Chapter 12 – Lines We Can’t See
1117 Words
The night after her confrontation with Joonseo stretched endlessly.
Mirae lay flat on her bed, hands pressed to her chest, eyes wide in the dark. Every blink replayed the same moments: his voice cutting the air, his eyes locked on hers, the way his self-control trembled when he said I can’t.
What did he mean? Why couldn’t he? The words turned over and over until dawn spilled through the curtains and she couldn’t bear the stillness of her room any longer.
She slipped from bed, the marble cold beneath her bare feet, and wandered into the garden. The air was damp and heavy with the scent of pine. Mist hung above the koi pond like smoke. She sat on the wooden bench, pulled her hoodie around herself, and tried to quiet the ache inside.
For a while there was only the drip of water from the eaves and the low hum of the city beyond the gates. Then a familiar voice, still rough with sleep, broke through.
“Couldn’t sleep either, huh?”
Harim’s voice.
He appeared at the top of the stone path, jacket unbuttoned, hair tousled, two steaming cups in his hands. Even half-awake he carried that easy warmth that followed him everywhere.
Mirae managed a small smile. “You always know where to find me.”
“That’s because you always run to the quietest place.” He offered a cup. “I figured the quiet needed company.”
She accepted it, the paper warm against her palms. “Thank you.”
They sat side by side. Steam curled between them, mixing with the mist. Harim stretched his legs out, sighing. “It’s too early for school politics.”
Mirae gave a faint laugh that wasn’t really a laugh. “It never sleeps.”
He glanced at her. “You heard them again?”
“I don’t have to. I can feel it. Every time I walk through a hallway, the noise changes.” Her fingers tightened around the cup. “I hate that sound.”
Harim was quiet a moment before saying, “You know, they talked about me when I first came here too.”
She looked up. “You?”
He nodded. “My family’s rich, but not that rich. I smiled too much, helped people too easily. They said I was fake. It hurt. Still does, sometimes.”
Mirae studied his profile. “You never show it.”
“That’s the trick,” he said softly. “Smile first. Let them think you don’t feel anything. It confuses the mean ones.”
“I can’t do that.”
He turned toward her fully now. “You don’t have to. You’re honest. That’s rarer than you think.”
Her throat tightened. “Honest just makes me easier to hurt.”
“Maybe,” Harim said, “but it also makes people care.” He paused, choosing his words. “When Joonseo spoke up for you yesterday, that wasn’t pity. That was… something else.”
Mirae’s pulse quickened. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t talk about him.” She looked away, watching a koi cut through the water. “I don’t know what it means, and I don’t want to.”
Harim nodded slowly. “Okay. Then we won’t talk about him.”
He sipped his coffee, then added in a lighter tone, “We can talk about breakfast instead. Have you eaten?”
She blinked. “No.”
“I knew it.” He stood, brushing off his pants. “Come on. The kitchen’s probably empty now. I’ll make toast.”
Mirae hesitated, but he was already walking toward the house, glancing back with a grin that left her no room to refuse.
---
The kitchen felt different in the early morning — no staff, no polished silence, only sunlight creeping through the blinds. Harim hummed under his breath as he dug through the cupboards. Mirae leaned against the counter, the smallest smile tugging at her lips.
“You really know your way around,” she said.
“I told you, I’m practically a stray here,” he teased, tossing bread into the toaster. “One of the perks of being Joonseo-hyung’s unofficial little brother.”
She tried to laugh, but the mention of Joonseo made her stomach twist. Harim noticed the way her shoulders tensed. He didn’t press.
When the toast popped, he spread strawberry jam on both slices and slid one to her. “Eat.”
“You’re bossy,” she muttered, but she took a bite. The sweetness hit her tongue, startlingly normal after days of tension.
“Better?” he asked.
“A little.”
“Good.” He leaned on the counter beside her. “You know what I like about you, Mirae?”
She blinked. “What?”
“You’re the only one here who doesn’t pretend. Even when you try to hide, you’re real.”
Her eyes met his. There was no teasing in his expression this time, only quiet sincerity.
“That’s why it bothers me when they talk about you,” he went on. “You deserve better than their noise.”
Mirae swallowed hard. “Why are you always kind to me?”
He smiled, gentle now. “Because you look like you need someone to remind you that you’re not alone.”
Something in her broke. The tears she’d fought all night slipped free. She turned her face away, embarrassed. “I hate crying.”
“You’re allowed to,” he murmured.
When she didn’t move, he reached out slowly, letting his fingers brush her sleeve before resting a warm hand over hers. “You don’t have to be brave every second.”
For the first time in weeks, she let herself lean just slightly toward another person. The silence between them wasn’t heavy anymore. It felt safe.
---
Unseen from the corridor window above the kitchen, Seo Rihan watched. His reflection hovered ghost-like against the glass, unreadable. He had come to fetch a report for the council meeting, but his eyes hadn’t left the scene below — Mirae’s small form, Harim’s gentle smile, their quiet closeness framed by morning light.
Rihan’s fingers drummed once against the railing. “So that’s how it is,” he murmured, half to himself. But the faintest flicker of something — curiosity, jealousy, maybe both — crossed his usually calm face.
Outside, the sun climbed higher, scattering the mist from the garden and burning away the morning’s softness. Whatever peace Mirae had found there would not last long. None of them knew it yet, but the lines between friendship, protection, and something far more dangerous had already begun to blur.
---
- Writer
