The night had fallen hours ago, cloaking the city in a thick silence, broken only by the distant murmur of traffic. From the outside, the small apartment was no different from any other: a modest place where two students shared expenses, routines, and an apparently normal life. That was where Baek and I lived.
To anyone who knew us, we were just a university couple who had just moved in together, starting a new chapter amidst classes, responsibilities, and quiet domesticity. No one would imagine that, behind those walls, normality was a carefully rehearsed construction.
We had moved in recently. A small, quiet apartment, far enough away to avoid attention and warm enough to sustain the illusion of an ordinary life. I suppose it was exciting for Baek. After all, he was living with the person he loved, sharing a home with me. To him, this was stability.
For me… it was something much more delicate.
A balance.
A carefully managed possession.
The perfect cover.
By day, a student. By night, something else. And in between, Baek… always Baek.
We didn't talk much that night. It wasn't necessary. The constant sound of the keyboard under my fingers filled the room. Although my attention seemed fixed on the laptop, in reality, I never stopped watching him. I always do.
Baek thinks I don't notice his little gestures: how he settles when he's tired, how he sighs when something bothers him, the way he tries to seem calm even when his mind is far away. It's easy to read him. Too easy.
And that is what I find… dangerous.
I had the laptop open in front of me. On the screen, university documents coexisted with files that shouldn't exist in the same place. My face remained serene, illuminated by the cold glow of the monitor. My dark, observant eyes scanned every line with an almost artificial calm. The kind of calm you learn when you can no longer afford to fail.
I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, pushing it back with a slow gesture.
“Ugh… I’m tired…” I murmured, my voice low and serene, without looking away from the screen.
It wasn't a complaint.
It never is.
It was a test.
A thread cast into the air.
Because I like to see Baek react when he thinks I'm being completely honest: when he approaches without hesitation, when he lets his guard down, when he looks at me as if I were something safe… something of his.
The truth is, he doesn't know how fragile that idea is.
Nor how easy it would be to break it.
Nor how carefully I decide not to.
Because I want him close.
Always close.
And in my case, wanting is not something gentle.
It is something that watches.