The walk back to Woojin's private quarters felt impossibly long.
The academy was silent at this hour, its wooden walkways washed in cold moonlight. Hana's steps were light and controlled, but her pulse throbbed violently beneath her calm exterior. Every shadow felt like a doorway for danger. Every corner seemed ready to swallow them.
Woojin walked beside her, posture sharp, hand hovering near the hidden blade inside his sleeve. His face remained stoic, but tension radiated from him like heat.
She hated that she found it reassuring.
When they reached his room, Woojin slid the door open and gestured for her to enter first.
Hana arched a brow. "A gentleman? I didn't expect that."
"I'm not a gentleman," Woojin replied. "Just cautious."
He scanned the hall, then closed the door behind them.
The moment they were inside, the silence grew thicker. His room was larger than hers—neatly arranged, inkbrushes stacked in perfect rows, scrolls rolled meticulously, bedding folded with military precision. Everything about it felt disciplined… controlled… reserved.
Just like him.
Woojin lit a small oil lamp, bathing the space in amber light. Shadows danced along the walls, but at least she could see them clearly here.
"You'll sleep here," he said, pointing to his neatly prepared bed. "I'll take the floor."
Hana blinked. "Absolutely not. I'm not taking your bed."
"I wasn't asking," he said simply.
"And I wasn't agreeing."
Their eyes locked—her defiance meeting his stubborn calm. The air between them thickened, sparking with tension neither wanted to acknowledge.
Hana crossed her arms. "I've slept in worse conditions. The floor is fine."
Woojin stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off him. "You're injured," he said quietly. "I saw you flinch when you pushed me earlier."
She stiffened. "I did not flinch."
"You did." He looked down at her sleeve where the edge of her bandage peeked out. "Your arm is still bleeding."
She pulled her arm away instinctively. "I'll manage."
"Hana," he said softly, "you don't have to manage everything alone."
Her breath caught.
He said it so gently, yet it hit her harder than any blade ever could.
Woojin reached for her arm again, slower this time, giving her a chance to pull away. She didn't.
When his fingers touched the edge of her sleeve, she felt a jolt go through her—warm, careful, utterly unlike the rough world she'd been trained in.
He pushed her sleeve up slightly, revealing the angry red cut from the previous night's battle. It wasn't deep, but it had reopened.
Woojin exhaled sharply. "Hana…"
"What?" she snapped, suddenly defensive again.
"You could have died."
She scoffed lightly. "I've survived worse."
"That's not the point." His voice dropped. "I don't want to watch you bleed again."
Her body went still.
Woojin's hand hovered near her arm for a moment longer, then he moved away and brought out a small wooden box filled with medicinal herbs and bandages.
"Sit," he instructed gently.
Hana hesitated. She didn't like being tended to. It made her feel exposed. Visible.
But refusing now would feel like running away.
So she sat.
Woojin kneeled in front of her, mixing ground herbs with warm water until it formed a thick paste. His hands were steady, elegant, practiced.
"You know how to treat wounds?" she asked.
"I learned because I needed to," he said. "A scholar is useless if he dies before proving anything."
She raised a brow. "So you admit you're not useless now?"
He shot her a dry look. "Do you want your wound treated or not?"
She smirked despite herself. "Proceed, healer-nim."
Woojin dipped his fingers into the herbal paste and gently spread it across her wound. The mixture stung at first—sharp and cold—but his touch was impossibly careful.
Too careful.
Hana found herself watching him closely. The way his brow furrowed in concentration. The faint crease between his eyebrows. The warmth of his fingers brushing her skin.
He shouldn't touch her like that.
Not when she was supposed to stay distant.
Not when closeness was dangerous.
But she didn't pull away.
Woojin wrapped the fresh bandage with a tenderness that felt foreign… disarming. When he tied the final knot, his fingers lingered on her skin a moment too long.
Hana's breath hitched.
Woojin froze—noticing. Their eyes met.
Neither spoke.
The lamp flickered. The room shrank around them. For a heartbeat, it felt like the world outside no longer existed—only the heat between their bodies, the tension tightening like a bowstring.
Woojin was the first to break the silence.
"You're safe here," he said quietly.
"Am I?" she whispered.
"Yes." His voice was steady. "Because I'm here."
Something inside her trembled. She didn't want him to see it.
So she looked away, stood up abruptly, and cleared her throat. "We should set a perimeter. Check the windows. The roof. The—"
"Hana."
There it was again—that firm, grounding voice.
She forced herself to meet his eyes.
"You're allowed to rest," Woojin said. "Just this once."
A strange, aching emotion stirred in her chest. She hated it. She needed it. She didn't know which.
Hana exhaled slowly. "Fine. I'll take the bed."
Woojin nodded. "Good."
"But you're sleeping in the bed too."
He blinked, startled. "What—"
"I'm not letting you sleep on the floor where someone can stab you through the cracks," she said. "If assassins attack, I need you alive."
Woojin stared at her like she had spoken a forbidden secret.
"You worry for me," he murmured.
She scowled. "I worry about the mission."
"What mission?"
"Survival."
Their eyes held again—sharp, soft, dangerous.
Woojin looked away first, clearing his throat. "We'll share the bed. But keep to your side."
"I always keep to my side," she muttered.
"Somehow I doubt that."
"You doubt everything."
He gave a faint smile. "Except this."
"Except what?" she asked.
His gaze softened—warm, direct, unguarded.
"That I won't let anything happen to you."
Hana's chest tightened painfully.
She turned her face away, trying to hide the sudden rush of heat across her cheeks. She wasn't used to care. She certainly wasn't used to someone choosing her safety over their own.
Woojin laid out an extra blanket on one side of the bed, then sat down with controlled stiffness. "We should rest in shifts. For caution."
Hana nodded and sat on her side, leaving a careful gap between them. But the bed wasn't large. Their knees nearly touched. And the warmth between them felt like a quiet flame waiting to blaze.
Woojin lay down first, stiff as a statue.
Hana smirked. "Relax, you're acting like I'm the danger here."
"You are," he said without hesitation. "In ways you can't imagine."
The words stole her breath.
She lay down, facing away from him, eyes open in the dim glow.
Minutes passed. The silence softened. Her heartbeat slowly steadied.
Then—
A soft shift of blankets.
Woojin whispered, "Hana? Are you awake?"
"Of course."
A pause.
"Good," he breathed, "because I'm starting to think I can't sleep when I know someone out there wants to harm you."
Her eyes fluttered shut.
She should not allow this feeling.
She should not want to turn toward him.
She should not want to be near him at all.
But she did.
And when Woojin's hand, warm and hesitant, brushed lightly against hers under the blanket—
Hana didn't pull away.
Not this time.
Not tonight.
Because for the first time in years…
She didn't feel alone in the shadows.