The rhythmic *drip-hiss* The shower head echoed against the tiles. Cold water pooled beneath Eunwoo's cheek, soaking the edge of the white towel wrapped around his waist. He blinked. The grout between the tiles was stained a dull grey.
"Eunwoo? Are you there?"
A muffled voice hammered against the bathroom door. Eunwoo didn't move. His limbs felt like leaden weights anchored to the floor.
"Eunwoo! You've been in there for forty minutes. Some of us have an eight-a.m. lecture."
He pushed himself up, his palms sliding on the wet ceramic. His head throbbed. He looked at the counter where he usually left his phone. Empty.
"I'm coming out," Eunwoo said. His voice sounded like it belonged to a stranger—hollow and brittle.
"Finally. You okay? You look like you saw a ghost."
His roommate, a lanky boy with messy hair, stood in the hallway clutching a loofah.
"Just tired," Eunwoo replied, his eyes scanning the small dormitory room.
"Did you lose your phone again? I tried calling you last night to see if you wanted takeout. It went straight to voicemail."
"I... I must have dropped it."
"Rough night?"
"Something like that."
dressed in silence. Every movement was a chore. The fabric of his sweater felt abrasive against his skin. He reached for his bag, his fingers ghosting over the pocket where his phone should have been. It wasn't there. Song Kang had it. The memory of the man standing in his room, the predatory stillness of his posture, and the way he had reached out to snatch the device flashed behind Eunwoo's eyes.
"You're not even going to dry your hair?" his roommate called out as Eunwoo headed for the door.
"It'll dry on the way."
The campus café was a swarm of caffeine-starved students and the sharp scent of roasted beans. Eunwoo found a corner table, his back to the wall. He stared at a plate of untoasted bread.
"You look like you're waiting for an execution."
Lee Jung Suk pulled out the chair opposite him. He looked impeccable—a sharp contrast to Eunwoo's dampened hair and shadowed eyes. He didn't wait for an invitation. He slid a thick, unmarked manila envelope across the polished wood.
"Eat something, Eunwoo. You're pale."
"I'm not hungry."
"The coffee here is terrible, but the pastries are passable. Try the croissant."
Eunwoo looked at the envelope. It sat between them like a live grenade. "Is this it?"
"Everything we discussed. Plus a little extra for the... complications."
"Complications." Eunwoo's laugh was a short, sharp sound. "Is that what you call him?"
Jung Suk's expression didn't flicker, but he reached for his coffee cup with a measured slowness. "I told you that you would have control. I didn't say the world would stop spinning around you."
"He was in my room, Jung Suk. Inside. How did he get in?"
"Song Kang doesn't ask for keys, Eunwoo. Doors simply stop being obstacles when he wants something."
"He took my phone."
Jung Suk paused, the cup halfway to his lips. He set it back down. "He took it?"
"He didn't like the name I saved him under."
"And what name was that?"
"It doesn't matter. He's insane."
"He's not insane," Jung Suk said quietly, leaning forward. "He's a man who has never been told 'no' and survived to hear the echo. You're a new sensation for him. A novelty."
"I don't want to be a novelty. I want the money and I want to be left alone."
"Then take the envelope. Put it in your bag. Walk away."
Eunwoo's fingers brushed the paper. The weight of it was surprising. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like you're sorry."
Jung Suk looked away, his gaze drifting to the window. "I'm not sorry. This is a business arrangement. You had a need, and I had a solution. But... be careful, Eunwoo. Novelties have a habit of getting broken when the owner gets bored."
"I'm not his property."
"He might disagree. Take the money. Go to class. Try to look like a normal student."
"I am a normal student."
"Not anymore," Jung Suk said, standing up. "Normal students don't carry that much cash in their backpacks. And they certainly don't have Song Kang's fingerprints on their skin."
Eunwoo watched him leave, the envelope heavy in his hand. He stuffed it deep into his bag and fled the café.
When he returned to his dorm room two hours later, the air felt different. It was the smell—something expensive, like cold rain and expensive leather. He looked at his desk.
A sleek, black box sat on top of his sketchbook.
Eunwoo approached it as if it might bite. He opened the lid. A brand-new smartphone lay nestled in velvet. He picked it up. It was already powered on. He swiped the screen. There was no lock code.
