𝑩𝒂𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒅𝒊𝒆

[14]

The night air was crisp as Sooheon revived the bike to life, the engine’s hum vibrating through the quiet streets. Namra adjusted herself behind him, her hands instinctively finding their place on his shoulders, fingers curling gently around the fabric of his uniform jacket. The proximity felt different, charged in a way she hadn’t expected, her touch lighter than usual, as though she were unsure of the closeness.

Sooheon didn’t seem to notice, his focus entirely on the road ahead, the smooth curve of the handlebars in his grip. But Namra’s hands, resting on his shoulders, felt like they belonged there, even if she didn’t fully understand why. The soft tension in her fingertips, the way the jacket felt against her skin, and the steady rhythm of his movements—it all combined into a quiet, undeniable connection.

As Sooheon accelerated, the cool breeze swept past them, tousling her hair and sending a shiver down her spine. She leaned in slightly, her chest grazing his back as they zipped through the streets. The city lights flickered in the distance, casting fleeting reflections on the visor of his helmet, giving the night an almost surreal quality.

Namra tightened her grip slightly on his shoulders, feeling the muscles shift beneath her fingertips with each movement, each turn of the bike. It was a subtle thing, but the weight of it settled in her chest, a quiet realization that she had never been this close to him before—not like this.

The world seemed to slow as the bike cut through the night, their synchronized movements seamless—like they had been riding together for years. She could feel the gentle sway of his body as he navigated the turns, and the soft pressure of his shoulders under her hands, steady and confident. The rhythm of the ride was calming, and yet, something about the closeness, about her hands on him, made her pulse quicken.

"Is this okay?" Sooheon’s voice cut through the night, the hum of the bike muffling the sound, but there was a softness in his tone, an unspoken understanding in the question.

Namra nodded, her breath steady even though she could feel the strange warmth creeping up her neck. "It’s fine," she replied, her voice barely audible over the wind.

His shoulder shifted again beneath her touch, and for a moment, it felt like time had slowed—just a fraction. The sound of the bike, the streetlights blurring in the background, it all faded into a distant hum as she focused on the sensation of her hands on his shoulders, the subtle connection between them.

She hadn’t meant to linger on it, hadn’t meant to let the moment stretch out like this. But there was something undeniable about the way the night felt, about the way Sooheon moved, the way his body held itself in control while she rested behind him. For just a second, it was more than a ride—it was something unspoken, something that hung in the air between them, delicate and quiet.

Sooheon’s voice broke the stillness once more. "Hang on tight," he said with a hint of humor, his tone light. But even as he spoke, she could feel the shift—how much he, too, seemed aware of the closeness, of the quiet bond between them now.

Namra’s grip tightened once more, just slightly, as the bike surged forward, cutting through the night with ease. And this time, she didn’t pull back. She let the moment settle, her hands steady on his shoulders, her body following the rhythm of the ride.

The city passed by in a blur of lights and shadows, but in this space, this quiet, fragile space between them, time seemed to slow just enough for her to realize—this was different. And maybe, just maybe, it was exactly what she needed.

---

The cool night air brushed past Namra as she rode on the back of Sooheon’s bike, her hands lightly resting on his shoulders. The city lights flickered in the distance, casting a soft glow, but her mind wasn’t focused on the present. It was far away, two years in the past, to a time when everything had felt so much harder.

She had been perfect back then—perfect in the eyes of her classmates, perfect as the class president, always at the top of her game. But inside, she had been far from perfect. She had been suffocating under the weight of expectations, of loneliness, of being seen but never truly known.

And it all came to a crack one day.

It was a day like any other—classes, responsibilities, obligations. But the pressure had been building for weeks. She had felt herself unraveling, the cracks beginning to show. The perfect student, the class president, the one everyone relied on… it was all too much.

She couldn’t breathe. So, she ran.

She found an empty classroom, locked the door behind her, and slumped into a corner. Her body was trembling, but she didn’t know why. The weight of everything had crushed her, and for the first time, she allowed herself to feel it. She didn’t care that she was alone. She just needed to breathe.

But then, the door opened.

Sooheon.

She didn’t know how long he had been standing there, but when she saw him in the doorway, her heart stopped. Panic flooded her system. She never wanted anyone to see her like this—vulnerable, cracked open, everything she had hidden beneath her perfect exterior exposed—was him.

Her pulse raced. Her chest tightened.

She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. The thought of someone seeing her this way was too much. Without a word, without even a glance, Namra shot to her feet and bolted for the door.

She could hear his footsteps behind her, but she didn’t stop. Her breath was ragged, her heart pounding in her chest as she ran down the hall, not daring to look back. She didn’t want to hear him say anything. Didn’t want him to ask her what was wrong. Because in that moment, everything felt wrong, and she wasn’t ready to face anyone. Especially not him.

Sooheon’s voice echoed down the hall, soft but urgent, but she kept running. “Prez!” His call didn’t stop her. She wasn’t sure if she was more afraid of him seeing her break or of the way she might feel if he tried to reach out.

She kept running until the sounds of his footsteps faded behind her. She didn’t stop until she was out of the building, outside, gasping for air. She didn’t care where she was or where she was going. She just needed to get away from the moment—away from him, away from the pressure of being someone she didn’t feel like anymore.

The memory of his gaze—the way he had watched her without judgment, without pushing—stayed with her, but she refused to acknowledge it. She couldn’t. Not then. Not when everything inside her felt like it was falling apart.

---

Now, back on the bike, Namra’s grip tightened involuntarily, the memory rushing back to her. Her chest tightened, as if the panic from that moment was rising up again. The night was calm, the world around them quiet, but inside, everything felt loud.

Her mind flashed to Sooheon’s face in that moment, standing there in the doorway, not saying a word, just watching her. He hadn’t pushed her, hadn’t said anything to make her feel even more exposed. But in that silence, she had been terrified. Terrified of what he might see, of how he might look at her if she let him in.

Sooheon’s voice broke through her thoughts, quiet but filled with concern. “You okay?”

She didn’t answer immediately, her hands still gripping his shoulders tightly, her heart racing. She didn’t want him to see any of this, not now, not after everything.

Namra swallowed, trying to steady herself, but the weight of the memory still clung to her. The panic, the urge to run, the feeling of being seen in a way she wasn’t ready for—it all rushed back with such intensity.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice betraying her. The words came out too fast, too sharp, like she was trying to convince herself more than him. She couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t explain what had happened, what she had been feeling back then. She couldn’t even talk about it now.

The wind whipped past them as they sped through the streets, the flickering lights casting fleeting shadows on the road. Namra’s grip on his shoulders loosened slightly, but the panic remained, lingering in her chest like a forgotten ache.

She wasn’t ready to face him—not then, not now. Not when everything felt so fragile.

A/N
I guess I forgot Jaebom and Chanmi 🥲