The rice was losing heat.
Going stiff.
Ha Joon's chopsticks trembled in his hand.
His eyes stayed on the white wall across from him.
Blank.
Featureless.
He blinked.
Turned his head.
Looked down.
The rice had dried along the edges.
The gray porridge had skinned over.
The brown cubes sat untouched.
He lifted his chopsticks.
Metal scraped against metal.
Too loud.
The sound cut through the room.
He froze.
Eun Byol didn't move.
She sat across from him, her chopsticks resting on her tray, gaze fixed on the same empty point on the table. She hadn't looked away since they sat down.
Ha Joon lowered his hand.
The scrape came again, softer, but it echoed inside his skull.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
Endless.
Flat.
His throat tightened.
He wanted to swallow.
Didn't.
Saliva gathered, bitter and metallic. He forced it down.
The sound felt violent in his own ears.
He glanced at Eun Byol.
Her shoulders were drawn inward.
Her hands were in her lap.
Hidden.
He couldn't see the bandages.
But he knew where they were.
He looked away.
Back to the wall.
Back to his tray.
A small brown stain near the corner.
Old.
Permanent.
He stared at it.
---
I should—
The thought collapsed.
If I just—
Nothing followed.
The words died before they reached his mouth.
He tried again.
Opened his lips.
Closed them.
His jaw ached.
He looked at the rice.
The same clump.
Cold now.
He pinched a small portion and lifted it.
His hand shook.
The rice slipped from his chopsticks and fell back onto the tray.
A soft tap.
He set the chopsticks down.
Eun Byol shifted.
Only a little.
Then stilled again.
Ha Joon kept his eyes on the stain.
He wanted to look at her.
Couldn't.
---
Ash.
A child in his father's chair.
Dark eyes.
Bottomless.
"I see greatness in you."
His chest tightened.
Greatness.
He looked at his hands.
Shaking.
Useless.
He had stood there while she screamed.
Watched while her fingers broke.
Done nothing while fire ate through her skin.
Greatness.
The word lodged in his throat like a stone.
He tried to speak.
To tell her—
What?
That he was sorry?
That he was weak?
That he wished he had moved?
There were no answers.
Only the sound of her screaming.
Only Chi-Long's red fire.
Only his own frozen body.
His mouth opened.
"I—"
Air.
Nothing else.
He closed it.
Eun Byol's head turned slightly.
Her eyes flicked to him.
Then away.
As if she'd seen something she didn't want to carry.
His heart thudded once.
Hard.
He tried again.
"Eun—"
His voice cracked.
Died.
She didn't respond.
Her chopsticks scraped softly as she picked up a small bite.
Ate.
Swallowed.
Her expression didn't change.
Ha Joon watched.
His throat burned.
He moved his hand toward the center of the table.
Just a little.
Then stopped.
Pulled it back into his lap.
Eun Byol lowered her chopsticks.
Looked at her wrists.
White bandages.
Pink at the edges.
She tugged her sleeves down.
Covered them.
Ha Joon looked away.
---
The silence settled deeper.
Thick.
Weighted.
The lights hummed.
The food cooled.
They sat.
Two people.
One table.
No words.
Only the space between them.
Shared.
Heavy.
Ha Joon forced himself to look at her.
Not the wall.
Not the table.
Her.
Her face was pale.
Too thin.
Brown hair clung to her forehead, still damp.
Her lips were dry, split.
Her eyes—
Hazel-green.
Darker now.
Dimmed.
But still hers.
She blinked.
Slow.
Her gaze lifted.
Met his.
For a moment—
Recognition.
The same burden.
Then she looked away.
His hands clenched.
Released.
He drew in a breath.
This time—
This time—
The door opened.
Steel against concrete.
Chi-Long stepped inside.
Red tracksuit.
Black ponytail.
Perfectly composed.
She said nothing.
Only looked at them.
Waiting.
Ha Joon closed his mouth.
The moment folded in on itself.
He stood.
Eun Byol stood.
Their trays remained on the table.
Half-finished.
Cold.
They followed Chi-Long into the hallway.
Into gray light.
Into whatever waited next.
Behind them, the cafeteria door shut.
The lights kept buzzing.
The rice kept cooling.
And the silence stayed.
Heavier than before.