He opened the contacts. Only one was listed.
"Who are you talking to?" his roommate asked, walking in with a stack of books.
"No one," Eunwoo said, his thumb hovering over the screen.
"Wait, is that the new Titan model? How did you get that? Those are backordered for months."
"I... my parents sent it. A replacement."
"Your parents are loaded? Why are you living in this dump with me then?"
"It was a gift. Don't worry about it."
Eunwoo sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the contact name at the top of the list.
*Owner.*
He felt a shiver crawl down his spine that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. He set the phone face down.
The afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows of the arts studio, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. The room smelled of turpentine, linseed oil, and the faint, earthy scent of wet clay. Eunwoo stood before his canvas, his brush hovering over a smear of charcoal.
"The perspective is off."
Eunwoo jumped, nearly knocking over his easel.
A tall student with broad shoulders and a calm, steady gaze stood behind him. He wore a paint-smudged apron over a simple black t-shirt. This was Junghaeun. Eunwoo had seen him before—he was the one the professors always praised, the one who worked in silence and left before the critiques began.
"I wasn't finished," Eunwoo said, his heart racing.
"The horizon line doesn't care if you're finished. It's crooked."
Haeun stepped closer, the scent of cedar and turpentine following him. He didn't wait for permission. He reached out, took the charcoal from Eunwoo's hand, and drew a single, sharp line across the middle of the paper.
"Better," Haeun said.
"You could have just told me."
"Showing is faster. I'm Haeun."
"I know who you are."
Haeun tilted his head, studying Eunwoo's face instead of the canvas. "You look like you haven't slept in three days."
"I haven't," Eunwoo admitted. The honesty came out before he could filter it.
"Nightmares? Or just the city?"
"The city. And everything in it."
"Fair enough," Haeun said. He pulled a stool over and sat down directly across from Eunwoo. "The professor said we have to partner up for the final project. Comparative anatomy. You're the only one here who isn't trying to impress me, so you're my partner."
Eunwoo blinked. "I didn't agree to that."
"You didn't say no, either." Haeun picked up a pencil and began sketching on his own pad, his movements fluid and sure. "What are you afraid of, Eunwoo?"
"I'm not afraid of anything."
"Your hands are shaking. Your eyes keep darting to the door every time someone walks past. You're terrified."
"You're very observant for someone I've spoken to for two minutes."
"Artists see things. Most people just look. You look like someone who's being hunted."
Eunwoo gripped the edge of his easel. "I'm just stressed. Exams are coming up."
"Exams don't make a person look like they're waiting for a ghost to drag them into the basement," Haeun said, his voice low and surprisingly warm. "Sit. Sketch. If you want to talk, talk. If you don't, just draw the lines. But stop trying to hide. You're bad at it."
For the next hour, they worked in a silence that wasn't heavy or demanding. It was the first time in days Eunwoo felt like he could breathe. Haeun didn't ask questions. He didn't demand things. He simply existed in the space next to Eunwoo, a calm anchor in the middle of a storm.
"Your lines are getting smoother," Haeun remarked as the sun began to set.
"Thanks to your crooked horizon line," Eunwoo replied.
Haeun smiled. It was a small, genuine thing. "See? You can be sarcastic. That's a good sign. It means there's still a spine under all that panic."
"I should go," Eunwoo said, looking at the clock.
"Will you be here tomorrow?"
"I have to be. It's my major."
"Good. Don't let the ghosts win tonight."
Eunwoo walked out of the studio, the warmth of Haeun's presence fading as soon as he hit the cold evening air. The campus quad was nearly empty, the shadows of the cherry blossom trees stretching long and jagged across the grass. The petals were falling more thickly now, like pink snow.
The new phone in his pocket buzzed.
Eunwoo stopped under a flickering lamplight. He pulled the device out. His heart hammered against his ribs.
*One new message: Owner.*
He swiped it open.
*Did you eat today?*
Eunwoo stared at the screen. Three words. Simple. Almost mundane. But coming from Song Kang, they felt like a leash tightening. He looked around the quad. It was too dark to see into the shadows of the buildings. Was he there? Was he watching?
