Chapter Text
That Monday felt swallowed by a shroud of darkness. Not a single ray of light pierced the heavy clouds, and Haerin was wondering how to let her older sister know that her floral umbrella was missing.
Sojin hadn’t gone to class, Seohyun was working, and the smell of rain hung in the air. The ends of her sweater sleeves covered half her hands—not a bad thing, since the holes at the cuffs gave her cold fingers shelter in the warm, soft fabric.
Her mind wandered through the finite possibilities of escaping class early today. Finite, really limited to only two—not-so-great—options: pretend to faint dramatically in front of the whole class and be exposed by her sweating and strong pulse, or sneak out over the wall behind the school, the hangout spot for delinquents and Mr. Cho.
If she was fast, catching the subway would be easy. But with her luck, the first raindrop would fall on her long black hair, followed by a second, and then a steady cascade until she got home soaked.
So, getting lost in petty worries seemed like an inevitable fate. Bomi had chewed through the hairdryer cord. Her books would get wet unless Seoul, at this time of year, (impossibly) decided to warm up again.
And Mrs. Ham, her calculus teacher, was staring at her sternly through thick glasses. Her copper curls swirled messily around a purple clip. She was saying something aloud, but since she hadn’t written anything on the board, Haerin’s usual daydreams filled every blank space in her brain.
Maybe about the dinner she’d make that night with Sojin, or whether Bomi had finished the portion of kibble left in the kitchen. Whether she’d remembered to take the meat out of the freezer or turn off the bathroom faucet. Anything but calculus.
Her attention kept drifting back to the couple seated in the empty desks at the back of the room. It was impossible not to die of embarrassment when they whispered sweet nothings to each other.
She didn’t even notice the quiet thud and the curious eyes turning toward her when a not-so-melodic voice called her name again.
“Haerin, are your doodles more important than my lesson?”
She blinked fast, eyes wide like a startled animal. Haerin was a worm, about to be devoured by an owl with merciless brown eyes.
“What?” Her blood rushed from her feet to her flushed cheeks. “No, Mrs. Ham,” she murmured, ashamed, after catching the faces around the room.
“I assumed they were, since I called your name three times and you didn’t answer once.” The woman adjusted her glasses on her nose, which still sat crookedly. “Shall I mark you absent?”
She winced. Whatever blush was in her cheeks evaporated through her nostrils, and dramatically, Haerin thought she might faint.
“No! I mean…” Haerin swallowed hard. “No, Mrs. Ham. It won’t happen again.”
Then the older woman stared at her and let out a pained sigh, accompanied by murmurs Haerin wasn’t close enough to hear.
“Goo Myeongsu?” The teacher continued, and Haerin felt deeply grateful. Her average wasn’t good, especially in math. The idea of losing more points was not exciting.
“Jeong Yunho?”
Silence.
“Jeong Yunho?”
Haerin glanced around like she had with every other name. Strangely, she didn’t see the lanky boy anywhere.
“Yunho’s absent again?” someone whispered in the row beside hers.
“You didn’t hear?” one of his friends said, sounding surprised. The way he spoke, you’d think Yunho had recorded himself skydiving and ended up in the newspaper looking like a squashed tomato.
“He’s sick. I heard it’s mono.”
And so, the suspicion hammering in her head flared up. Was the school’s illness quota out of creativity? He was the third student this week to call in sick—with the same virus, which wasn’t even as contagious as the flu.
Haerin was slow, but not stupid. She noticed how strangely all the sick boys knew each other and disappeared together periodically.
They came back looking completely different, and Haerin paid attention every time they returned. Especially to the contact lenses and their suddenly glowing skin. It was like they were reborn. A spa or a book club—whatever that weird group of pretty boys was, it had awakened a deep curiosity in her.
And sure, she wasn’t exactly in a position to judge the group. Her friend Hyeonu was involved, although on the technical side of the other club.
They shared the broadcasting room with the school’s radio and newspaper club. Known for a ridiculously strict selection process. No one got in, and Haerin had never dared to try. She even asked some of the other club members about the odd bunch, but the answer was always the same: They’re just cool seniors.
She also liked Seonghwa and Hongjoong, and couldn’t deny at this moment that they were nothing short of kind—extraordinarily kind—to her.
Whenever she had to drag Hyeonu out of the radio room, she’d bump into their noble smiles, exuding politeness and just the right amount of humor. No touching, no questions, no overdoing it. They never went past the “how are you?”
