The hallway was too quiet after the bell.
It was the kind of silence that followed a storm — the air thick with tension, everyone waiting for aftershocks.
And they were coming.
Because everyone had seen it.
The video of Haru punching Jiwoon had already hit three group chats before lunch ended.
Screenshots. Slowed-down clips. Edits with music.
And with each one, the line between rumor and reputation blurred even more.
Now it wasn't just Aara they feared.
It was the two of them.
Together.
She found him on the third-floor stairwell — same place he always went when he wanted to be alone but knew she'd find him anyway.
He was sitting on the steps, elbows on his knees, eyes distant.
His knuckles were red. One split. Dried blood crusted beneath the nail.
Her boots scuffed against the concrete as she walked up.
He didn't look at her.
Not right away.
"You didn't have to do it," she said quietly.
"Yes, I did."
A beat passed.
"You should've let me finish it."
Her mouth tensed. "You mean the punch?"
"No. I mean the message."
She sat down beside him.
Close, but not touching.
"I know what you're doing," she said. "You think if you scare them enough, they'll stop talking."
"They will stop."
"No, Haru. They'll just get smarter. They'll whisper instead of shouting. They'll dig instead of guess."
He looked over at her now, eyes burning.
"Then let them dig. I'll bury whatever they find."
She didn't flinch.
But she did look away.
Because the truth was…
Part of her wanted that.
Not the violence. Not the bruises.
But the silence that followed it.
The way people moved out of her way now.
The way Jiwoon's blood had shut up a room full of laughter in seconds.
It wasn't justice.
But it felt like power.
And she was so, so tired of feeling powerless.
"I didn't ask you to do it," she said softly.
"I don't care."
"I didn't want you to."
"You did," he said. "You just didn't say it."
Her breath caught.
And he wasn't wrong.
That was the worst part.
She turned to him, eyes hard. "This can't keep happening."
"Then stop me."
"I will."
"Lie better."
Silence.
Sharp.
Ugly.
Real.
Haru leaned forward, elbows on his knees again, voice low.
"I know how this ends, Aara."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You'll try to pull back. You'll say I'm too much. Too violent. Too close. And one day, you'll mean it. You'll leave. And I'll still be here."
His hands tightened into fists.
"Still wanting to break the world just to keep your name safe in my mouth."
She stared at him.
Not out of fear.
Not even out of pity.
But because she saw herself in that.
In that need to burn something just to feel clean.
In that urge to make the world pay for things it would never admit it took.
She reached out — slow — and touched his wrist.
He froze.
Then looked at her.
"I'm not leaving," she said. "Not yet."
Haru swallowed hard. That one moment — that one line — landed harder than any punch he'd thrown that day.
"You're not scared of me," he said.
"No."
"You should be."
"Why?"
"Because I'm not afraid of losing control anymore."
Her fingers tightened around his wrist.
Then she said it — the one thing she hadn't let herself say until now.
"Neither am I."
They sat in that stairwell for a long time.
Not talking.
Not touching beyond that one small connection — her hand on his wrist, his breath tangled with hers.
It wasn't romantic.
It wasn't comforting.
It was devastating in its honesty.
And for the first time in weeks…
They weren't trying to protect each other from the darkness.
They were just sitting in it.
Together.