🌙 Barefoot on Concrete
The night air was not kind. It had sharp edges, brushing against Claire's bare skin like unseen needles. Each step on the pavement stung—rocks digging into the soles of her feet, a dull ache stretching through her calves. But she didn't stop walking.
Not because she had somewhere to go.
But because stopping would mean letting the thoughts catch up.
The hospital's fluorescent glow had faded long behind her, swallowed by the city's dense rhythm. Her hair was messy, makeup smeared faintly under her eyes, but her spine held an eerie grace—like a queen walking through ruin barefoot, wearing silence like a cloak.
Her phone buzzed. She ignored it.It buzzed again.
She finally glanced.
Jisoo [9:44 PM]:Where are you? The driver said you didn't go home.Jisoo [9:45 PM]:Claire, please say something. I'm worried.
She turned off the screen and dropped the phone into her bag.
She couldn't answer—not yet. The echo of her mother's voice still rang in her head like a twisted lullaby. "You killed everything I ever loved."
A small laugh left her lips. It startled a nearby cat who dashed into a trash bin. Claire paused, leaning on a lamppost, her breathing ragged.
"You're not the monster," she whispered to herself, "She is."
But that voice—the soft one that still remembered lullabies and birthday candles—asked quietly: Are you sure?
📱At Leo's Apartment
Youngjae had just poured himself a glass of water when his phone lit up on the kitchen counter.
Jisoo [9:52 PM]:Claire left the hospital. She never came home. I've tried her phone.
He didn't think.
He didn't need to.
The glass fell, shattering on the tiles, forgotten.
He grabbed his keys, threw on a hoodie, and kicked his front door open like a man running from a fire.
"Jiwon, lock the door," he called out, already halfway down the stairs.
"But oppa—"
"Just do it!" he shouted back, the stairwell swallowing his voice.
Outside, his motorbike roared to life, piercing the quiet street as he raced off into the night. His face was unreadable. Not panicked. Not angry. Just… locked in. Like every second wasted would cost her a year.
The Night He Let Her Stay
The moon had taken its throne in the sky, casting silver light across the quiet, worn-out apartment complex Youngjae called home. The place was nothing like the luxury Claire Han Mira was used to. No velvet curtains. No marble floors. Just cracked tiles, dusty window panes, and the faint hum of the fridge holding everything together.
Youngjae pushed open the front door with a low grunt, his arm steadying her as she stumbled in. Claire's feet were bruised and cut from walking barefoot all the way from the hospital. He hadn't said a word on the bike ride, and she hadn't asked why he came.
He finally spoke. "I couldn't take you to a hotel. I... didn't have the money for it."
She didn't laugh. She didn't mock him. She just stared at him like it was the first honest thing she'd heard all day.
"And your house is too far," he added, glancing toward the worn-out sofa.
Claire looked around the small living space. It was nothing like her penthouse in the clouds, but it smelled of books and rain and something real. She blinked. "I like it. It's… grounded."
He ignored the compliment, walking to the closet in his bedroom and tossing her one of his old oversized hoodies and a pair of joggers.
"Here," he said curtly. "Bathroom's to the left. You should eat something too."
He turned away, heading to the kitchen to warm up leftover kimchi rice. He wasn't sure why he was doing all this. She wasn't his problem.
But she looked like a wilted flower in winter. Something inside him stirred.
By the time he brought the plate out, she had changed. His clothes drowned her delicate frame, but there was something strangely endearing about it. He handed her the food in silence. She accepted without a word, eating slowly as if every bite reminded her she was still alive.
Later that night, she wandered into his bedroom while he was wiping his hands with a towel, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.
She started laying out the blanket on his bed. He blinked. "Hey. You can't sleep here."
Claire glanced at him, unbothered. "It's a bed. You have only one. I'm using it."
He rubbed his temple, annoyed. "I'll give you cab money. You can go back to your place."
As he stepped closer to pull the blanket from her, she swiftly yanked it over herself and flopped down with a grin.
"You really think I'm going back tonight? In this state?"
