The flashing lights of the racing game lit up in dizzying loops, casting flickers of red and blue against Hyerin's face as we approached. She hesitated at first, glancing skeptically between the plastic seats and the neon dashboard.
"You're serious?" she asked.
I handed her a racing card without answering.
The machine whirred to life under our touch.
"Rules are simple," I said, sliding into the seat beside hers. "Winner gets one prize."
Her fingers hovered over the ignition button. "What kind of prize?"
I smirked, tilting my head lazily. "The winner can either ask the loser for anything they want—or make the loser do something for them."
She stared at me, narrowing her eyes like she already didn't trust how easily I offered the terms.
"Anything?"
"Anything," I repeated, sweetly, innocently.
Which, coming from me, should have set off alarms.
It didn't.
Maybe because she was tired of playing cautious around me. Or maybe because she wanted to win at something, just once.
Either way, she gripped the steering wheel tighter.
"You're on," she said.
The countdown began.
I leaned back in my seat, watching her posture stiffen in preparation.
She bit her lower lip in determination.
The screen flashed, and the race exploded into motion.
Hyerin slammed the gas like her life depended on it. Her car shot forward, weaving dangerously through the first few turns. I hung back, my car drifting lazily behind hers, pretending to struggle with the controls.
In reality, I could've overtaken her in seconds.
I had grown up with motorcycles and real roads. No arcade game was going to outmatch me.
But as I watched her shoulders square and her hands tighten on the wheel, something in me decided—
I didn't want to win this time.
Not against her.
I let her keep the lead, occasionally speeding up just enough to make it interesting, just enough to make her nervous that I might catch her.
Her laughter—the genuine, bright kind I had barely heard before—spilled out halfway through the race when she accidentally bumped a wall but recovered with a sharp swerve.
"You're bad at this!" she called out over the music, glancing at me with wide, exhilarated eyes.
I laughed under my breath.
You have no idea.
I stayed a car length behind her, easing up every time the gap got too small, making it look natural.
On the final lap, she nearly panicked when she heard my engine rev louder behind her, but somehow she pulled ahead at the last second, her virtual car crossing the finish line just two frames before mine.
The screen flashed:
Player 2 Wins!
She stared at it, stunned for a moment, before whipping her head around to face me.
"I—"
"You won," I said smoothly, unclipping my seatbelt and standing.
She blinked up at me, still holding the steering wheel like she didn't quite believe it.
"I won," she repeated, this time louder.
I leaned down, resting my hands casually on the back of her chair, boxing her in without touching her.
"You did," I said, my voice low. "Which means you get a prize."
She swallowed, her throat bobbing slightly.
"Anything?" she said again, her voice quieter now.
"Anything," I murmured.
Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel for a moment before she let go and stood up carefully, facing me fully now.
For a long beat, she said nothing.
Just stared at me like she was weighing her options.
And then, very slowly, she smiled.
Not shy. Not flustered.
Confident.
Dangerous.
"I want you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "to grant me one favor whenever I ask for it. No questions. No arguments."
I arched an eyebrow, impressed despite myself.
"Now?" I asked.
She shook her head.
"Not now," she said. "Later. When I really need it."
A secret favor. A future promise.
Something I would owe her without even knowing what it was.
Clever girl.
I leaned in closer, so close that I could see the faintest freckles dusting her cheeks under the arcade lights.
"So you're planning to trap me, Yeon Hyerin," I said softly.
"If you're scared," she said, lifting her chin a little, "you can forfeit."
I laughed quietly under my breath, a rich, genuine sound that made her blink.
"Scared?" I echoed. "No, Hyerin. I'm not scared."
I held out my hand between us, palm up.
"I'm intrigued."
She stared at it for a moment, then placed her hand firmly into mine, sealing the deal.
No hesitations.
No backing out.
Whatever she would ask for later—whatever trap she was setting—I had already agreed.
And the part that made my blood run hotter, that made my pulse hum with dangerous excitement, was that I didn't regret it.
Not even a little.
As we left the arcade together, the sky had started to darken into a deep indigo, the first stars just beginning to creep into view.