But then there was Yunho, her nerdy classmate with a pale scar running from his wrist to his forearm. And the sharp, cruel eyes he gave her when she asked about it.
He had just joined the advanced class this semester, and because of the floor difference between some classes, Haerin only knew him. Except for the two senior boys, of course. All five had transferred at the end of the previous semester, and they’d been the school’s favorite topic for almost three months now.
They were also her favorite topic, as she could spend hours rambling on about her suspicions. Even without knowing them.
She wished she could say it was Yunho’s cold and falsely friendly behavior that raised her suspicions—and only hers—but her best friend was always there to knock some sense into her. Haerin didn’t know how to make friends.
Sojin used to tell her to make friends in the advanced class, which obviously hadn’t been a good idea for her. Despite her good looks, the only ones who saw Haerin’s stubbornness as a charming trait were Hyeonu and her sister-in-law.
It’s not like she was trying to change, but if one hand washes the other, this situation wouldn’t be any different. It was simple—make friends and, as a bonus, satisfy her baseless curiosity.
So when Mrs. Ham asked a question to the class, Haerin was the first to raise her hand. Because curiosity is a burden—and an opportunity.
“If no one else volunteers, Haerin will be responsible for delivering the assignments to the absentees.”
She caught the gaze of everyone in the room, but no one seemed nearly as interested as she was.
“Are you sure, Haerin?” the woman asked.
She was about to find out, because she was now standing inside Yunho’s apartment building, about to press the button.
She hadn’t gone home. She showed up at the building still in uniform, hair a mess. She called her sister, Seohyun, and then Sojin, saying she’d be late for dinner. The sun was still setting, and for the tenth time she wondered why she’d volunteered for this.
Gray skirt above the knees, black tights. Her cherry-red scarf wrapped elegantly around her neck, with a small burnt patch—an almost invisible mistake she made that morning while cooking. Red nose and shiny bangs over her forehead.
Finally, in her hands, ginger tea with honey, and in the other, Sojin, horrified by her lack of fear.
“You’re going to his house? Just out of curiosity?!” her friend shrieked on the other end of the line.
She lowered her phone’s volume by a third, about to step out of the elevator.
“Shhh! I’m here as his classmate. Plus, I’m being thoughtful by bringing ginger tea. What kind of monster refuses ginger tea?” She adjusted the scarf around her neck and loosened a few stubborn strands of hair.
“I don’t know, Haerin, maybe someone who just wants a decent rest without a stalker lurking?” Sojin snapped.
She rolled her eyes and let out a tired sigh.
“I’m not a stalker. I’m just delivering the classwork he missed. I know Yunho is a dedicated student. If not me, someone else would’ve come anyway. I’m just being kind.”
“Kind, my ass, Haerin. You’re nosy. I know you.” And she wasn’t totally wrong. This time, Sojin sounded like she was trying to lower her voice, but the warning tone stayed. “You’re so stubborn, and not everyone has that much patience.”
“Relax, I’m not trying to drag a confession out of him. Unless sneezing counts as evidence.”
And suddenly, Haerin shivered from the cold, as if the scarf had failed its only job. A dark breeze whispered like a bad omen.
She realized she’d wasted her burst of courage, because there she was—looking back at the elevator doors again.
“Hey! Are you still there? Haerin!”
Sojin’s yelling brought her back to reality, clutching her phone before it slipped.
“Yeah! I’m here.” She gripped the tea bag tighter, adjusting her shoulder bag.
Her legs moved nervously through the long third-floor hallway. The air was colder now, but all Haerin felt was the heat rising in her cheeks.
“...for dinner tonight—” She barely caught Sojin’s voice. “Are you even listening to me?”
A few seconds of silence. Then a thump against the wall echoed through the call, followed by an “Ow!” and some swearing.
Before her friend could recover, Haerin quickly said, “We’ll talk later. I’ve got to go,” and hung up, just after a confused “bye-bye” from her best friend.
Shoving her phone into her bag, she quieted her worries and looked for apartment 241. The cold wind blew her hair into her eyes, and before knocking, she tapped her blazer shoulders three times. Again.
A soft click came from the lock inside. She straightened up, fixed her collar, and prepared her best helpful-classmate smile.
But the person who opened the door wasn’t Yunho.
It was another boy.
Maybe just as pale and tall as her classmate, but beautiful in a violent way.
