Boundless

제 5 장

He said he had to go to the office.
I felt guilty—he would be tired, overworked.
But he didn't complain.

For two days after, he texted constantly.
Encouraging words. Silly jokes. Sweet nothings that made me smile like an idiot in the break room.

I didn't see him in person—his schedule a whirlwind of responsibilities and expectations—but I felt him.
In every message, every blooming thought of him.
And I missed him more than I wanted to admit.

Ms. Oh hadn't looked me in the eye since.
Mrs. Kim, meanwhile, wore her disapproval like perfume—thick and unmistakable.
She couldn't even meet my gaze, flustered and tight-lipped whenever Jae's name was mentioned.
I didn't care what Ms. Oh thought. But Mrs. Kim? Her opinion stung more than I liked to admit.

The older kids teased me relentlessly whenever Jae sent flowers to the school.
They asked when he'd visit again.
Their joy made my heart lighter, like each question floated me further from the loneliness I'd once clung to.

That day, as class ended, I packed my things, ready to leave—
when someone grabbed my arm and spun me into warmth.

Jae.

He wrapped his arms around me from behind, burying his face in the crook of my neck.

"You smell so good," he whispered against my skin, his voice tickling, warm. "I'm so glad I get to see you again."

I turned to face him and he smiled, eyes drinking me in.

"You look so pretty today."

That made me beam.

But his smile faded.

"Don't do that," he said seriously.

I blinked. "Do what?"

"Smile like that." His gaze dropped to my mouth. "You'll kill me. I'll have a damn heart attack."

I smacked his shoulder, laughing.
He laughed too, boyish and bright, before grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the stairs.

"Jae—what are you doing? We're in public!"

He grinned. "Can't I just hold your hand? I don't care about anyone else."

I looked around. People were staring. Whispers followed us. Fingers pointed.

My anxiety kicked in and I gently slipped my hand from his.
He stopped and turned, confusion dancing across his face.
I bit my lip and gestured at the watching eyes.

He squinted, then rolled his eyes with a smirk.

He climbed a few stairs, came close, and without a word—
took my face in his hands and kissed me.

Right there.

"Jae!" I gasped, laughter bursting from me as he threw his head back, grinning, the tip of my ice cream cone gone—stolen by his mischievous mouth.

His lips were streaked with my vanilla and strawberry swirl, and he looked proud of it.

He had chocolate and peach, a strange combination that suited him somehow.

"Athena," he called sweetly.

"What?"

He swiped a dollop of ice cream onto his finger and smeared it on my nose.

I shrieked, and he ran.

"Jae!"

His baritone laughter echoed in the night.

When I caught up, his hair shimmered gold under the streetlights.

"Why did you dye your hair?" I asked in Korean.

He shrugged and took my hand.

"My father said I looked pale. Dead. Told me not to show my face until I warmed it up."

His voice was casual, but it weighed more than he let on.

I remembered—his father, a senator. A man who owned three elite schools. A man of image.

"It's not what it seems," Jae said, seeing the thought in my eyes. "He just cares too much about appearances."

I bit my lip and nodded.

I finished my cone and reached for hand sanitizer. He tossed his away. I took a step toward him—
and stumbled.

I landed on my knees in front of him, embarrassed.

Jae knelt instantly, eyes wide.

"Are you alright?"

He was always so gentle, like the soft hush of wind at summer's end.
He was steady, grounding.
He had become the current beneath my wings.
And I realized, then—

I was falling.

I cupped his face, my hands trembling, and kissed him.

He stilled in surprise—then melted into me, his lips pressing back with a tenderness that stole the air from my lungs.
Tears burned at the edges of my vision, but I didn't pull away.
Not until the need to breathe became too loud.

When I did, his eyes remained closed, holding onto the kiss just a second longer.

Then they opened—dark and deep, shadowed with want.

"Athena," he murmured, voice low and dark, "come home with me."

"Will I be coming home afterward?" I whispered.

He smirked, leaning back slightly.

"No. You won't."

He pulled me into him. I felt the heat of him, the hardness pressing against me.
I smiled.

"Then I'd love to."

We raced to his car under a sky still humming with stars,
ready to find each other again—
ready to write another chapter in the dark.