Min-jae doesn't look back as he gets into the taxi.
He doesn't need to.
The door slams shut, the engine starts, and the car pulls away from the curb like nothing happened. like he didn't just unravel me piece by piece in public. The red taillights disappear into the dark street, leaving behind nothing but cold air and the echo of his voice in my head.
I stand there longer than I should.
Frozen.
The city resumes its rhythm around me. cars passing, distant laughter, footsteps but everything feels muted, like I'm underwater. My wrist still burns where his fingers were earlier, even though he hasn't touched me since.
That's when I notice him.
The boy stands a few feet away, hands tucked into his pockets, posture relaxed but alert. He's watching the road where the taxi vanished, not me. His gaze is sharp, calculating, as if he's memorizing every detail of Min-jae's exit.
As if he's making sure the threat is truly gone.
Something about that unsettles me more than it should.
When he finally turns, our eyes meet for a brief second. There's no pity in his expression. No curiosity either. Just quiet awareness.
Then he looks away.
I take that as my cue to leave.
The walk home feels longer than usual. The streetlights flicker overhead, casting long shadows that stretch and distort with every step I take. My heels click against the pavement, too loud in the silence, and I find myself counting my breaths just to stay grounded.
One step.
Two.
Three.
I hear footsteps.
My shoulders tense instantly.
I tell myself not to panic. People walk at night. This is a city, not a horror story. Still, my pace quickens, heart hammering as I clutch my bag tighter against my side.
The footsteps match me.
I turn a corner. So does the footsteps do.
Cold fear creeps up my spine.
Min-jae?
Someone else?
I don't look back. Looking back has never saved me.
By the time my apartment building comes into view, my hands are trembling. Relief washes over me, fragile and fleeting. I rush up the steps, fumbling with my bag as I reach my door.
"Come on," I whisper under my breath, fingers digging through fabric. "Come on…"
My keys slip from my grasp.
They hit the ground with a sharp clatter.
I freeze.
My breath catches painfully in my throat. Slowly. too slowly. I bend to reach for them, every nerve screaming that this is how it happens. This is when someone grabs you. This is when you're too late.
Before I can pick them up, another hand does.
I spin around, my bag raised instinctively, ready to swing.
Then I stopped.
It's him.
The boy from earlier stands there, holding my keys loosely in his palm. Up close, I notice things I didn't before. the faint shadow under his eyes, the quiet steadiness in the way he carries himself, the calm that doesn't feel fake.
He looks… real.
"I think you dropped these," he says simply.
My heart is still racing, but the fear dissolves into something else—embarrassment, relief, confusion. I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding and lowered my bag.
"Thank you," I say, and then, unexpectedly, I smile.
The smile surprises even me.
It feels… bright. Unguarded. Like something that escaped before I could stop it.
He hands me the keys and steps back slightly, giving me space. "Do you want help with the door?"
I hesitate for half a second before nodding. My hands are shaking too badly to pretend otherwise.
He turns the key smoothly, opens the door, and gestures for me to go in first. I step inside, the familiar scent of my apartment wrapping around me like a shield.
"Thank you," I say again, softer this time.
I turn to face him, the words What's your name? already forming on my lips.
That's when my phone vibrates.
Once.
Twice.
Then again.
I glance down.
Min-jae: Did you get home safe?
Min-jae: I'm worried about you.
Min-jae: You know I only act that way because I love you.
Min-jae: You make me lose control sometimes.
Min-jae: Don't shut me out. You know I'd do anything for you.
My chest tightens painfully.
The screen keeps lighting up, message after message. love tangled with blame, affection twisted into guilt. My smile fades. The warmth I felt moments ago evaporates, replaced by something heavy and familiar.
I look up.
The boy is watching me.
Not my phone.
Not the door.
Me.
And for a terrifying moment, I wonder how much he understands.
The phone vibrates again in my hand.
I don't know which is worse. that Min-jae knows where I live, or that someone else now knows what he's capable of.
I step inside and close the door quietly, my heart pounding as the lock clicks into place.
Behind the door, my phone keeps buzzing.
And in the hallway outside, the shadows linger just a little longer than they should.
The silence inside my apartment is deafening.
I lean my back against the door, fingers still curled around my phone, watching the screen light up again and again. Each vibration sends a sharp jolt through my chest, like a reminder that no wall is thick enough to keep him out.
I should turn the phone off.
I don't.
My breathing comes out uneven, shallow, as if my body hasn't realized yet that I'm alone. Safe. If this counts as safety.