His nearly white-blond hair—clearly dyed—fell in rebellious strands over his eyes. He wore a loose black and red flannel shirt, faded in patches. The dark circles under his eyes looked like makeup, but weren’t.
“Hi,” she said, feeling all the warmth in her body drain away. The boy looked her up and down, leaning lazily against the doorframe, as if being alive was a chore. “Um… is Yunho here?” she asked, her voice coming out less firm than she intended.
The boy tilted his head slightly, as if analyzing her. He didn’t answer right away. He just stood there, quiet, like someone remembering an inside joke.
“He doesn’t live here,” he said simply. His voice was hoarse, drawn-out, like he’d just woken up.
She stayed silent for a second and blinked. “What do you mean?”
“This apartment is mine,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Haerin frowned, eyes slipping past him and into the apartment. It was dark, no lights on—except for a sliver of sunlight coming through the balcony. It looked clean, organized furniture, and a strong scent of… burnt metal?
“Sorry, isn’t this 241?”
He nodded, with a lazy smile.
“It is.”
"Then this must be the place — the address is in his files," she said, pulling the folder out of her bag. "He's sick, and they told me to deliver this."
The boy shrugged, amused by her confusion. “People get things mixed up.”
He said it so casually, it irritated her.
“He doesn’t seem like the type to mix things up.”
“Then maybe you’re the one who got mixed up.”
And then Haerin went quiet. He wasn’t lying—but he wasn’t telling the truth either. Every answer danced on the edge of ambiguity.
“Are you related?”
“No.”
“Friends?”
“Not exactly.”
The way he spoke was flat, neutral. No effort to sound friendly. And yet, something in his tone held her attention. It was like talking to a wall painted by a brilliant artist: beautiful, but impenetrable.
“How long have you lived here?”
He leaned again on the doorframe, this time with his arms crossed. “Are you always this nosy?”
“Only when someone’s lying to me.”
“Is that so?” He raised an eyebrow. “And what are you going to do? Call the cops because you delivered homework to the wrong address?”
She stared at him for a second, feeling her nervous heart pounding in her chest. She couldn't deny she was skeptical. Without hesitation, he stepped to the side, leaving just enough space for her to walk in.
“Feel free to come in, if you don’t believe me,” he said.
Every rational part of her screamed to say “no, thank you” and walk away. But her feet moved. And she stepped inside.
Her courage collapsed the moment she did.
The smell was of incense—maybe sandalwood. There was a gray couch, a bookshelf full of books, and a lamp with amber light. All normal. No sign of a struggle, no evidence of anyone else having been there recently. The kind of place where silence feels heavy.
“Are you sure Yunho doesn’t live here?” she asked again, slightly more persistent.
“Do you see any sign of him?”
And she didn’t. No backpack left out, no photos, no notebooks. The décor didn’t match Yunho’s robotic personality at all. Here, everything pulsed. Even in the dimness, there was life—or something that felt like the opposite of it.
Haerin turned to him. He was now more relaxed, sitting on the backrest of the couch as if she were just another curious piece of furniture.
“Sorry, I thought you might have broken in.”
“Do you always break into other people’s houses with this much confidence?” He gave a lopsided, lazy smile. And there was something more behind it, like he was enjoying her confusion.
“I’m just… cautious.” She paused. Unwrapped the red scarf from her neck and looked around. “And you? Are you always this welcoming to apartment intruders?”
He let out a low laugh.
“Only when they ask better questions than they give answers.”
Haerin looked away as fast as a slug. Yunho gave her chills, but this boy was different.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Mingi,” he replied without hesitation.
Her serious expression faltered. And as a grim reminder of the situation, her phone rang loudly through the quiet room, making her more aware of the deep emptiness inside that stranger’s apartment.
She rummaged through her bag, spotting her older sister’s name on the screen.
“I think that’s your cue, Haerin,” he said. The room’s light cast his shadow on the wall. Tall. Quiet. A figure too handsome to be harmless.
A shiver ran down her spine as he approached, slow and steady steps on the floor. One hand on the doorknob, the other hidden in the pocket of his black jeans.
Haerin forgot what she was about to say—as if someone had flat-ironed her brain, leaving it slick like oil on a griddle. She didn’t even say goodbye.
And once she stepped out the door, free from the bizarrely intense presence behind her, she returned to the hallway. Only then did she realize—at no point had she told him her name.