The dormitory is eerily quiet, the usual tension momentarily eased by the weight of exhaustion. Bodies lay scattered across the room, some curled into themselves, others sprawled out, too drained to care about comfort. The only light comes from the faint glow of the emergency lamps and the piggy bank, casting long shadows along the cold floor.
Hyunrin sits against the wall, knees pulled to her chest, her back stiff from the unforgiving surface. She fails to fall asleep. Not after the day they'd had. Not with everything pressing against her ribs like a weight she couldn't shake.
And then, she feels it.
Not a sound, not a movement—just a presence.
Her breath slows as she turns her head slightly, just enough to confirm what she already knows.
In-ho.
He approaches with quiet, measured steps, his gaze unreadable in the dim light. For a moment, she thought he would stop short, keep his distance like he always did in this place. But he didn't. He lowers himself beside her, slow, deliberate, the space between them almost nothing.
Hyunrin swallows hard.
He doesn't make a sound. Neither does she. But the silence between them isn't empty—it is heavy, charged, thick with something unspoken.
She can feel the warmth of him, despite the chill in the air. The way his shoulder almost—but not quite—brushes hers. It is too much. It isn't enough. Her desire to put her head against his shoulder grows. She wants to say something.
Anything. Instead, she places her head against his shoulder. Her heart threatens to beat out of her chest and she is sure he could hear it. In-Ho froze at the weight on his shoulder. His heart skips a beat and heat spreads across his body. It has been too long since he had known the warmth of her touch. The memories flow in, unbidden and relentless, dragging him back to a time when she was his and he was hers.
     He is hers.
     In-Ho's hand twitches, unsure whether to lay his hand on her head. His mind screams to move away, to break the moment to focus on Gi-Hun. However, his heart will not let him. His heart that had been hollow, broken, shattered, since the day he thought he lost her.
     Slowly, cautiously, his muscles will relax. His head tilts ever so slightly, just enough for his cheek to ghost over her hair. His fingers tighten into fists, resisting the urge to reach for her, to hold her the way he used to.
     Oh, the desire to hold her.
     Hyunrin feels her eyes getting heavy. She found old, familiar comfort in him. His breath hitches, as if he wanted to speak. Even it is uttering her name. 

"Can't sleep either?" A voice cuts through the quiet like a blade. Hyunrin flinches and shots upright, her pulse spiking. In-ho is already pulling back, his expression closing off in an instant, as if the moment had never existed at all.
     And just like that, whatever was about to happen—whatever was about to be said—was lost.
     Hyunrin barely heard herself respond, barely processed the small talk that followed. All she could think about was the heat that had been there just seconds ago—and the absence of it now.
     "I guess I'll head back to my bed," Hyunrin mutters, shifting as if to stand. In-Ho snaps his gaze to his wife.
     "No." In-Ho's voice is calm and firm, yet not unkind.
     Hyunrin freezes, her gaze slowly lifting to meet his. "I'll be fine," she argues softly, arching an eyebrow as if testing him. But there's no amusement in his eyes—only concern, deeper than the reasoning he offers.
     "You're part of our team," he says evenly. "And if Gi-Hun is right... even returning to your own bed could be dangerous. Take mine instead." Her breath catches. She knows what it means if she accepts—knows what it means to lie in his bed. The scent that will linger on his pillow.
     In-Ho wants her here. Close to him. He holds her gaze, and for a fleeting moment, his mask slips. In his eyes, the truth is laid bare—like a story written across the pages of a book. It feels like she could read the quiet protectiveness, an unspoken longing, a battle between what he should do and what he wanted.
     And in that moment, Hyunrin was standing in the rain, watching him hesitate before pulling her into their first kiss. Her heartbeat accelerated. She needed to leave, to look away. Yet, she didn't.
Instead, she watches him rise to his feet, offering his hand to her, guiding her toward his bed with a careful grace. He's watching her, his gaze fleeting, his posture rigid as if he's trying to keep some semblance of distance, some space between them. Once they reach the bed, he doesn't sit. He steps back, like he's waiting for her to decide, to choose whether or not to lie down.
He doesn't face her when he takes a step back. His back is to her, his body stiff, tense, like he's holding something back, fighting against it. His hands clench at his sides, the weight of what's unspoken hanging in the air.
Hyunrin isn't sure why, but something inside her snaps. Maybe it's the exhaustion or the way the weight of everything makes her feel like she's teetering on the edge. Without thinking, she blurts the words, the request tumbling from her lips before she can stop it.
"Lie with me."

