Yuna:
The silence between us didn't break when he carried me upstairs.
It followed us.
Stayed with us.
Wrapped around every step, every breath, every glance we didn't explain.
I didn't remember walking.
I only remembered his hand around my waist… steady, firm… like he wasn't letting me fall again—not just physically.
When we reached roof top room, the door closed behind us with a soft click.
The lights were dim.
Warm.
Too quiet.
He didn't say anything at first.
Neither did I.
He just guided me toward the bed at the roof, his movements controlled, like everything he did. Like he had already decided what was going to happen next.
But my mind—
It wasn't calm.
Not like his.
It was loud.
Too loud.
Elena's words.
Luca's voice.
Kill everyone.
And then—
Him.
Standing there like it was nothing.
I sat on the edge of the bed, watching him.
Watching the way he moved.
The way he loosened his shirt slightly.
The way his focus was already shifting—
Toward me.
Toward this.
"…You should sleep now we had enough for today," he said quietly.
I shook my head.
"I'm not sleepy."
He looked at me.
Long.
Like he was trying to read something I wasn't saying.
"You drank too much."
"Not enough to forget everything."
That made him pause.
Just for a second.
But I saw it.
"…Forget what?" he asked.
I didn't answer.
Because I didn't even know where to start.
Instead—
I stood up.
Slowly.
Closing the distance between us.
And when I reached him—
I didn't stop.
My hands found his shirt.
Lightly at first.
Then firmer.
Pulling him closer.
His eyes darkened slightly.
"Yuna…"
But I didn't let him finish.
I kissed him.
Not softly.
Not hesitantly.
But like I needed to feel something stronger than the chaos in my head.
For a second—
He didn't move.
Like he was caught off guard.
Then—
His hand came up to my waist again.
Pulling me in.
The kiss deepened.
Slower.
Heavier.
And just like that—
Everything else faded.
The questions.
The fear.
The confusion.
Gone.
Replaced by something intense.
Something consuming.
---
We moved without thinking.
Like this wasn't new.
Like our bodies remembered something our minds couldn't explain.
The distance between us disappeared.
His touch was controlled—but not gentle.
Like he was holding himself back.
And I could feel it.
That restraint.
That tension.
It made my chest tighten.
Because I didn't want him to hold back.
Not tonight.
Not when everything already felt so uncertain.
---
He stepped back slightly.
Just enough.
His breathing steady.
Too steady.
Then he reached for the pocket in his pants beside the bed.
Pulled it open.
Took something out.
And that's when—
The thought hit me.
Suddenly.
Sharp.
Unwanted.
But impossible to ignore.
My voice came out before I could stop it.
"…How many?"
His movement stopped.
Completely.
The air shifted instantly.
"What?" he asked.
Slow.
Low.
But dangerous.
I swallowed.
"…How many girls have you been sleeping with?"
Silence.
Heavy.
Cold.
He didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't breathe—
At least, it felt like that.
Then slowly—
Very slowly—
He turned his head toward me.
His eyes—
Different now.
Darker.
Harder.
"What did you just say?"
My heart started beating faster.
But I didn't back down.
"I asked you something."
"You picked the wrong time."
"I still want to know."
That was it.
The shift.
The moment everything changed.
---
In one sudden movement—
His hand came up.
Grabbing my face.
Firm.
Not enough to hurt—
But enough to control.
To make me look at him.
To stop me from looking away.
My breath caught.
"Look at me," he said.
I already was.
But his grip tightened slightly.
Forcing it.
His face was close now.
Too close.
And his eyes—
They weren't calm anymore.
They were angry.
Sharp.
Unforgiving.
"This," he said slowly, his voice low and controlled, "is not the right question to ask me right now."
My chest rose and fell quickly.
"…Why not?"
His jaw tightened.
"Because it doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
"That's your problem."
His words hit harder than I expected.
But I didn't look away.
"…Then make it not my problem," I said quietly.
A pause.
A dangerous one.
His grip didn't loosen.
If anything—
It held me more firmly in place.
"You think this changes something?" he asked.
"I don't know," I admitted. "That's why I'm asking."
"You're asking about my past," he said. "At the worst possible time."
"Because I'm here," I replied. "With you."
His eyes flickered slightly.
Just for a second.
But I saw it.
"…And?" he pressed.
"And I don't want to feel like I'm just another one of them."
The words came out softer.
But heavier than anything else I had said.
And for the first time—
He went quiet.
Not angry.
Not sharp.
Just…
Still.
His grip on my face loosened slightly.
Not fully.
But enough.
"…You're not," he said.
His voice was lower now.
Less aggressive.
But still controlled.
"How do I know that?" I asked.
"You don't."
That answer—
Was worse.
I felt it immediately.
"…That's not fair."
"I told you before," he said. "Fair doesn't matter."
I shook my head slightly in his hold.
"It matters to me."
His eyes searched mine.
Like he was trying to understand something he didn't feel.
Or didn't want to.
"…You're asking for something I don't give," he said finally.
"What is that?"
"Reassurance."
Silence.
My chest tightened again.
"…Then what do you give?" I asked quietly.
A long pause followed.
Then—
He leaned closer.
So close that his forehead almost touched mine.
"…Control," he said.
"And?"
"…Truth. When it's necessary."
I let out a soft breath.
"And this isn't necessary?"
His eyes didn't leave mine.
"No."
---
The silence returned.
But it felt different now.
Heavier.
More real.
Less driven by emotion—
And more by truth.
Raw.
Uncomfortable truth.
---
His hand dropped from my face slowly.
But his gaze didn't leave me.
"…If you're going to stay here," he said quietly, "you need to stop asking questions like that."
"Why?"
"Because you won't like the answers."
I held his gaze.
"…Then let me decide that."
Something shifted again.
Small.
But noticeable.
He didn't respond immediately.
Just looked at me.
Long.
Deep.
Like he was trying to figure out—
Why I wasn't backing down.
Why I wasn't afraid.
Or maybe—
Why I still stayed.
Even after everything.
---
"…You don't understand this world," he said finally.
"Then explain it to me."
"I won't."
"Why?"
"Because once you understand it," he said quietly, "you won't be able to stay."
A pause.
Then I said—
"…What if I already decided to stay?"
His expression didn't change.
But his eyes—
They softened.
Just slightly.
"…Then that's your choice."
---
The tension didn't disappear.
But it changed.
From sharp—
To something deeper.
More complicated.
More dangerous.
---
He stepped back slightly.
Running a hand through his hair.
Like he was resetting himself.
Regaining control.
Over the situation.
Over me.
Over everything.
"… Go down stairs and Sleep," he said.
This time—
Not as a suggestion.
But as a decision.
---
And I realized something then.
This wasn't just about a question.
Or his past.
Or even us.
This was about boundaries.
Ones he wasn't ready to cross.
And ones I wasn't ready to accept.
I go down stairs wearing my clothes.
---
I lay down slowly.
My mind still racing.
My chest still tight.
And even though he was right there—
So close—
It felt like there was still a distance between us.
One I didn't know how to close.
Yet.