Hyerin walked beside me, her steps lighter, her posture looser than before.
I didn't say anything.
I didn't need to.
Because today wasn't about victories or crowns or conquests.
Today was about something far rarer.
Something far more dangerous.
Trust.
And I had given it to her freely, recklessly.
Maybe she would break me with it.
Maybe she wouldn't.
Either way—
She had it now.
And somehow, deep in my bones, I knew:
I didn't mind.
Not one bit.
The street outside the arcade buzzed with soft life. The neon lights blurred into smears of color on the wet asphalt, and the early night air carried a chill that wasn't enough to make us uncomfortable, only enough to make everything feel a little more real.
We walked side by side, not in any rush to be anywhere.
The silence between us wasn't awkward anymore.
It was something else. Something heavy and warm.
My fingers brushed lightly against hers now and then. Accidental, but not unwelcome. She didn't pull away. I didn't either.
Half a block down, the smell of something savory hit us—spicy, fried, sweet all at once.
I spotted a small street vendor tucked beneath an awning, steam rising from the grill in thick white curls.
"Come on," I said, gently tugging her wrist.
She gave a small startled sound but followed without hesitation.
We stopped in front of the stand, scanning the simple menu taped to the side. Tteokbokki, odeng skewers, hotteok, and battered corndogs dusted in sugar. Classic, nostalgic street food.
"What do you want?" I asked.
She wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. "Hotteok."
I smiled. "Sweet tooth?"
"Maybe," she muttered.
I ordered two, tossing a few bills into the metal tray. The vendor handed over two paper-wrapped pastries, still piping hot, the scent of caramelized brown sugar and cinnamon spilling into the air.
I passed one to her, watching the way her fingers brushed mine when she took it.
We found a spot near a half-cracked bench, under a dim streetlamp that flickered on and off.
I sat down first, lounging lazily, legs spread a little wider than necessary just to see her roll her eyes before sitting beside me, careful to keep an inch of space between us.
We ate quietly, the sound of the busy street filling the spaces our words didn't.
The first bite made her visibly jolt—it must have been hotter than she expected. She puffed her cheeks slightly, fanning her mouth.
I laughed softly. "You're hopeless."
"You're the one who dragged me out here," she mumbled, her voice muffled as she carefully tore smaller pieces off the pastry this time.
I leaned my head back against the bench, letting the night sky spin above me, soft and endless.
"You like it, though," I said simply.
She didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
I turned slightly, watching her in the corner of my eye.
Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the food, her hair messy from the helmet, her sweater sleeves pulled over her hands like she wanted to hide how cold she was.
And yet, she looked...comfortable.
Genuinely comfortable.
I could've stayed like this forever.
Maybe I wanted to.
Without thinking, I reached over and tugged gently at the sleeve of her hoodie, pulling her wrist toward me.
She blinked, confused, but didn't resist.
"You've got sugar on your mouth," I said casually, reaching out with my thumb to brush the corner of her lips.
The touch was feather-light.
Intentional.
Her body stiffened, but she didn't move away.
Her breath hitched slightly, the smallest sound—and it felt louder than anything else around us.
For a second, she just stared at me, wide-eyed.
"Th-thanks," she mumbled, tearing her gaze away.
I smiled to myself, letting her wrist go slowly.
The distance between us felt smaller now.
A breath. A thought.
"You know," I said, voice lower than usual, "you're dangerous when you look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you don't realize what you're doing."
"I'm just eating," she muttered, shoving another piece of hotteok into her mouth as if to shield herself.
I laughed under my breath. "Exactly."
Another beat of silence.
The vendor packed up in the distance, the city dimming one streetlamp at a time.
"I should probably get you back before you turn into a pumpkin," I teased lightly.
She gave me an unimpressed look. "You're mixing metaphors."
"Am I?" I tilted my head. "Or maybe I'm just charming enough to get away with it."
"You're something," she muttered.
"You like that about me."
It wasn't a question.
It was a fact.
She stood first, tossing the empty wrapper into a nearby bin, dusting her hands off.
