Chapter 6: Rooftop Distance
901 Words
The wind was always louder on the rooftop.
It carried the faint hum of the city below, the scent of pine from the school gardens, and the sharp chill that slipped easily under Mirae’s hoodie. She leaned against the railing, tray abandoned on the bench beside her, her untouched sandwich still wrapped. Her hands were curled into fists inside her sleeves, knuckles white.
She could still hear Taewoo’s voice, teasing, cruel, unshakable.
I like strays. They’re the most loyal when you feed them.
The words clung to her skin. Her face still burned from the way everyone had stared. And Rihan, sitting across from her, watching silently — not mocking, not protecting, just observing.
Why couldn’t they leave her alone? Why couldn’t she just be invisible?
The rooftop door opened. Mirae’s shoulders tensed, ready to leave.
But the footsteps were steady. Familiar.
She turned.
Kang Joonseo stepped out, school blazer over his shoulders, hair damp from practice, racket bag slung against his side. His presence filled the space immediately — quiet, controlled, colder than the wind.
Mirae’s breath caught.
Of all people, why him?
He didn’t glance at her right away. He set his bag down near the wall, unzipped his thermos, and took a slow drink. Only then did his eyes lift, meeting hers across the rooftop.
“You’re skipping lunch.” His voice was even, low, like a fact more than a question.
Mirae swallowed. “I wasn’t hungry.”
His gaze flicked briefly to the tray by the bench. “You didn’t eat yesterday either.”
Her throat tightened. “How do you know that?”
Joonseo looked away, unscrewing the cap of his thermos. “This school notices everything. Especially weakness.”
Her jaw clenched. “So I’m weak now?”
“You act like you don’t care,” he said quietly. “But you do. Too much.”
The words hit harder than they should have. Mirae lowered her eyes, staring at the concrete beneath her feet. He wasn’t wrong. Every whisper, every glance, every cruel word sliced deeper than she wanted to admit.
“I didn’t ask to come here,” she said softly.
“I know.”
The way he said it made her look up. His eyes were on her now, clear and sharp, yet softer than she’d ever seen them.
“You’re not a stray.”
The words startled her.
Mirae blinked. “…What?”
“Don’t listen to Taewoo,” Joonseo said, his voice still steady. “He only pushes to see where people break.”
Her chest ached. “Why are you telling me this?”
He didn’t answer right away. He recapped his thermos, set it down carefully, and walked to the railing beside her. The distance between them closed until she could feel the edge of his presence — not touching, but close enough that her heart sped in panic.
He rested his hands against the rail, looking out at the courtyard below. “Because if you break, it’ll make living in that house harder for both of us.”
Mirae’s stomach dropped. Of course. It wasn’t concern. It was convenience.
She let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Right. Because I’m a burden.”
Joonseo turned his head, eyes narrowing. “That’s not what I said.”
“Then what did you mean?” she demanded, voice shaking.
Silence. The kind that pressed down harder than words.
Finally, he looked away, jaw tight. “Forget it.”
Mirae stared at him, heat rising in her chest. She wanted to argue. To push. But her courage fizzled as fast as it had flared. Instead, she pulled her hoodie tighter and stepped back.
“You don’t have to worry about me,” she muttered. “I’ll survive.”
Joonseo didn’t move, didn’t follow. His expression was unreadable, but something flickered in his eyes as she walked toward the door.
Before she pushed it open, his voice reached her back.
“Mirae.”
She froze.
His tone was quieter this time. Not cold. Not sharp. Just her name, spoken carefully, like he wasn’t used to saying it.
She waited, holding her breath.
But nothing followed.
When she glanced back, he had already turned away, hands resting on the railing, face hidden in shadow.
---
That evening, the mansion was colder than usual. Mirae ate dinner in silence, her mother chatting nervously with Chairman Kang while Joonseo kept his eyes fixed on his plate. The air between them was thick, stretched tight like a string ready to snap.
Baek Taewoo wasn’t there — invited to some party, probably — and Harim had texted her once after school, just a simple “Are you okay?”. She hadn’t answered. She didn’t know what to say.
After dinner, she wandered the garden alone, the lanterns glowing faintly against the stone paths. The koi pond rippled in the night breeze, soft light catching on the water’s surface.
She sat on the bench, pulling her knees up to her chest, hugging them close.
She hated this life. The whispers, the stares, the feeling of being a mistake. But she hated even more how her chest still tightened when Joonseo looked at her, when Harim smiled, when Rihan’s eyes sharpened, when Taewoo leaned too close.
She wanted invisibility. Safety. Distance.
But she was already tangled in their world. And there was no way out.
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- Writer
