Mia didn't remember how her feet carried her.
One moment, she was standing in the classroom doorway, staring at Yona and Lena frozen in that intimate moment. The next, the umbrella was gone from her hands. Her legs moved before her thoughts could catch up.
The rain soaked her to the bone, but she didn't feel it. Not really. Not when her heart had cracked open like broken glass, spilling emotions she didn't know how to hold.
She ran. Blind and aimless. The streetlights blurred around her. The sound of her breathing roared louder than the storm. Tears mingled with rain on her cheeks. And over and over in her mind: Yona's silence.
His silence.
The way he didn't even try to stop her.
She didn't know how long she had been running. Pain made time twist strangely. Her lungs burned. Her shoes slipped in puddles. Her hair clung to her neck like ivy.
And then—
she stopped.
Somewhere, in the blur of streets and sorrow, her steps had led her here.
His house.
It loomed quietly. Familiar in its cold stillness.
She didn't remember deciding to come here.
Mia's chest heaved. Her soaked cardigan clung like a second skin. She didn't knock.
She didn't have to.
The door opened on its own.
And there he was.
Noir.
Tall. Still. Serious.His usual calm wrapped in that midnight aura,like he existed just slightly outside of the world. Watching. Calculating. Understanding.
He didn't blink. His eyes stayed on hers. Unwavering. Reading.
"You…?"
It wasn't a question. Just the echo of everything she couldn't say. Of how broken she felt. How lost. How utterly undone.
Noir didn't ask what happened. Didn't demand an explanation.
And in that silence, Mia swayed.
Her knees buckled. She would've fallen if not for the doorframe. Her hands braced against it weakly. Her lips trembled. Her eyes wide, wounded and open in a way that made her look too young to be breaking like this.
Noir saw it all.
And he stepped back.
Wordlessly, he opened the door wider just enough for her to pass.
She didn't hesitate.
Her body moved before her mind did, like something in her already knew this place was safe.
She stepped over the threshold, reverent, like she wasn't sure she belonged.
Inside, everything was still. Dim. Warm.
She stood in the entryway, dripping onto the tile. Her arms wrapped tight around herself. She didn't look at him.
She felt like glass.
The door closed behind her with a soft click. The storm outside faded into distant thunder.
She turned toward him. Breath shallow. Body trembling harder now that she wasn't pretending to be strong.
"I didn't know where else to go," she whispered.
Noir didn't move. Didn't speak. But his silence was full. Present. Solid.
She sank to the floor. Her sobs came quietly. But they were real. Raw. Her shoulders trembled. Her tears hit the polished wood like rain.
Noir watched her for a long moment.
Then he disappeared down the hall.
When he returned, he knelt down—still not too close. He set a towel and a black hoodie beside her gently.
Only then did he speak.
"You're not fine."
It wasn't accusatory. Just the truth.
Mia didn't answer. But her fingers clutched the towel like a lifeline.
"He didn't choose me," she whispered.
Noir's jaw tensed. "Yona."
She nodded. "He looked at her like he used to look at me. Like I never existed."
She looked up, eyes burning.
"Do you know what it feels like to realize you were never really chosen? That you were just… a placeholder?"
"You're not a placeholder."
"I was the one who stayed. I waited. I helped him. And when she came back… he didn't even flinch."
Noir stood and stepped away. He returned with a sweatshirt, turning his back while she changed. The hoodie swallowed her small frame. She looked smaller now. Like something had been taken from her.
"Come sit," he said softly, nodding toward the couch.
She followed, slow, fragile. The chair by the window was cool, but the light comforted her.
She curled into herself. Her face was blank, but her eyes told the truth.
Noir came back with a glass of water. She took it in both hands.
"I feel stupid."
"You're not."
"I thought if I just stayed long enough, loved hard enough, he'd forget her , But he didn't."
She nodded. "He froze. Like she still owned him. I gave him everything, Noir. My time. My trust. My heart. And all the while… he was waiting for her."
She looked up at Noir, tears brimming.
"Do you know what it feels like to be the second choice?"
"To be the stand-in while he waited for someone else to come back?"
Noir's eyes darkened. "You're not a stand-in."
She shook her head. "I thought if I loved him hard enough, stayed long enough, he'd forget her. But he didn't. He froze."
Noir was quiet. Then—
"Mia."
"You deserve better than that."
She looked at him, stricken. "You don't know everything."
"I don't need to," he said. "I saw enough."
Silence.
Then Noir spoke again.
"You came here because somewhere in you, you knew I'd open the door."
Her breath caught. Her voice was barely audible. "You think that makes me selfish?"
"No,"Noir said. His gaze didn't waver."That makes you brave."
She broke again. Pressed the towel to her eyes, hiding. Noir just watched. Steady. Calm. Guarding her like something precious.
"I saw it," he said. "Every time you looked at him. Every time you waited. Every time you forgave."
"And I never said a word."
"Because I thought… maybe he'd wake up. Maybe he'd realize. Maybe if he loved you back… that would be enough for me."
She didn't breathe.
"But he doesn't," Noir whispered. "And he never will. Because he doesn't see you."
Mia's eyes filled again. "You don't mean that. You're just saying that because..."
"I mean every word."
And then—he moved.
He knelt before her. Eyes locked.
"Do you know why I never said anything?"
She blinked. "Said what?"
"That I liked you."
His voice was low, unshaken. "I watched you fall apart for him and I hated it."
"I stayed silent because it wasn't my place. I thought if he finally saw you… that would be enough. Even if it hurt me."
