Smoke- lee heeseung

VIII

"I am in that temper that if I were under water I would scarcely kick to come to the top."
— John Keats

»--•--«

She gasped soundlessly, cursing herself for not caring about her surroundings, cursing herself for wanting exactly what he thought she wanted.

But she couldn't let him know. She couldn't let him see how close she'd come to letting go, to not caring at all. Not him, of all people. The one person she had spent her whole life sparring with, proving herself against. If he knew, if he even suspected, he'd see her as weak, fragile, something that could break. And she couldn't bear that—not from him.

Her legs trembled for no reason and she stumbled, her back hitting the pole and his hand reached out to steady her, from the goodness of his heart and no other reason at all.

She pulled herself free from his grasp, stiffening her shoulders, masking the tremor in her hands as she took a step back, forcing her breath to even out. "It's nothing," she said, her voice too flat, too hollow to be convincing, but she pushed through it. "I just—I didn't see it coming."

A lie. She saw it. Felt it. But how could she explain the way her body had frozen, not out of fear, but from the weight of her own indecision? How could she admit that for those long seconds, she hadn't been sure if it mattered enough to move at all?

Heeseung's eyes narrowed, suspicious. He wasn't buying it, but she couldn't give him anything more. Not now. Not ever. If he knew she had hesitated, if he understood that she'd stood there, unsure if life was something she even wanted to cling to, he would see her differently. He'd know there was a crack in her armor, and that was the last thing she needed.

"I'm fine," she repeated, harsher this time, pulling her jacket tighter around her like it could shield her from the weight of his gaze. "I just... froze."

She saw the way he studied her, the slight tilt of his head, the frown tugging at his lips. For a moment, she thought he might ask—might push her to admit more. Her pulse quickened, a knot tightening in her chest, but she swallowed it down. She couldn't let him see how close she was to unraveling.

Instead, she crossed her arms, glaring at him with all the defiance she could muster. "You don't need to act like some hero," she snapped, injecting venom into her words to drown out the vulnerability that threatened to slip through. "I had it under control."

Another lie, but better that than the truth. Better he think she was reckless or careless, even arrogant—anything but broken. She couldn't let him think she was weak. Not him. Not anyone. She'd been fighting too long to let that slip now.

Yuwon could still feel Heeseung's arm around her from moments before, the sudden yank that had pulled her from the path of the car. But now, his grip was gone, as if saving her had been nothing more than a reflex. His face was unreadable, his expression flat, the same indifferent mask he always wore. For him, it was like the incident was already over—just another nuisance dealt with.

"If I had been a second more late, you would've been hit by that car." Heeseung's voice was stoic. He knew he saved her but he tried to act like he didn't care enough about that fact.

"Don't act like you did me some big favor," she snapped, her voice sharper than she intended, but she didn't care.

His face was the same infuriating mask of indifference, eyes cold, posture relaxed like he couldn't care less. But there was something else—something in the tension of his jaw, the hidden rage simmering behind the surface of that cool mask.