The next few days passed by quietly, and for the most part, they had been good.
Jane settled into her routine with ease—attending her classes during the day, then returning home to join in the usual activities with her housemates. The rhythm of it all was simple, ordinary, and in its own way, comforting.
Professor Kim even found time to speak with her. Their conversation was kind, steady, focused on her adjustment to the new environment and how she was getting along with the people she lived with. Jane answered respectfully, choosing her words with care. And, as expected, somewhere between all the polite exchanges, Professor Kim asked about her son—Ryan.
Ryan was… different. Unlike the others, he wasn't friendly or welcoming. Instead, he carried himself with a sharp, unyielding edge. Rude, cold, and endlessly irritating—that was Ryan summed up in three words. He was a jerk through and through. But still, she reminded herself, her purpose there was to watch him. No matter how unpleasant he was, she had to keep her focus.
Of course, she didn't tell Professor Kim all of that. Jane kept her tone neutral, respectful, careful. She only mentioned lightly that Ryan was rude at times, that he had a way of making the others upset, and that the rest of the housemates seemed used to his behavior by now. It was the truth, but softened—delivered in a way that didn't sound accusing.
And then there was Ivan.
The one exception.
Around Ivan, Ryan changed. The sharpness dulled, the coldness softened, and the bossy attitude that seemed permanent in him simply disappeared. It was almost like he melted in Ivan's presence, and the transformation was so stark, so unexpected, that Jane couldn't help but be quietly amazed each time she saw it happen.
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After everything, the day finally wound down, and it was time for her to head back home.
The evening air was cool, brushing against her skin as she walked. Jane slipped her headphones over her ears, letting the familiar sound of K-pop fill her head. The beat carried her steps, light and rhythmic, and with every song she felt like she wasn't just walking down an ordinary street—she was a main character in some kind of movie, the city lights playing the role of her stage, her heart synced with the music. She loved that feeling, the little bubble where reality almost looked cinematic.
By the time she reached the house, the sky was deepening into night. Inside, the living room was hushed and dim, the only light coming from the soft flicker of the television and a small lamp tucked into the corner. A few of the housemates were gathered together, their faces glowing faintly in the light of the screen. Jane noticed the movie right away—Titanic. The soft hum of dialogue and the distant strains of music floated through the room, wrapping the moment in a strange warmth.
A part of her ached to join them, to just sink into that easy comfort, but then the thought pricked her: Who was she, really? Just someone passing through. Just someone living here for a while. Eventually, she would be gone, and whatever bonds she thought about forming would dissolve with her absence. She was just a—
"Hey, Jenny," Tim's voice cut through her thoughts, calm but clear.
Her lips pulled into a small, polite smile, though her chest tightened. She had told him so many times—she wasn't Jenny. But Tim only grinned and shrugged every time, insisting that he'd call her by whatever name he thought suited her best. And Jenny, apparently, was the one he had chosen. So Jenny she became, at least to him.
Jane lifted a hand in a small wave, returned his greeting with a smile, and kept moving. The stairs were her escape, her safe direction. Better to disappear quickly before the weight of wanting pulled her in.
But then—
"Hey… come join us," Kiara called softly, her voice kind and hopeful.
Beside her, Chloe nodded, her eyes warm.
Jane froze. Words couldn't capture how much their kindness meant to her. Kiara and Chloe had never treated her like she was temporary, never like she didn't belong. The thought of sitting with them, of sharing that little piece of comfort, tugged at her heart. She wanted to say no, to brush it off, but she also wanted to say yes. To be part of the laughter, the closeness, the moment.
Her bag slipped from her shoulder, landing gently near the staircase as she made her decision. Slowly, almost shyly, she crossed the room and walked toward them.
"Don't you have homework or something?"
Ryan's voice broke through the air, sharp and cutting. His pretty eyes rolled as he spoke, each word laced with irritation.
Jane's stomach knotted instantly. Of course—it had to be him. Why was he asking that? What business was it of his? The truth was clear in his tone: he didn't want her there. Not now, not ever.
She hated him. Hated the way he always had something to say, always hyper, always pressing on her nerves. He was impossible.
"Shh…" Ivan murmured, his hand tapping Ryan's shoulder as if to quiet him. Ryan fell silent, though the storm still lingered in his expression. Jane could see it, plain as day—he didn't want her sitting there. Not near them. Not near him.
The weight of it sank into her chest, heavy and unwelcome. Suddenly the warmth of the room felt suffocating. She had tried—she really had—but she wasn't about to let Ryan ruin her mood.
With a steady breath, she rose to her feet. "I've got things to do anyway," she said quietly, brushing it off as if it didn't matter. She turned, heading for the stairs once more.
Her footsteps faded upward, and a few of the housemates exchanged looks—sharp, annoyed, disappointed. Their eyes fell on Ryan, silently blaming him for what had just happened.
But it was Ivan who lingered, his gaze fixed on Jane's retreating figure until she vanished from sight. Something twisted inside him, a sharp edge he hadn't felt before. The way Ryan had driven her away, the way she'd looked so small as she left—why did it stir something so violent in him? Why, for the first time, did he feel like he could kill Ryan?