I slide down slowly until I'm sitting on the floor, knees pulled to my chest. The cold seeps through my clothes, grounding me just enough to stop my hands from shaking completely. I stare at the door for a long moment, half-expecting the handle to turn.
It doesn't.
Outside, the hallway remains quiet.
Still, I picture him there. Min-jae, leaning casually against the wall, phone in hand, smiling to himself because he knows exactly what he's doing. He always does. He knows how long it takes before the guilt starts to work, before fear and affection blur into something I mistake for love.
My phone buzzes again.
Min-jae: I didn't mean to upset you.
Min-jae: You know how much pressure I'm under.
Min-jae: You're the only one who understands me.
My throat tightens painfully.
Understanding him has always come at the cost of myself.
I press my palm against my forehead, squeezing my eyes shut, memories crashing into me without permission. His apologies. His anger. His tenderness right after the hurt. The way he'd hold me and tell me I was safe, even when I wasn't. Especially when I wasn't.
A tear slips free before I can stop it.
I swipe it away angrily.
Don't cry.
He doesn't deserve that.
But my body doesn't listen. It never has.
I unlock the phone, staring at his name like it might bite me if I hesitate too long. My thumb hovers over the keyboard. If I reply, he'll calm down. He always does. If I don't, he'll escalate.
The thought alone makes my stomach churn.
Another message arrives.
Min-jae: Why are you doing this to me?
There it is.
The shift.
I drop the phone onto the floor beside me like it burned my skin. My chest aches, the familiar pressure building behind my ribs. I focus on breathing slow, counted breaths just like I learned after the first time he made me feel like disappearing.
One…
Two…
Three…
A faint sound outside interrupts me.
Footsteps.
My heart leaps violently.
I scramble to my feet, pressing my ear against the door, pulse roaring in my ears. For a second, I'm sure it's him. Sure he followed me. Sure I was stupid to think I could get away so easily.
But the steps don't stop in front of my door.
They pass.
Slow. Measured.
Then silence again.
I let out a shaky breath and slid the chain lock into place, even though the door is already locked. Even though I know it wouldn't stop him if he really wanted to get in.
Still… it helps.
I move deeper into the apartment, switching on the small lamp in the corner. The soft glow feels kinder than the harsh overhead light, less exposing. I sit on the edge of my bed, phone in my hands again despite myself.
More messages.
Min-jae: That boy—who is he?
Min-jae: You embarrassed me tonight.
Min-jae: I don't like it when other men look at what's mine.
My breath catches.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
My fingers tremble as I type.
I don't know him.
The words feel too easy. Too practiced.
I stare at the message for a long time before hitting send.
The reply comes almost instantly.
Min-jae: Good.
Min-jae: Because you don't need anyone else.
A chill runs through me.
I place the phone face down on the bed and stand abruptly, pacing the small space like a trapped animal. Every corner feels too close, the ceiling too low. I press my palms against the window, peering out into the dark street below.
Nothing.
No taxi.
No familiar figure.
Just shadows and streetlights.
I tell myself I imagined the footsteps. I tell myself the boy left after making sure I got inside. That he has his own life, his own destination, and that I was just a passing moment to him.
Still… something pulls at me.
I open the door just a crack.
The hallway is empty.
But the air feels… different. Charged. Like someone was here moments ago.
I close the door again, heart pounding.
Back inside, I sit on the bed, hugging my pillow tightly to my chest. My phone buzzes once more, softer this time, almost hesitant.
Min-jae: I love you.
The words sink into me like a hook.
I swallow hard, staring at the screen, my mind splitting in two—the part of me that knows better, and the part that still aches for his approval. The war inside me feels endless, exhausting.
And then, unbidden, another image surfaces.
The boy's eyes.
Not warm.
Not cold.
Certain.
The way he stood there as Min-jae boarded the taxi. The way he followed at a distance, never close enough to frighten me, never far enough to abandon me. The way he didn't ask anything of me. not my story, not my gratitude, not even my name.
Just watched.
Protected.
My chest tightens for a different reason now.
I don't know why he did it. I don't know what he wants. I don't even know his name. But the thought that someone saw everything and didn't look away makes something fragile inside me ache.
I turn my phone off.
The silence that follows is terrifying and freeing.
I lie back slowly, staring at the ceiling, listening to my own breathing. My body begins to relax against my will, exhaustion finally dragging me under. As sleep creeps in, one thought lingers, heavy and unavoidable.
Min-jae hasn't let go.
And somewhere out there, neither has the boy.
Tonight was only the beginning.