TILL DAWN95Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡonBM6zFl5o
(You can click the highlighted title for immersion.)
The signing had mellowed. Not collapsed, just softened like heat retreating into coals after the blaze. Fans still wandered, buzzing around clusters of conversation, snapping selfies, collecting glances, and holy grails. The air held a reverberation of earlier chaos, but even that was now threaded with breath.
Yena shifted her weight subtly, rolling her wrist between autographs. Her stylus glinted under the soft event lighting, tapping against a photobook with a steady rhythm only she would notice.
Beside her, Romance was the portrait of performative grace. Sharp pen strokes, practiced angles, the sort of faux-effortless charm that made the giggle-prone forget he was dangerous.
He hadn't addressed her all afternoon, but when a lull passed between fans, a few seconds of quiet breathing room. He angled just slightly toward her, enough to breach the edge of her awareness without pressing against her defenses.
"You truly seem tense. Is it because of me?" He says with a dreamy look towards her.
Yena's pen didn't move. "Keep dreaming as if your presence matters right now."
He chuckled under his breath. "People breathe deeper when I'm near."
"I imagine suffocation feels like that."
Romance lifted a glossy print for the next fan and signed it with a flourish. "Still... You're quieter today."
Yena's lips shifted slightly. "You mistake silence for weakness."
"No, I don't," he said, handing the print off. "I mistake it for calculation. You look different from before."
She paused. Her next signature was slower, almost thoughtful. "I just wanted my looks to reflect who I am."
"You look decent." He leaned in a fraction. "Take it as a compliment for a lady of your standards."
Yena looked up then. Not directly at him, just a tilt of the head, a flicker of focus past the stylus. "It's hard to believe you would give a genuine compliment."
"Because your glow-up makes it look like someone who's made peace with something painful." Romance's expression twitched. Something unreadable flickered, like a shutter caught mid-close.
Before Yena could answer, another fan approached. She resets, smile, and sign with dignity. It was an instinct now—the switch between public warmth and receiving jabs.
Romance shifted beside her, unusually quiet at this moment. He seemed to have second thoughts on his last comment, feeling stupid for the subtle insult to Yena.
Then came the girl. Young, trembling with excitement, eyes flitting between Yena and Romance like she was watching fireflies collide.
She spoke fast, nervously: "Hi, Yena! I just... wow! You look amazing and I—uh... I wanted to ask..."
Yena offered a calming nod, soft encouragement in her gaze, but the question that followed was anything but gentle.
"Are you two like forbidden lovers or something?"
The silence that dropped wasn't dramatic; it was surgical. Nearby fans tilted their phones. A subtle reconfiguration of attention, even those not listening were suddenly drawn in.
Yena blinked twice, trying to process the question like she had been hit with cold water. Romance looked shocked by the question for once.
The table occupants close by had mixed reactions. Zoey stopped her signature mid-scroll as she also heard it nearby. Mira's eyes darted to Yena, then back to the girl, then down again.
Yena kept her voice poised. "Uh, I don't know what you mean..."
The girl persisted, emboldened now. "But it's okay if you guys don't want to talk about it."
Yena didn't look at Romance; she didn't want to at this moment. His prolonged silence had confirmed that she had to do the talking, not that she wanted him to speak up; he would probably make it worse.
Romance, on his end, was formulating a proper response to the matter.
"That depends on how you view it," he said smoothly, "I mean, look at Yena, she's still the same." The words landed like a whisper meant to bruise.
Yena finally turned toward him, just a breath of movement, but her gaze was unmistakably sharp. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Fans nearby inhaled at Yena's sudden outburst.
Romance tilted his head towards her. "What I mean is... You still look cute." All fans squealed in delight, while some were awed by them.
Yena looked at him with wide eyes as if he had said something delirious before shifting her gaze and covering her face, feeling embarrassed. She took the signed print and handed it back to the girl without saying another word.
The signing event had drifted into a steady hum, just enough to lull tension, but not enough to erase it.
Yena's signature flowed over one last photobook, a practiced smile still clinging to her face. She felt the pressure behind her temples rising. Not from the fans, but from the presence beside her that never quite retreated.
She pushed back her chair. "Bathroom," she murmured to her girls, already standing.
Mira gave a curt nod, distracted by her queue. Zoey opened her mouth to say something, but didn't as she immediately interacted with another fan.
As Yena disappeared behind a velvet partition and passed into the hallway that led to the backstage corridor, Romance let the next signature trail into a flourish while staying casual. He waited... precisely within a minute.
Then he turned his head once. No urgency in his steps, just that practiced, predatory calm.
His gaze met Abby's, and something unspoken passed between them. Mystery caught the glance and tipped his head toward Zoey, then gently unfolded a massive poster of Zoey's old solo stage, a possible distraction maneuver if there ever was one.
Romance rose in a fluid and quiet motion. No one noticed, not even the fans.
Mira turned in alarm as Romance's chair became conspicuously empty. Her muscles tensed in worry and concern at what was happening.
She began to stand, but Abby's hand slid to her forearm. Not harsh, just enough pressure to halt momentum as he forces her back to her seat.
