between them, but the tension— thick and heavy—began to settle in. A part of her wanted to close the distance again, to kiss him until the world outside stopped existing, but Hansol's uncertainty was impossible to ignore.
Her fingers brushed against her baby hairs, the soft strands falling between her fingers as she exhaled. It was a moment of clarity, one she couldn't ignore. She could already see where this was heading, and no matter how much she wished otherwise, she knew they were never going to work. There was no future here. He was an idol, and she was someone who cherished the quiet behind the scenes. Their lives were too different, too impossible to blend together, no matter how many small gestures he made. She didn't even know his favorite song, his favorite color. How could this work?
"We can't be doing this," she murmured, her voice quiet but firm, a thread of sadness weaving through her words.
Hansol's breath caught in his chest, and for a moment, he was frozen, only inches away from her. His expression twisted with confusion, frustration even, as he searched her face, waiting for an explanation.
"Like... us?" His voice was tentative, unsure.
Her fingers curled into fists, and she pulled away slightly, her words heavy with a weight she couldn't ignore. "We just won't work."
Hansol's eyes softened, but a flicker of frustration crossed his face. "How would you know that?"
Nabi's heart ached, but she forced herself to meet his eyes, the nickname slipping out before she could stop it. "Sol..." It was a sigh, a soft confession of the mess she found herself tangled in. "I've never liked the entertainment industry. I hate the way they control you, the way everything's fake. You're not fake, I know that. But you're still part of that world. What happens if someone sees us? I can't handle that, Hansol. I don't want to live in that spotlight. You're trapped by it—your schedule, your image, your love life. You don't get a say in any of it."
Hansol's face tightened, his jaw setting. He was about to speak, to argue, but she wasn't finished.
"I like you. I do," she said, her voice breaking, the weight of the truth making it hard to breathe. "But I'm trying to be realistic with myself. I don't want to hurt you, or mess up your career. And if it takes me saying this to make that happen, then I'll say it."
For a moment, Hansol didn't say anything. His gaze was unreadable, cold even, and he didn't move as he processed her words. Then, finally, the mask cracked, his lips twisting into something bitter, a chuckle escaping that sounded more like a sigh than a laugh.
"You're a lot fucking different than I thought you were," he muttered, rolling up his blazer sleeves as though the movement might release the tension in his body.
Nabi didn't look up. She couldn't. She knew what she had done, and she regretted it immediately.
"We were never supposed to get close, Vernon," she said, the words tasting like ash as they left her mouth. It felt as though she had drawn a line between them—one she couldn't cross again. It was too late to take it back.
Hansol didn't flinch at her use of his stage name, but something in his eyes shifted, cold and distant. "So, you're done?" His voice was calm, but there was a cutting edge to it, one that made her flinch.
She wanted to scream that she wasn't done, that she didn't want to let him go, but the words caught in her throat. This was what she did. She pushed people away, even when they meant the world to her. She didn't know how to do anything else.
"You only needed me for the collection, right?" His words were sharper now, and a sad, bitter laugh followed. "Go ahead and delete my number after this."
Hansol walked away from the terrace, each step heavier than the last. He didn't know where he was going; he just knew he couldn't stay in that room a moment longer. The weight of their conversation—of her rejection—was dragging him down with every step.
Jeonghan and Jiyeon watched him go, exchanging concerned glances. It wasn't like Hansol to walk away from something like that without saying anything. Jeonghan studied him, his brows furrowing with concern. He hadn't seen Hansol like this before—not since their debut. What the hell had happened between them?
"Should we go after him?" Jiyeon asked, her voice low, her eyes lingering on Hansol's retreating figure.
Jeonghan shook his head, his gaze fixed on the exit. "No. Let him cool off. He'll come to us when he's ready."
Jiyeon sighed. "I hope he doesn't run into any of the others."
Jeonghan nodded, but his attention was still entirely on Hansol. "I've never seen him look like that," he murmured. "Not once."
Before Jiyeon could respond, Mingyu appeared, looking nonchalant as he approached them, a cupcake in hand. His cheerful grin was a stark contrast to the tension between Jeonghan and Jiyeon.
"What's up?" he asked, glancing at the two of them.
Jeonghan barely acknowledged him, his mind still racing with thoughts of Hansol. "You've never seen him look like that," Jeonghan repeated, his voice distracted.
Mingyu tilted his head, confused. "Who?"
"Vernon," Jeonghan replied, his voice still tinged with concern.
Mingyu blinked but didn't ask any more questions. Instead, he noticed the two of them were focused on something else. Jeonghan's eyes were fixed on something just past Mingyu—on a woman emerging from the curtains. She moved with purpose, but there was something off about her. It was clear she had been crying, her eyes still red and puffy as she wiped away the evidence of her distress. Jeonghan's gaze sharpened, sensing that this woman was somehow connected to Hansol.
"That's her, huh?" Jeonghan muttered, barely audible.
Jiyeon followed his line of sight, her eyes narrowing as she recognized the girl—Nabi. The girl Hansol had been with.
Nabi, unaware of their scrutiny, noticed them and gave a small, polite bow. She didn't seem to know who they were, but Mingyu's presence at the event gave her reason to believe they were important in some way. She wiped her eyes, trying to compose herself, but it didn't go unnoticed by Jeonghan that her cheeks were streaked with tears.
Mingyu, still oblivious to the tension, asked, "Who's that?"
Jeonghan's eyes narrowed, but he didn't answer right away. Instead, he turned to Jiyeon, his voice soft but urgent. "I'll be right back."
