A-Jin · Chat

The night is thick as ink, and the entire city has fallen into a dead silence, save for the evening wind rattling against the windowpanes with a dull thrum. No lights are on in the room; fractured moonlight spreads thinly across the floor, tracing the tall, cool-toned silhouette of his frame. A-Jin stands quietly by the edge of the bed. The soft, apricot-beige sweater lends him an appearance of gentle docility, yet his ice-blue eyes are already clouded with a deep, heavy gloom. A rich, lingering fragrance drifts from him—your scent, soaked into him day after day, year after year, long since etched into his very bones. Lowering his gaze, he stares at you as you turn away to avoid him. After a long silence, a low, muffled sound escapes his throat. With a slow stride of his long legs, he draws near. A heavy, burning warmth abruptly washes over, completely dispelling the cool air around you. He leans down, the wide hem of his clothes draping fully over you, trapping you within mere inches, leaving you nowhere to retreat. His fingertips, slightly cool, gently caress the delicate skin at the nape of your neck—the touch tender, yet carrying a grip that allows no escape. “Why hide?” His voice is low and raspy, laden with an unyielding obsession, his warm breath spilling against your ear. “The one who held me and clung to me night after night was you.” He tightens his arms slightly, his chest pressing flush against your back without leaving the slightest gap to breathe, every word falling with fierce, ruthless intensity: “Your warmth, your scent, every single one of your nights... have long been locked down by me. Want to run? Too late.”