Junghoon POV
I noticed Sunhee's beauty the way one notices a crack forming in glass.
Not suddenly.
Not loudly.
But once seen, impossible to ignore.
It wasn't the kind of beauty that demanded attention. She didn't glow or command a room. She existed softly, like something meant to be discovered slowly. The curve of her mouth when she thought no one was watching. The way her hair fell into her face when she read. The small crease between her brows when she was worried about things she never spoke aloud.
I hated myself for noticing.
Because noticing meant looking.
And looking meant wanting.
She started spending time in the common spaces sitting by the window in the late afternoons, sunlight touching her skin like it trusted her. Ravenhill House dimmed itself around her, shadows retreating, noises lowering their voices.
The house watched her the way I did.
With unease.
One evening, I found her in the kitchen, standing barefoot on the cold tiles, sleeves rolled up as she washed dishes that didn't need washing.
"You don't have to clean," I said.
She smiled without turning around. "I know. I just like making places feel… lived in."
That word struck something in me.
Lived?
No one had ever tried to live here.
They only survived.
Or died.
I leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching water slide down her wrists. My thoughts grew unfamiliar too warm, too human.
Dangerous.
"You stare a lot," she said gently.
I stiffened. "You don't seem bothered."
"I would be," she replied, finally looking at me, "if it felt wrong."
Her eyes held mine.
The house shifted.
I felt something tighten in my chest, something that had nothing to do with fear or control. My heartbeat lost its steady rhythm. I turned away before she could see it.
That night, I dreamed of her laughing inside the walls not trapped, but free.
I woke up furious.
Sunhee POV
Junghoon scared me.
Not because he was cruel.
But because he was empty.
I had felt haunted places before. I had grown up sensing sadness in rooms, grief clinging to corners like dust. But Junghoon wasn't haunted the way the house was.
He was hollowed out.
When I first arrived, I felt the house recoil from me but Junghoon leaned closer, like he was trying to understand what he had lost the ability to feel.
I noticed him watching me when he thought I wasn't looking. His eyes didn't roam they studied, like he was afraid I might disappear if he blinked.
Sometimes, late at night, I could feel him pacing above my room. Restless. Torn. The house whispered angrily around him, but he never listened fully anymore.
That was when I realized something unsettling.
He wasn't in control of the house.
The house was in love with him.
And it hated that he was changing.
One morning, I found him sitting on the stairs, head in his hands, shadows clinging to his shoulders like hands that didn't want to let go.
"Did you sleep?" I asked.
He shook his head.
Without thinking, I sat beside him.
The house held its breath.
He smelled faintly of dust and old books. His hands trembled slightly, like someone holding back a storm.
"You don't have to stay here forever," I said quietly.
He laughed a broken sound. "You don't understand. This place is all I am."
I looked at him
My chest ached.
"I think," I said slowly, "you're more than what hurt you."
He didn't answer.
But his shoulder brushed mine.
And he didn't move away.
Together
After that, things changed in ways neither of us named.
He stopped sabotaging the house for a while.
I stopped pretending I didn't feel watched.
We shared quiet moments tea at dusk, silence that felt heavy but not hostile. The house watched us with growing resentment, its whispers sharpening whenever we stood too close.
Junghoon looked at me like I was a question he was afraid to answer.
I looked at him like an injury that needed patience.
Neither of us said the word love.
But something had already begun.
Something fragile.
Something the house would not forgive.