He doesn't move at first.
Just sits there.
Still.
Processing.
Then—
slowly—
Niran lifts his hand… and lightly wipes his cheek.
Once.
Then again.
Like he's checking if it actually happened.
His expression shifts—
not embarrassed.
Not flustered.
Just… confused.
"…that was unnecessary," he mutters under his breath.
Behind him—
I'm already hugging my penguin like I didn't just commit emotional warfare.
Then he turns.
Points at me.
"Get off the bed."
I blink.
"…what."
"Floor," he says flatly. "Sleep there."
I stare at him.
"…no."
"Yes."
"I just came back from the hospital."
"Exactly. You should be closer to the ground."
"That makes no sense."
"It does to me."
I roll my eyes and flop further into the bed.
"…I'm sleeping here."
He watches me for a second.
Then sighs.
"Fine."
I smirk slightly.
Victory.
"…but first," he adds, "go take a shower."
I freeze.
"…what."
"You smell like hospital."
"I smell like survival."
"You smell like chemicals."
I sniff my sleeve.
Pause.
"…okay, maybe a little."
He nods.
"Go."
I groan.
But sit up anyway.
Because he's not wrong.
Because I feel gross.
Because everything still feels… off.
I stand slowly, stretching a little—
wincing.
"Careful," he mutters.
"…I am," I reply.
Again.
Still not true.
I grab my jacket—
start pulling it off—
then walk toward the bathroom.
He moves past me casually, grabbing a towel like he lives here.
Which… he kind of does.
"Don't take too long," he says.
"Yes, mom."
"I am not your mother."
"Good."
"Rude."
I push the bathroom door open—
then pause.
Because behind me—
he's crouched slightly.
Holding Mr. Fluffington.
And whispering.
I don't even mean to listen.
But I hear it anyway.
Soft.
Quiet.
"…thank you."
I blink.
He taps the plush lightly.
"Because of you…"
A pause.
"…I got kissed today."
My brain stalls.
Completely.
He exhales.
Almost like he's thinking out loud.
"…no one's done that before."
Another pause.
Quieter now—
"…not even my mom."
Something in my chest shifts slightly.
Annoying.
Unexpected.
I roll my eyes anyway.
"…so annoying," I mutter.
Then quickly step into the bathroom—
before he notices I heard anything.
Door closes.
Water runs.
Steam fills the space slowly.
I lean against the wall for a second.
Just… breathing.
Then I shake my head.
"…he's ridiculous," I mumble.
But I'm smiling a little.
Just a little.
Outside—
a knock.
Light.
Then the door opens.
Ara steps in.
Her eyes scan the room once.
Sharp.
Focused.
"Where's Min-Jun?" she asks.
Niran glances toward the bathroom.
"Shower."
She nods once.
Then steps further in.
Calm.
But there's something else under it.
Urgency.
Niran notices immediately.
"What happened?" he asks.
She looks at him.
Direct.
"…I need to show him something."
A pause.
Her gaze flicks toward the bathroom door.
"He's in the shower," she adds.
Niran leans back slightly.
"Then wait."
Silence settles.
Not heavy.
Just… expectant.
Like something is about to shift again.
And this time—
it won't be small.
----------
NIRAN POV
The bathroom door clicks open.
Steam slips out first.
Then him.
Min-Jun steps out, hair damp, sleeves slightly too long, looking… annoyingly soft for someone who nearly died a day ago.
I lean against the wall, arms crossed.
Waiting.
Watching.
He stops when he doesn't see Ara.
Brows pulling together slightly.
"…where is she?"
"She left," I say easily.
No hesitation.
No pause.
Nothing in my hands.
Nothing for him to question.
He studies me for a second.
Like he's trying to read something that isn't there.
Then—
"…did she give you something?"
Straight to it.
Of course.
I shake my head once.
"No."
Simple.
Flat.
Believable.
He exhales.
"…okay."
And just like that—
he lets it go.
Too trusting.
Too easy.
…good.
He turns away, dragging a hand through his damp hair.
"…I'm fresh. I'm sleeping."
I watch him move.
Still slower than usual.
Still careful.
He thinks I don't notice.
I always notice.
"You have energy, really?" I mutter. "How's your back?"
He freezes.
Then turns his head just enough to glare at me.
Sharp.
Warning.
I immediately look away.
"…okay. No back talking."
I'm not stupid.
He looks like he might actually hit me.
