Just Twilight

Drenched from head to toe, Junyoung stood frozen at the doorway, clutching the doorknob. Her shoulders shuddered irregularly as she stared at the floor. Beomjin, caught off guard, could only call her name.

“Why are you standing there half-naked? Are you some kind of pervert?”

Her sharp voice wavered at the edges. Beomjin stared blankly at her retreating back as she stomped past him, her wet footsteps echoing through the space. She climbed the stairs without hesitation, her rain-soaked skirt clinging to her thighs. As more of her legs were exposed, Beomjin hurriedly turned his head and shut the door to block the wind and rain from entering.

From upstairs, a scream erupted, bouncing off the walls and filling the house.

“AAAAHHH! I HATE IT! I HATE IT SO MUCH! IT’S INFURIATING! I HATE ALL OF THEM! ALL THOSE RICH PEOPLE WITH EVERYTHING! I HOPE THEY ALL LOSE EVERYTHING! AAAHHH!”

Beomjin smirked as he caught sight of her flailing and thrashing on the bed, muffled by the blanket she’d thrown over her head. Her hair, damp with sweat, stuck to her forehead as she writhed.

“Well, let it all out. It’s time to wash that mess anyway,” he muttered.

“ARGH! AARGH!”

Shaking his head, Beomjin wiped off the sweat from his workout at the sink, slipped on a T-shirt, and sat down in her chair. From his spot, he could occasionally see her arms or legs flailing above the second-floor railing. Propping his chin on his hand, he let a faint smile cross his face, unaware of how soft his expression had become.

Her screams eventually subsided, replaced by silence. Moments later, the blanket was thrown aside, and she stormed downstairs. Her disheveled hair looked like a bird’s nest, and Beomjin had to clench his teeth to stop himself from laughing.

“You’re wearing something I haven’t seen before,” he remarked, frowning slightly as he stood.

Junyoung froze for a moment, clutching the hem of the oversized shirt awkwardly before snapping, “I got it from that house.”

“…What?”

“I spilled juice on my clothes, and they told me to change. They gave me this—the shirt their employees wear. They did it on purpose, to mock me.”

Beomjin, who had been about to pull a towel from his bag, paused and slowly turned to face her.

“Then why are you still wearing it?”

Junyoung glared at him, her hands sweeping her damp hair out of her face. “What else was I supposed to do? I left in such a hurry that I didn’t bring anything to change into.”

She hadn’t even finished speaking when Beomjin tugged off his T-shirt and held it out to her.

“Put this on. Ignore the sweat. That thing’s too wet to keep wearing.”

Junyoung hesitated but eventually took the shirt, her lips twitching in reluctant acceptance.

She glanced at the rain falling outside before heading back upstairs, leaving Beomjin to stand by the sink. Understanding her unspoken signal, he turned his back to give her privacy.

What kind of people invite someone over and send them out in the rain without an umbrella? What if she gets sick?

Anger bubbled up inside him as he noticed the veins bulging on his clenched fists.

“Are you going to wear anything else? Or do you have a change of clothes?”

Peeking cautiously from the staircase, Junyoung appeared in his oversized shirt, which hung loosely on her frame like a sack. Beomjin motioned toward her damp shirt.

“Toss it here.”

“You’re going to wash it for me? Do you enjoy doing laundry or something?”

Ignoring her sarcasm, he caught the shirt she lightly threw at him. Grabbing both sleeves, he yanked sharply, tearing the fabric with ease. The ripping sound filled the room.

“What the—?!” Junyoung’s outraged yell echoed from above.

“Why did you rip it? What a waste!”

“…A waste?”

“I was going to repurpose it! The material was good!”

Beomjin sighed and shook his head at her indignant expression, half her body leaning over the railing.

“I can’t tell if you have pride or not.”

Her defiant expression faltered, and her gaze dropped to the floor. In a quieter voice, she mumbled, “It’s practicality. The fabric was nice.”

Her response left him momentarily speechless. He chuckled softly, glancing back up at her just as she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Instead of showing off your strength, why don’t you put something on?”

“Why? You like looking at me, don’t you?”

“You pervert!” Junyoung screeched, slapping her hands over her ears as if trying to drown him out.

“I’m telling you to wear something because it’s cold! The air inside is chilly from the rain. If you don’t have anything, at least wrap yourself in a blanket!”

The unexpected concern caught him off guard. Sometimes, the way Junyoung casually cut straight to his core infuriated him.

Still smiling faintly, Beomjin climbed the stairs. Junyoung sat cross-legged on the bed, gathering the blanket and offering it to him. He pushed it back toward her.

