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Summary
“Would it be easier if you called me Young-il?”
Her reaction is visceral. Her eyes snap to his, sharp with something indignant, something almost offended. “What?”
Would it be easier for you?” he repeats, slowly, like he’s testing something. “If I was Young-il?”
She blinks once, then twice, as if trying to gauge whether she’s hearing him correctly. “You aren’t Young-il.”
His lips curl—too sharp for a smirk, too controlled for a snarl. “But I was.”
“No.” Her voice is steady. "You acted like him.”
"And yet, it felt real to you, didn’t it?”
She exhales sharply.
“I remember how you looked at me,” he continues. “Like you—”
“Don’t.” She spits the word before he can finish the thought.
But In-ho just leans in, eyes glittering with something too alive, like he’s pressing on a bruise just to see how much pain it can take before it gives. “You trusted Young-il.”
She doesn’t answer.
“You cared about him.”
Still, nothing.
His eyes flutter softly, and then he leans forward, lowering his voice. Gentle, like he’s offering an olive branch. “It wasn’t a lie.”
Her stomach tightens.
“Did it feel like one?”⋆ Sequel to 'Error.'
Series
- Part 2 of The Dancer
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