"I'm serious," he said, tugging at the blanket gently.
In the tug-of-war, he stumbled and landed on top of her with a thud.
Silence.
Their eyes met. Inches apart. Her breath hitched. His hand froze on the edge of the blanket. She didn't move.
Time slowed.
"You're warm," she whispered. "Like a wolf who's been running."
He swallowed, muscles tensing. "I didn't mean to—"
Before he could get up, her hand snaked around his neck, gently pulling him close.
"Stay," she murmured. "I want to watch something beautiful for once… up close."
He froze again, blinking at her words. There was no flirtation in them — just raw honesty. Almost sadness.
He cleared his throat, finally breaking free and sitting up. "I'll sleep somewhere else."
She tilted her head and gave a sly grin. "If you leave, I'll scream."
He looked back, unimpressed. "Scream all you want."
And she did.
Loud.
His eyes widened in panic as she screamed, "AHHH! HELP! I'M IN A STRANGE HOUSE WITH—"
He leapt across the room and clamped his hand over her mouth, eyes wild. "Okay! Okay! Fine!"
She giggled against his palm. He cursed under his breath.
"You're psychotic," he muttered.
"I'm exhausted," she replied sweetly, pulling the blanket back up.
He slid under the blanket beside her reluctantly, rolling to the far edge like she carried a disease.
They didn't speak after that.
The only sound was the hum of the ceiling fan and the buzz of his phone as he scrolled absently through social media, trying to forget the warm presence next to him.
But somewhere between reading a news article and checking a text from Jiwon, Claire shifted in her sleep — her leg tossing over his, pinning him in place.
He jerked in surprise, looking down.
"Yah," he whispered, nudging her gently. "Get off."
She didn't move.
Just breathed deeply, her face peaceful in sleep.
He sighed, defeated, and let his head drop against the pillow.
"Unbelievable," he muttered, turning away from her.
🌤️ Morning After
When he woke the next morning, the space beside him was empty. Panic struck him for a second, until he heard the sound of movement outside.
He padded barefoot to the terrace, ruffling his messy hair.
There she was — Claire — standing in one of his oversized shirts, barefoot still, holding a chipped mug of coffee like it belonged to her.
The sunlight kissed her cheeks, painting her golden and unbothered.
He blinked. "Where'd you get that?"
She smiled without turning. "From the kitchen."
He paused. "…You… went in my kitchen?"
"Uh-huh. Found the coffee jar in the third cabinet. Didn't know you had almond milk. Nice touch."
His jaw tightened. He stormed inside to see the war zone she left behind.
She hadn't meant to make a mess of his kitchen. But the urge to do something familiar, something normal, had pulled her like a tide. The coffee had been burnt. The pan — blackened. She smiled faintly, hearing him yell as he discovered it.
"Claire!" came Youngjae's voice from inside. "What the hell did you do in here?! Did a hurricane come through or did you just throw war with the kitchen?!"
She turned her head slightly. "I was making coffee. You're welcome."
"You call this coffee? You burned the pot! The stove looks like it's been hit by an explosion."
She sipped slowly. "Not all explosions are accidents. Some are expressions."
He appeared at the doorway, hair tousled from sleep, a white shirt barely buttoned, and an expression that teetered between outrage and disbelief.
"I should've let you freeze outside last night."
She gave him a look. "But you didn't. That's what matters."
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Why are you like this?"
She smiled, that unreadable smile that always made him more nervous than comfortable. "Because someone has to be. Otherwise, how would you survive boredom?"
He threw her a pair of folded clothes — the ones she wore last night. "Put those on. I'll get you a cab."
Claire stared at them. "That's it? You're just throwing me out?"
"You said you'd leave in the morning."
"I also said I'd come back."
His expression flickered. "Why would you come back?"
She leaned her head to the side, studying him. "Because curiosity is a dangerous thing. And I think I owe you a bit of chaos. Consider it... repayment."
He didn't answer. But the way his hand tightened around the doorframe told her he wasn't unaffected.
To Be Continued....