“Keep it. I’m not cold.”

“Didn’t you know? When I wear your T-shirts, they’re basically long sleeves,” she teased, shaking her sleeves, which hung down to her wrists.

In moments like these, she seemed like nothing more than a kid—someone who still needed protecting.

Junyoung knelt and draped the blanket over his shoulders. He stayed still, feeling his body heat rise as the faint scent of her shampoo brushed against him.

Should I ask what happened? Or should I ask about her mother?

If he didn’t say something, she might slip away.

Before he could decide, Junyoung’s calm voice broke the silence.

“You still have a scar on your neck.”

He turned to look at her, her chin resting on her knees. Her damp hair clung to her pale face, and her long lashes cast shadows across her cheeks. She was so close he could see every delicate detail.

Breaking his gaze, Beomjin sighed softly.

“You shouldn’t hit people,” he said.

“When would I ever—” Junyoung began, before trailing off.

“Your mother’s got a heavy hand. Do you take after her? That’s kind of scary,” Beomjin said, his tone teasing.

Junyoung blinked and glanced sideways at him, shaking her head.

“You’ve got the weirdest sense of humor, you know that?”

“At least it’s on par with yours,” he retorted.

“Want me to test if I take after her?” Junyoung raised a clenched fist, shaking it menacingly.

“How often does she hit you?”

Her fist froze mid-air. Beomjin took a short breath, turning to look at her.

Under her long lashes, her clear eyes trembled slightly. His voice lowered.

“Is it serious?”

“No,” she snapped, cutting him off quickly.

Her expression stiffened awkwardly as her fingers tapped against her thigh in a nervous rhythm. For a moment, Beomjin thought she wouldn’t answer, but then she muttered bitterly.

“It’s like a seizure. You just have to wait it out. As long as I’m careful when she starts throwing things…”

The sight of her biting her lip, her shoulders tight with shame, made his chest ache. He had expected her to say something like this, but the guilt she carried as if it were her fault burned him.

“Your turn,” Junyoung said suddenly, breaking the tense silence.

Beomjin frowned, turning his head sharply toward her. She met his gaze with wide eyes, unbothered by his usual intimidating glare.

Her calmness only irritated him further. His face, still tense, twisted into a scowl as he leaned his head against his hand.

“For what?”

“Tell me about your dad or whatever’s like my mom to you. Fair’s fair.”

Junyoung shrugged, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

A soft, disbelieving laugh escaped him. Of course, it would be Junyoung’s solution to demand equal vulnerability in exchange for hers. That was just like her—straightforward and oddly practical.

But the underlying meaning wasn’t lost on him. She wasn’t trying to pry. She was offering to share the burden, to create a balance between them. It was her way of saying she wanted to keep whatever fragile connection they had.

Still, it wasn’t easy. Beomjin rubbed his lips with his thumb and sighed.

“My dad was a thug. The real kind. He died a few years ago.”

He didn’t look at her as he spoke, but he caught her reaction out of the corner of his eye. Her lips parted slightly in surprise.

Regret bubbled up instantly. Why did I say that?

But at the same time, he felt a strange lightness in his chest, as though a weight he hadn’t noticed had been lifted.

If Junyoung’s "mother" was her inescapable shadow, his "father" was his. A presence that shaped his life in ways he couldn’t control or avoid.

Admitting it to her wasn’t just about her demand for fairness. Somewhere deep down, he wanted her to know. And it had to be her.

Even when his father was alive, school hadn’t been easy. After his father’s death, it became a battlefield. Violence, cloaked in the guise of revenge, chased him relentlessly. He’d run, fought back, and eventually ended up here.

Of course, he didn’t intend to share all of that.

The silence stretched. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, afraid of what he might see in those big, perceptive eyes. Afraid she might be scared of him now.

His lips twisted into a bitter smile as he broke the silence.

“So? Did you get your answer? Regretting asking?”

“Not exactly…” Junyoung’s voice wavered for a moment before she continued, faster this time.

“But it sounds like you’re better off than me. At least he’s gone.”@@novelbin@@

Her unexpected response made him turn toward her involuntarily. He found no fear in her expression, only a calm, almost detached acceptance.

It was Beomjin who felt unsettled by her words. Raising a brow, he replied in a low voice, “I don’t mean a small-time thug. I’m talking serious stuff.”

“Still. He’s dead, right? What’s scarier, a dead king or a living tyrant?”

What are you even saying?

He stared at her, baffled, while Junyoung shrugged as if her grim comparison made perfect sense.