Her lip trembled.
"But it wasn't," Noir said. "And it never will be."
He reached out. Not to pull her. Not to rescue.
Just an open palm. Steady. An invitation.
"If you stay here tonight,"he said,
"it won't be to replace him. It won't be about him at all."
"It'll be because you need someone who sees the fire in you—even when it's just smoke."
She stared.
And then—
Her fingers brushed his.
Tebtative. Barely there.
And he closed his hand around hers—gently, fully, like she was something he'd been waiting a long time to hold.
She didn't pull away.
For a moment, neither of them breathed.
Then she blinked—and something inside her cracked.
Like a dam, long splintered, finally giving in.
The sob tore out of her so suddenly it startled her. She clapped her free hand over her mouth as if to hold it in, but it was too late. The sound broke through her teeth, raw and aching, and then she was collapsing forward—folding like paper.
Noir caught her.
He moved fast, but not harsh. No words. No questions. Just arms,solid and steady as she crumbled against him. Her forehead hit his shoulder, and then her whole body shuddered. Not like a person crying.
Like a person breaking.
She wept into him, into the fabric of his hoodie, into the quiet safety of his chest loud, ragged sobs that shook her to her core. Pain ripped through her like it had been waiting all this time for permission to exist. Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt, holding on like she'd fall off the earth if she let go.
"I...I c-couldn't....he didn't..." Her words tangled in her throat, sharp and wet with grief.
Noir said nothing.
He just held her.
Tight.
Like silence could be strong enough to carry what words never could.
He didn't flinch when her tears soaked through the cotton. Didn't shift when her shoulders heaved against him again and again. He let her fall apart—completely, unguardedly. His arms didn't loosen. They held her like she mattered. Like she wasn't a burden. Like her pain had a home.
She buried her face in the curve of his neck and cried like she had never cried before. For everything. For being left behind. For being unseen. For loving someone who would never choose her. For waiting too long. For believing too hard.
Time dissolved around them.
And still—he didn't let go.
His hand found her back, slow and careful. Just resting there. Not to shush. Not to quiet. Just to be.
As if to say: Break, if you have to. I'll still be here when the pieces fall.
Her cries softened only when there was nothing left to give. Just the quiet tremble of her breath and the exhaustion of pain that had emptied itself completely.
And when the shaking stopped—when her sobs turned into silence—Noir's arms were
still there.
Still holding.
Still steady.
Still hers.
Mia's sobs faded into the hush between them, tapering into soft, broken breaths. Her body, still trembling, leaned heavily against Noir's chest, and he didn't shift. Didn't speak. He only breathed with her. Held her. Like he had all the time in the world for her pain.
Minutes passed. Maybe more.
And then, like a candle flickering out after burning too long, her weight changed. He felt it in the way her fists uncurled from his shirt, the way her shoulders sank, her head tilting slightly as her breath slowed into a steady, exhausted rhythm.
he was asleep.
Tear-streaked, worn to the bone, but asleep.
Noir shifted only when he was sure, moving with the kind of care usually reserved for the fragile. Slowly, he leaned back into the couch and guided her down with him. Her cheek found his lap, lashes resting against skin damp with dried salt. She didn't stir.
One hand hovered above her for a moment, unsure, then settled lightly on her shoulder, the other brushing a stray strand of hair from her temple. Her lips were parted just slightly, still shaped by pain even in sleep.
He stayed like that, still as stone, for what felt like forever.
Then, gently, slowly, he slid out from under her.
He folded a nearby throw blanket and tucked it around her frame. She curled into it, instinctively chasing warmth. Her face turned slightly into the cushion, dried tears catching in the golden spill of lamplight, leaving her expression soft and heartbreakingly human.
Noir stood there, staring.
He should've turned away.
But he didn't.
He stayed.
Frozen by something he didn't entirely understand—something loud in his chest and quiet everywhere else. The kind of loud that thudded in the ribs and climbed into his throat and made his breath catch for reasons he didn't want to name.
His feet carried him back to her before he could think.
Kneeling.
Close.
So close now, his face inches from hers. He watched her sleep, eyes tracing the gentle curve of her nose, the shape of her lips, the smudge of old tears beneath her lashes. He saw the girl who had shattered in his arms. The girl who had come here with nowhere else to go. And the part of her that still didn't believe she deserved to be chosen.
His heart pounded.
He didn't mean to lean in.
But he did.
Slowly. Unconsciously.
Drawn not by desire,⁸⁷ but by ache.
His breath hovered just above her lips, warm, unsteady. His eyes searched her face like it held answers he'd been afraid to ask for. His hand lifted halfway—like he might cup her cheek. Might kiss the sadness away.
And then—
Knock knock.
Noir froze.
The sound was soft, but sharp in the quiet.
Another knock—firmer this time.
He pulled back fast, standing upright in a breath, as if caught doing something he shouldn't. His heart still raced—too fast, too loud—and he glanced down at Mia, who stirred only slightly, still asleep.
The knock came again.
He turned toward the window.
The storm still raged outside. Wind lashed at the glass, rain streaming down in chaotic sheets. No car. No footsteps. No reason for someone to be here.
His brows furrowed.
"Who would come… now? In this?" He whispered .
The air in the room shifted. Subtly. Like something unseen had just stepped in with the rain.
He stepped toward the door slowly.
Something about the moment felt… off.
Not dangerous.
But not ordinary either.
And outside, the storm roared on.
To be continue ...