The words hang in the air between them, raw and vulnerable, and the moment they're out there, she feels her pulse quicken. Her breath catches in her throat. She hadn't meant to say it, hadn't meant to put that out there, but now it's hanging between them, and she can't take it back.
In-ho freezes. His body tenses at the words, like he's been hit with a jolt of electricity. He doesn't turn toward her immediately. Instead, he stands there, his back still to her, fists clenched, the fight inside him playing out on his features. His mind races, she can feel it in the silence between them. He needs to say no, needs to walk away, but something in the way her words linger, the way she's looking at him—pleading with her eyes, making it impossible to ignore—breaks him.
She shifts slightly, her body moving toward him without thinking, closing the distance he's created. She's too close now, the space between them gone, and in that moment, he finally turns. His face is tight, strained, and his eyes hold something darker than before—something torn, caught between restraint and desire.
Before she can react, he reaches out, his arms moving quickly, as if pulling her to him is the only thing that will stop him from falling apart. His hands find her waist, and he pulls her into him, close enough that their bodies press together. The heat of him, the strength, the rawness of his emotions floods her senses.
For a moment, he doesn't speak. He just holds her, his arms wrapped around her like he's afraid if he lets go, she'll disappear, like she's something fragile he's not sure he can keep. His breath is shaky against her skin, his grip tight. His mind screams at him to stop. To pull away. To hold back. To think before he does something he can't undo.
But his body betrays him. He holds her tighter, his cheek pressing against the top of her head, his fingers threading into her hair.
"My moon and stars..." His voice cracks as he whispers her name, like it's the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.
She can feel it, the way he's breaking, the way his control is slipping. But she's not pushing him away. She's not retreating. She just lets herself stay there, in the circle of his arms, trying to ignore the way her heart beats out of sync.
In this moment, there's nothing left to say. No more distance. No more games. Just two people caught in the pull of everything they've both been avoiding. And for the first time in what feels like forever, they're finally giving in.
     For the first time in nine years—Hyunrin fell asleep in peace.

The world feels different when Hyunrin wakes, like she's been submerged in water and is now breaking the surface. She blinks, groggy, her mind sluggishly piecing things together. The sound of the alarm echoes through the hall. Her body feels warm—too warm for the chill in the air—and there's a heaviness in her chest, an emotion she can't quite name. As she shifts, the sheets beside her are empty. For a split second, her heart stutters.
     Did it happen?
     Did I dream it all?
     Was he really there, holding her so tightly, his breath shaky against her skin?
     Her fingers graze the spot where he had lain, the indent in the mattress still fresh, the warmth lingering. But she's alone now, and the questions swirl, gnawing at her.
     She sits up slowly, trying to shake off the lingering fog of sleep, but her thoughts are clouded with memories of the night—the way he held her, the way his arms had wrapped around her so desperately, so fiercely. The way he whispered her name like he couldn't quite believe she was there. Before she can process more, she hears the rustling of footsteps. Her heart leaps into her throat, and when she turns, she meets In-Ho's gaze across the room.
     For a second, the world goes still. His eyes lock with hers, dark and intense. His expression is unreadable, but in that moment, it feels like everything between them is unsaid. The distance they'd kept, the walls they'd built between them—all of it falls away in that single, silent exchange.
     The knot in her stomach tightens. She knows. She knows that they weren't just lying next to each other for warmth. There's something more, something undeniable in the way he looks at her.
     His gaze softens, just barely, and it's enough for her to realize the truth. The vulnerability between them, the connection that had always been there, is finally exposed.
     Her breath catches, the questions she was too afraid to ask lingering on the tip of her tongue. But for now, neither of them speaks. The quiet between them says more than words ever could.
     She swallows hard, unsure if she's ready for what comes next, but knowing that it's coming regardless.

In-Ho felt her gaze before he even looked at her. It's a subtle pull, like a current in the air. His chest tightens, and for a moment, he contemplates turning away. But he doesn't. Instead, he remains where he is, still, almost too still.
     The silence stretches between them, and he can't find the words. Not yet. There's too much to say, but none of it comes out. His heart is hammering in his chest, a rhythm he can't control, one that's synced with hers in ways he never thought possible.
     Damn it.
     His hand clenches into a fist at his side, and he knows it's the wrong move. He should leave, back away, give her space. But something about the way she's watching him, so open, so exposed, has his feet rooted to the spot. He feels the weight of her question even though she hasn't spoken it outright. It hangs between them, a quiet admission of the moment they shared, and he can't escape it.
     Their eyes meet, and it's like the world pauses. The tension in the room is thick, suffocating. He can feel her, feel the pull of her presence like gravity pulling him toward her.
     But he can't—he won't.
     His jaw tightens, and he looks away, just for a moment. A small, almost imperceptible retreat. It's self-preservation. That's what he tells himself. He can't get too close. Not now. Not yet.
     He can feel the yearning inside him, a longing he thought he buried long ago. His breath hitches in his throat, and when his eyes flicker back to her, he knows it's too late.
     Damn it.

ᵀᴿᵞᴵᴺᴳ 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚞𝚙𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
due to my hyperfixation, i had till chapter 10 (the one you've just read) done.
however, i'm asking you to have patience for the next chapter, which might not be next sunday.
bare with me please <3