I followed a beat later, tossing mine in too.
We walked back to my bike, the cold air nipping at our cheeks now.
I handed her the helmet again, and as she pulled it over her head, she paused, peeking at me from under her lashes.
"Thanks," she said quietly.
"For what?"
"For today. For…" She trailed off, embarrassed.
I swung a leg over the bike and waited until she was settled behind me.
Then I said, just loud enough for her to hear over the engine rumbling to life, "For making you realize you can have a life outside Seonghwa?"
"Maybe," she muttered against my back.
I smiled.
"Anytime, Hyerin."
I revved the engine and sped off into the night, her arms wrapping around my waist without hesitation this time.
Tighter.
Closer.
No longer afraid to hold on.
The ride back was quieter.
Not because there wasn't anything to say—there were a thousand things I could have said—but because the silence between us now was something I didn't want to break. It was rare. Full. Loaded.
Hyerin's arms were wrapped firmly around my waist the entire time, not shyly like before, but with a kind of reluctant trust that made my heart pulse harder against my ribs.
As we pulled up in front of her dorm building, I killed the engine and sat there for a moment, feeling her warmth pressed against my back.
Neither of us moved immediately.
Maybe she was reluctant to let go.
Or maybe I was.
I took off my helmet, setting it on the handlebars, but didn't turn around yet. I waited until I felt her shift, until she started to loosen her hold.
Only then did I get off the bike, turning to face her fully.
She hesitated, still seated, the helmet making her look smaller somehow.
Vulnerable.
Without thinking, without planning, I stepped closer and reached up to carefully lift the helmet from her head. Her hair tumbled out, messy and flattened in places. Adorable.
She blinked up at me, wide-eyed.
"Come here," I said quietly.
Her body tensed—not out of fear, but out of that same careful hesitation she always had around me, like she knew getting closer would mean more than just proximity.
Still, she slid off the bike, standing in front of me.
Close enough that I could feel the nervous energy rolling off her.
I reached out.
And wrapped my arms around her, pulling her gently, but firmly, into my chest.
At first, she stiffened in surprise.
But then she relaxed—so slowly it almost hurt to feel it happening—like she was allowing herself to trust the embrace instead of fighting it.
I closed my eyes for a second, inhaling the soft, almost too-sweet scent of her shampoo.
I didn't let go right away.
I held her longer than I should have.
Longer than anyone else would have.
My arms tightened subtly around her waist, just enough that she would feel it, would know it wasn't an accident.
Mine.
The word echoed so naturally in my mind that it startled me.
Mine, mine, mine.
She didn't say anything. She didn't push me away.
She just stood there, quiet against me, as if maybe, just maybe, part of her wanted to be held a little longer too.
I lowered my head slightly, close enough that my lips brushed the top of her head, a whisper of a touch.
"You should get inside," I murmured, voice rougher than I intended.
She nodded against my chest, but didn't move.
I smiled faintly against her hair.
Reluctance.
Good.
I wanted her to feel it.
I wanted her to know that letting go of me wasn't going to be easy—not now, not ever.
Finally, I loosened my grip just enough for her to pull back if she wanted.
She did, slowly, looking up at me with wide, unreadable eyes.
For a split second, neither of us breathed.
Neither of us spoke.
And in that space between us, a thousand things went unsaid.
I tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers trailing along the curve of her jaw a little longer than necessary.
"Goodnight, Hyerin," I said softly.
Her mouth parted slightly, like she wanted to say something—but whatever it was, she swallowed it down.
Instead, she gave a tiny nod.
And then—reluctantly—stepped back.
I watched her go until she reached the door, glancing back once, uncertain.
I just smiled at her, slow and easy, like I had all the time in the world.
Because for her—
I did.
She slipped inside without another word.
Only when the door closed behind her did I finally swing my leg back over the bike.
The engine roared to life beneath me.
And as I sped off into the night, the only thing lingering in my mind was the feeling of her body pressed against mine—
and the certainty that no matter how long it took—
Yeon Hyerin would be mine.
Completely.
Eventually.
Without escape.