The reverse watch sat heavy in Lee Rang's palm, its brass face glowing faintly under the dying lamp.The numbers spiraled backward, mocking the natural order of time.
He told himself it was just his mind.But the longer he stared, the louder it became—the faint scrape of gears that weren't moving, the phantom whisper curling behind his ear:
"Don't trust her."
Rang's eyes snapped up.The room was empty. Silent.Yet his pulse wouldn't slow, as if someone had just spoken inches from his skin.
He slammed the watch shut and shoved it deep into the drawer.But the whisper still lingered.
The storm began without warning.Thunder rattled the windows, rain slashed against the glass.
The power cut out. Darkness swallowed the apartment whole.
Seo-rin lit a candle, its glow trembling as she set it on the low table. The fire painted her skin in shifting gold, her features softening in the half-light.
Rang leaned by the balcony door, arms crossed."You don't look surprised."
She glanced at the flame, not him."Storms don't surprise me."
Her voice was low, steady, but there was something under it—a weariness that clung like perfume.
Then it happened.Rang's eyes were still on the keychain he had slipped into his pocket when a sharp thapp echoed through the apartment.The window lock snapped open from the wind, glass banging violently in its frame.
The candle flame stuttered—and died.
Seo-rin let out a muffled gasp, stumbling blindly in the dark.Rang's reflexes kicked in; he caught her wrist and pulled her hard into him. His fingers locked around her hand with such desperate force it was as if letting go would mean both of them falling.
For a second, neither breathed.The dark was so complete that only the heat of their closeness, the rhythm of their uneven breaths, existed.
"Let go," Seo-rin whispered, but the sharpness she usually carried wasn't there.
Slowly, he loosened his grip, but the memory of his touch lingered in the air between them.
The candle flared back to life, and for the first time, their faces were inches apart—closer, quieter, shadows trembling together against the wall.
"Why do you keep saving me?" Seo-rin asked softly, her voice carrying an edge of unease she tried to hide.
Rang didn't answer immediately. His eyes lingered on her face, on the flame that painted her in shades too fragile to belong in their world.Finally, he said low:"Maybe… watching you fall feels worse than falling myself."
Her lips parted, but she said nothing.For the briefest moment, her mask cracked—a fleeting softness in her eyes, a curve of something like a smile, bittersweet and gone too fast.
Later, as the storm eased, Seo-rin drifted asleep on the couch, her notebook sliding from her lap.A soft clink followed as something else slipped free.
A keychain.
Rang bent, picking it up before she could stir. Cold metal pressed into his palm. Numbers engraved deep: 404.And beneath, a name: Seo-rin.
He froze.
But instead of returning it, he slipped it silently into his pocket.
Hours later, while Seo-rin slept peacefully, Rang sat awake in the half-dark, the chain heavy in his palm. The storm outside had passed.But high above, across the rooftops, a figure lingered—watching, silent, smiling faintly at the candle's glow inside.
Some nights don't end in silence.They end in someone else's eyes, waiting.