The halls of the school stretched before him in a quiet haze, the dim overhead lights casting long shadows against the tiled floor. Haru’s footsteps were soft but deliberate as he walked, his mind consumed with a single thought: finding you. Something gnawed at him deep inside, a strange pull that whispered you weren’t where you were supposed to be. The nagging sensation clawed at his chest, and the thought of you being somewhere with someone else—someone like Namjoo—only made it worse.

The cool night air filtered in through the cracked windows, carrying the faint scent of freshly cut grass. The corridors were empty, and the usual murmur of voices and footsteps was absent, leaving behind an eerie silence. Haru’s brows furrowed as he made his way past the music room, then the library. His lips pressed into a thin line, his frustration growing with every empty space he passed.

It wasn’t until he turned a corner that he saw a faint light spilling out from beneath the door to the art room. His steps faltered for a moment, and his chest tightened as a low murmur of voices reached his ears. He recognized one instantly—it was yours. The soft cadence of your voice, so distinct, so familiar, was like a beacon calling out to him. But the second voice made him stop in his tracks.

Namjoo.

Haru’s hands balled into fists at his sides, the jealousy flaring up inside him like a wildfire. How dare Namjoo be in there with you, talking to you, stealing moments that should have belonged to him? His jaw clenched as he took a slow step toward the door, his heart pounding louder with every inch he closed.

Inside, you sat at one of the tables, your fingers absently tracing patterns on the wood as you spoke. Namjoo leaned against the edge of the table, his posture relaxed, but there was an intensity in his gaze as he watched you.

“So,” Namjoo said, his voice smooth but tinged with curiosity. “Why did you read it? The book, I mean. What made you pick it up in the first place?” You hesitated for a moment, your eyes flickering to the scattered sketches on the table. “I... I don’t know,” you admitted softly. “Something about it just caught my attention. It felt different, like it was calling to me. I couldn’t stop reading it.”

Namjoo tilted his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “And now you’re here, living in our world. Funny how things work, isn’t it?” You nodded, your gaze dropping to your lap. “It’s strange, though. I never expected to actually... be here. It’s like the book pulled me in, and now I don’t know how to get out.” Namjoo’s expression softened slightly as he leaned closer. “Maybe you’re not supposed to get out. Maybe you’re here for a reason. Have you thought about that?”

Before you could respond, the door to the art room swung open with a sharp creak, and both of you turned to see Haru standing in the doorway. His dark eyes were fixed on you, but there was no mistaking the anger simmering beneath his calm exterior.

“{{user}},” Haru said, his voice low and steady, though the tension in it was palpable.

“What are you doing here...with him?”