The all-knowing Player (Solo Leveling)

Pounding hearts (1)

Corresponding episode: none

The fire crackles in its house peacefully, bathing the room in a soft light. Its flames flicker in a captivating dance of orange and red shades as embers rise into the chimney before drifting back down, their glow fading like that of falling stars. The warmth it radiates is an agreeable caress under which the memory of the heat of the ravenous fire of the city fades. The scent of burning wood still wafts in the air, yet the breeze drifting through the open windows chases its heaviness away, leaving behind only a faint reminder of what used to be a strong odor.

I sit on the couch, tucked between two velvet cushions, legs folded against my chest as my eyes absentmindedly follow the baltering of the flames. I discarded my shoes next to the door and stored my hoodie in my inventory, preferring to drape a plaid around my shoulders. It brushes softly against my skin as I listen to the whispers of the wind whishing outside. Peace settles into my mind. I let the fatigue I accumulated over the past few days wash over me, weighing down on my eyelids as my limbs grow heavy. For a moment, I sit still, letting my consciousness slip into a world between dream and reality.

But that bubble of tranquility soon bursts as the door creaks open. I open my eyes and turn around to see Jin-Woo step out of the bathroom, his hair still dripping wet. He switched his daily outfit for looser clothes, and, free from the dust and ashes that clung to his skin as we wandered through the dungeon, his expression seems to have relaxed into something close to relief.

I chuckle at the sight. "Still wearing black, huh?"

His gaze sinks to his clothes as he tugs at the hem of his tee. "Ah. Yeah, I don't own many colorful clothes."

"You could try something else. What about blue? It might suit you."

"Why blue?" he asks, making his way through the room to sit down on the padded armchair next to me.

I can't help but tense as he approaches, an unknown feeling prickling under my skin upon seeing a drop of water trail down the still damp skin of his neck. My eyes follow the course of its slow trickling until the fabric of his loose tee catches it further down, its wide collar revealing the surface of his shoulders.

I rip my gaze away from him, silently cursing at myself as a shameful warmth creeps into my cheeks.

"It's the color of your mana," I say. "It matches your eyes."

"It does?" He hums to himself, lifting a finger to his chin. "I do have some old blue clothes. But they're too small for me now. Should I buy some more?"

I snort at his serious expression. "You don't have to—whatever you're comfortable with is fine."

His lips curve into a small smile as he lets his hand fall back down, glancing in my direction. "Yeah."

A short silence washes over the room. My gaze drifts back to the fire, watching the flames' mesmerizing dance without daring to look back at him. Because this peaceful, friendly atmosphere is something I can't risk losing. I can't let the inner panic that rose in me as the demon left us alone in this room flare back to life.

"I ran a bath for you," he says, "so you don't have to use the same water as me."

"Thanks," I murmur.

Yet I don't move. My hand fiddles with the edge of the plaid as I keep my eyes on the fire. I can feel his gaze on me—a soft prickling setting my skin ablaze. We remain silent for a moment, the stillness between us hesitating between comfort and something I couldn't quite name. That is, until he breaks it again, his voice so soft I almost don't hear it.

"Does it bother you?"

My gaze flinches back to him. "What does?"

"That we have to share a room. It's not that late—I could ask the demons for another room if you want to."