They said the first snow would fall by dawn.
The wind was already slicing through the air like a thin blade, slipping between buildings and leaving cold trails across the skin.
The night was deep — and above the domes of Kiren, a pale, almost lifeless moon hung suspended in silence.
Kang Jihan stepped out through the main doors of Lirean General Hospital, his coat whipping in the wind. His face was locked in that same burnt-out expression he'd worn for days — the kind of stillness that comes after all emotion has drained away.
He stood there, breathing in the cold, as if to make sure he was still alive.
A week.
That's how long he'd been in this seaside city — where even the sky smelled of salt and iron.
Seven days without a trace, without a word, without a reason to stay — yet his body refused to leave.
Seo Raon called every day, demanding he return to Ark City, but Jihan didn't move. Deep down, he still believed the one he was waiting for would appear — just once, even for a moment.
He let out a hollow laugh, the breath freezing against his lips.
— Guess I've finally lost it.
If Ryu Seonyeong were the same as before, he would have come the moment he heard about Kim Ranhee. Or at least called.
But a week of silence could only mean one thing: either he didn't know — or worse — he knew, and chose not to.
Jihan dragged a hand across his face. In his eyes flickered disbelief and bitterness.
A man who had always relied on cold logic now depended on coincidence, on hope, on a miracle.
He wanted to believe Seonyeong still had something human left in him.
But Jihan himself — he'd stopped being human long ago.
Before, he would've done what he did best — spread rumors, push the right people, twist the situation until truth bent his way.
Now, he couldn't.
Because doing so would mean crossing a line he could never return from.
He lifted his gaze toward the sky, where the moon's blue veins blurred in mist.
What will I do if he really comes back?
The same image looped endlessly in his mind — Seonyeong's smile framed by a shattered sea, the fall, the splash.
A scene burned so deep it refused to fade, no matter how much time passed.
He took a drag of his cigarette; the flame briefly lit his eyes. Smoke curled upward, dissolving into the night.
If hypnosis had worked on me, I'd be living without memory.
I'd walk past him on the street, not knowing who he was.
And maybe that would've been easier.
But why him? Why was he the exception?
Coincidence? Or punishment?
He bit his lip until he tasted blood — not knowing how to forget, and not wanting to.
That vampire always did the same thing: stepped closer, let you believe, and then vanished without a word.
— "I let myself be caught to protect the Lirean Tower," — he whispered into the darkness. — "But now there's nothing left to protect."
If Seonyeong were to appear right now — if he just said "Die," — it would almost be a relief.
Then he could stop thinking. Stop waiting. Just act.
He knew: to Seonyeong, he'd always been second.
Even Kim Ranhee had meant more.
And that hurt more than he wanted to admit.
So stupid. So unfair.
He flicked his lighter again, but the flame sputtered out.
The cold bit into his fingers, but he didn't lower his hand.
Something hard struck the back of his head.
— Damn it! — he hissed, spinning around.
An empty coffee can rolled across the pavement. Someone must have tossed it from above.
He looked up, ready to curse — and froze.
On the rooftop above the entrance sat a figure, legs dangling, the long white coat gleaming in moonlight.
Chestnut hair brushed over his eyes.
— Long time no see, — said a voice from above — light, teasing, unmistakable. — How's life?
He hadn't changed. Not in tone. Not in gaze.
Only the moonlight made his face look slightly unreal — as if woven from reflection itself.
Ryu Seonyeong.
Jihan's heart stopped.
He tried to speak — but the words caught in his throat.
— …It's really you? — he breathed.
— And if it is? — came the smirking reply.
He sat there like a child bored with his own game, legs swinging lazily. The black sneakers caught glints of silver light.
Jihan stood below, his breathing too fast, too uneven.
— Gonna kill me? — Seonyeong asked softly.
The world shrank for a second. Jihan couldn't answer.
Seonyeong shrugged.
— You're the one who moved Ranhee here, right?
His tone was calm, almost indifferent.
Jihan nodded silently, unable to look away.
— Funny, — Seonyeong murmured. — Even when I disappear, you still manage to find where to wait.
He dropped from the rooftop — light, soundless — like snow falling through the air. The white coat barely touched the ground.
Now they stood almost face-to-face — just a few steps apart.
The air between them felt solid, glass-like.
Jihan's fists clenched.
— …Why didn't you contact me?
— Because I didn't want to.
— I searched for you. Everywhere.
— And now you found me. What then?
Jihan inhaled deeply.
— Just tell me why.
Seonyeong smiled faintly.
— Because it's over.
He turned, but Jihan grabbed his wrist.
— Don't go.
— You know I always do, — Seonyeong said quietly.
He tried to pull free, but Jihan's grip only tightened.
— Then at least tell me what I was to you.
Seonyeong looked at him — tiredly, like someone forced to explain what should be obvious.
— You were the one who reminded me I could still feel.
Jihan froze. The words landed like a verdict.
— That's all? — he asked, his voice breaking.
— It's enough.
They stood there for a moment — silent — as the snow began to fall thicker.
White flakes settled on their hair, their shoulders, their hands.
Jihan bit down hard, fighting the tremor in his voice.
— What would it take for you to stay?
Seonyeong met his eyes.
— Earn my trust.
— But you don't believe me.
A short, lifeless laugh escaped him.
— Correct. I don't. Not a word. Even if you jumped from a dome and said it was for love, I'd still think it's a trap.
— Then give me a chance.
— A chance? — he frowned. — Are you sure you know what you're asking for?
Jihan said nothing.
Seonyeong stepped back.
— Don't look for me. Don't call. I'll disappear on my own.
— Don't go, — Jihan whispered again.
Seonyeong lifted his gaze toward the sky. The snow had turned soundless.
— I don't know how to stay.
He turned away, and for an instant, the moonlight brushed across his face — a fleeting trace of silver — and then he was gone.
When Jihan blinked, the rooftop was empty.
Only the wind remained, and the soft, melting snow.