Which—fair.
He should.
He goes to his drawer, pulling out his pajamas.
Soft fabric.
Loose.
Comfortable.
Too fragile.
Then—
he pauses.
Looks back at me.
"You shouldn't just sit there."
I raise a brow.
"Oh?"
"You walk, you talk, you touch things, you sleep…" he gestures vaguely at me, "why can't you remove your clothes and take a bath? Ghosts do that, right?"
…
I click my tongue.
Slow.
Disappointed.
"…how can you be this stupid," I mutter, voice low. "Sweetie."
Not soft.
Not kind.
Mocking.
Entirely.
He glares at me.
"…don't call me that."
"I'll call you worse if you keep talking."
He crosses his arms.
"Then explain."
I sigh.
Like this is exhausting.
Because it is.
"That's not how this works," I say, pushing off the wall. "I don't 'change.' I don't 'clean.' This—" I gesture to myself, "—isn't physical like yours."
He blinks.
"…so you're permanently stuck like that?"
"Yes."
"That's tragic."
"That's efficient."
"That's unhygienic."
I stare at him.
"…I'm a ghost."
"And still."
I scoff.
Turn away.
"Go to sleep."
He mutters something under his breath.
Probably insulting.
Deserved.
Then he finishes changing.
Soft pajamas.
Barefoot.
He climbs onto the bed—
and immediately winces.
Small.
Quick.
But I see it.
Of course I do.
He grabs that ridiculous penguin—Mr. Fluffington—and pulls it against himself like it's going to solve anything.
Then he drops back.
Eyes closing.
Trying to pretend everything is fine.
I move before I think.
Closer.
Standing beside the bed.
Watching him.
He turns his face slightly—
and catches me staring.
"…what."
I don't answer.
Just look at him.
Long enough to annoy him.
Then—
"…no, no. Continue sleeping," I say, tone flat. "You have no problem. You have nothing to worry about."
He narrows his eyes.
"…you're being weird."
"You're alive."
"That's not an answer."
"It is today."
He huffs.
But he doesn't argue further.
Just shifts slightly—
trying to get comfortable.
Failing.
I step closer.
The mattress dips slightly as I sit on the edge.
He doesn't react immediately.
Pretends not to notice.
Of course.
Then—
I reach out.
Careful.
My hand hovers over his back for a second.
Then rests there.
Light.
Cold.
He tenses instantly.
"…what are you doing," he mutters.
"Fixing it."
"You're not a doctor."
"I don't need to be."
He exhales.
Annoyed.
But doesn't move away.
Good.
I focus.
Not like before.
Not like anger.
This is… controlled.
Quiet.
I press just slightly—
letting that cold presence sink in deeper.
Not force.
Not sharp.
Just… steady.
The ache in him—
I can feel it.
Dull.
Heavy.
Lingering from the fall.
I push against it.
Not removing it—
just softening the edges.
Like smoothing out something jagged.
He exhales slowly.
And then—
"…that actually helps," he admits.
I don't look at him.
"I know."
"…don't get used to it."
"Too late."
He shifts.
Just slightly closer.
Barely noticeable.
But I feel it.
I don't comment.
I'm not stupid.
Silence settles.
He relaxes under my hand.
Finally.
Breathing evening out.
Eyes still closed.
But not tense anymore.
"…you're quiet," he murmurs.
"You're sleeping."
"I'm not."
"You should be."
A pause.
Then—
"…you're hiding something."
My hand stills for half a second.
Just a fraction.
Then continues.
"No."
"You are."
"I'm not."
"You are."
I lean slightly closer.
Voice lower.
"Min-Jun."
He pauses.
"Sleep."
That tone again.
Final.
He exhales.
Gives up.
"…fine."
His grip on the penguin loosens slightly.
Not fully.
Never fully.
But enough.
His breathing slows.
Body finally giving in.
I keep my hand there a little longer.
Until the tension fully leaves.
Until the pain dulls into something manageable.
Only then—
I pull back.
Slow.
Careful.
And for a moment—
I just sit there.
Watching him.
Annoyingly soft.
Annoyingly fragile.
…mine to protect.
I glance toward the chair.
The notebook sits there.
Silent.
Heavy.
Waiting.
My jaw tightens slightly.
Then I look back at him.
Sleeping.
Peaceful.
Unaware.
…
"…not yet," I murmur quietly.
And I don't touch the notebook.
Not tonight.