I Want You (R18)

Just as sleep began to pull me under, the soft creak of wood shattered the silence of my suite.

My eyes snapped open. Instinct flared before conscious thought. I sat up fast, heart slamming once against my ribs, every sense sharpening in the dim spill of moonlight through the tall windows.

Someone stepped out of my wardrobe.

For a split second the shadows made the figure look wrong, too still, too deliberate until the grin cut through the dark like a blade of pure mischief.

Yerin.

She stood there in the same grey hoodie and denim shorts she'd worn at the park, cap long gone, dark hair a little mussed, mask hanging loose around her neck. The grin on her face was wide, unrepentant, and completely at home in the middle of my bedroom at whatever ungodly hour this was.

"Yerin?" My voice came out half-whisper, half-disbelief. "What the hell are you—"