He typed back, his fingers trembling.
*No.*
The reply was instantaneous.
*Fix that.*
Eunwoo stared at the screen until it went dark. He felt the weight of the envelope in his bag, the weight of the phone in his hand, and the weight of a man he barely knew pressing down on his entire life.
He began to walk faster this time. His footsteps echoed on the pavement. He passed a small convenience store, the neon lights humming. He thought about the money. He thought about the way Song Kang had looked at him in his room—not as a student, not as a person, but as something to be curated.
The phone buzzed again.
*I'm waiting.*
Eunwoo stopped. "Waiting where?" he whispered to the empty air.
A black sedan sat idling at the edge of the quad, its headlights off. It looked like a shark resting in dark water. The driver's side window rolled down just an inch.
Eunwoo approached the car, every instinct screaming at him to run. He stopped three feet away.
"You shouldn't be here," Eunwoo said, his voice shaking.
"I go where I please," Song Kang's voice drifted from the darkness of the car's interior. It was smooth, like expensive silk over a blade. "Did you like the phone?"
"You can't just break into my room and leave things."
"I didn't break in. I walked in. There's a difference."
"What do you want from me?"
The door opened. Song Kang stepped out. He was dressed in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than Eunwoo's entire tuition. He stepped into the light of the streetlamp, the cherry blossoms falling around him. He looked like a god of something violent and beautiful.
"I asked if you ate," Song Kang said, ignoring the question.
"I'm not your project, Song Kang."
"You're my investment. And I don't like my investments looking haggard."
"Jung Suk gave me the money. We're done, aren't we? I did what was asked."
Song Kang stepped closer, invading Eunwoo's personal space until Eunwoo was backed against the trunk of a tree. He reached out, his thumb brushing Eunwoo's lower lip. It was a terrifyingly gentle gesture.
"We're just beginning, Eunwoo. The money was for your time. This..." he gestured between them, "...this is for my interest."
"I don't want your interest."
"Liar. Your heart is beating so hard I can see it through your sweater. You're terrified, yes. But you're not running."
"I can't run from someone who owns the doors."
Song Kang leaned in, his breath warm against Eunwoo's ear. "Smart boy. Now, get in the car. We're going to find you something to eat."
"I have a project. I have classes tomorrow."
"The world won't end if you miss a lecture. But your night will get significantly worse if you make me ask a second time."
Eunwoo looked at the car, then back at Song Kang. The man's eyes were dark, bottomless pits of intent. There was no mercy there, only a consuming sort of hunger.
"Why me?" Eunwoo whispered.
"Because you look like you're made of glass," Song Kang said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. "And I've always wanted to see if I could hold something fragile without breaking it. Or if I'd prefer the sound of it shattering."
Eunwoo reached for the car door. His hand hovered over the handle.
"Don't look so tragic," Song Kang said, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "It's just dinner."
"Nothing with you is just dinner."
"True. But you're learning. That's a start."
Eunwoo climbed into the leather-scented darkness of the car. As the door clicked shut, sealing out the sound of the wind and the rustle of the trees, he felt a strange, sickening shift in his chest. The fear was still there, sharp and cold. But beneath it, like a spark in a frozen forest, was something else. A heat he didn't want to acknowledge. A curiosity that felt like a sin.
Song Kang slid into the driver's seat and pulled away from the curb.
"Tell me about your day, Eunwoo. I want to know everything."
"There's nothing to tell."
"Start with the boy in the art studio. The one who touched your canvas."
Eunwoo froze. "You were watching me?"
"I'm always watching things that belong to me. It's a habit."
"I don't belong to you."
Song Kang steered the car onto the main road, the city lights blurring into long streaks of gold and neon. He didn't look at Eunwoo, but his grip on the steering wheel tightened.
"We'll see," Song Kang said softly. "The night is still young, and you have so much left to lose."
Eunwoo leaned his head against the cool glass of the window. He watched the campus disappear in the rearview mirror, the silhouette of the art studio fading into the dark. He thought of Haeun's calm eyes and the smell of cedar. Then he looked at Song Kang's profile, sharp and predatory in the glow of the dashboard.
The trap had snapped shut long ago. He was just now beginning to feel the teeth.