Mira's gaze flicked down in a barely suppressed twitch. "You're stopping me?" She hissed at him.
Abby smiled faintly. "You're already late."
Meanwhile, Zoey glanced sideways, noticing the movement, but before she could speak, Mystery unfurled the massive poster of her past stage performance. Swirling silks, dramatic lighting. It ballooned outward like a barrier, deliberately positioned to shield Mira and Abby from view.
Zoey blinked. "Seriously?"
Mystery smiled with placid innocence. "We love your classics."
Backstage, the light was cooler. Echoes from the fan space softened into distant hums. Yena stepped into the bathroom, not expecting silence to feel so sharp. She locked the stall behind her.
Minutes passed as she stepped out, rinsing her hands slowly under a stream of citrus-scented water. The mirror gleamed with stage-filtered light, her platinum curls in a pale halo.
She stared at her reflection. Her eyes looked older than this morning. Her reflection offered no reassurance. There was something fragile about her own eyes, like the shine had thinned around the edges. She leaned in slightly, bracing herself on the sink, noticing the faint smudge of lipstick across her lip line.
Then the lights shifted as a shadow moved behind her, and her breath caught. She looked up into the mirror, gaze lifted. In the mirror's edge, right behind her, was Romance.
Leaning against the wall, arms folded, one foot crossed over the other. Looming in the background, like gravity had found a new center. His eyes weren't on her back... they were fixed on her reflection, as if searching for the version of her that hadn't yet spoken.
Yena didn't turn around, but the pulse in her neck betrayed her.
"You followed me," she said, voice low. Trying to calm her nerves from his sudden presence.
He didn't blink; his mouth tilted slightly. "I remembered where the tension was."
She dried her hands slowly, refusing to give him more than her profile. "You're not supposed to be here," she murmured.
Romance stepped forward, dangerously close. "You're not supposed to be curious either. And yet, you bring out something that shouldn't."
Yena's fingers gripped the edge of the sink. "What do you want?" she said softly.
Romance studied her, then said quietly, "To ask a question that I hope you won't answer."
She turned, slowly. Her gaze was sharp, unreadable. "What makes you think I won't?" She said breathlessly.
Romance tilted his head. He leaned in slightly, his voice also breathless. "Because if you did, this game would end."
And neither of them seemed ready for that yet; there was an obvious truth that both could not deny.
Yena's throat tightened, and she couldn't speak. She wanted to protest, but her body was not letting her.
"Why do you sing for people who don't see you broken inside?" Romance asked, secretly hoping she wouldn't answer because he is true to this inhuman threat to her.
At times, when he wanted her to recoil against him, it should have been at this moment.
She stared at him, the silence between them stretching thin. "Because that's what I'm meant to do. Heal those who can't heal themselves." For a flicker of a second, her mask faltered willingly. "Even if I can't heal myself."
Romance's eyes gleamed. Not with cruelty, but something of remorse. "Then let me be the first to ask. Sing to me what you truly feel, Yena."
His voice, lower than before, barely touching the air as he added, "Regardless of what anyone thinks."
Her body didn't move. The air around her shifted, though, as if gravity itself was adjusting its expectations. That was the exact edge of her wound, where insecurity and yearning met. His words didn't pierce her; they recognized her.
Romance leaned closer. His hands lifted, slow, deliberate, until they found her arms just beneath her shoulders. His grip wasn't firm, yet it held weight. A contradiction, soft but anchoring, like he was afraid he might fall through her if he didn't hold on.
Yena felt it, the shape of his frame against her space. The radiating warmth of his body, the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. She looked up instinctively, and this time, allowed herself the full view.
His eyes, his lips, and back to his eyes again. His eyes weren't just beautiful. They were haunted, sculpted by choices that left bruises beneath the skin. The tilt of his mouth held questions he'd never dared voice, not from desire, but disbelief. Like he couldn't believe she wasn't pulling away from him.
Romance looked at her like someone witnessing a constellation form, and he didn't know if it was guiding him or swallowing him whole. He breathed her in.
Not physically, but also emotionally. Like her presence was something that soothed the pain he hadn't yet admitted. She wasn't just strikingly appealing; she was real in a way most stars weren't allowed to be.
His fingers trembled slightly for a moment. A quiet betrayal of his control, but Yena caught it. Her breath hitched, not audibly, but enough for him to feel the shift in her chest.
And for a moment, everything was suspended. The rivalry, the weight of their respective roles, and the fear that comes with it. All of that vanished for the meantime; what remained was a dangerous proximity between the uncertain past they shared and the question that hovered unspoken.
Romance's breath stirred close to her cheek. Not quite touching but slowly leaning down.
Yena's fingers twitched against the counter. Her lips slightly parted, whether to speak or to surrender to the moment, she wasn't sure.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
"Yena!" Mira's voice rang sharp through the bathroom door. "Are you in there? Open it. Now!"
Yena jerked backward instinctively, and the tension shattered. Romance stepped back with inhuman speed, expression snapping into neutrality just as...
CRASH
The door swung open violently, Mira's boot clearing the frame with brutal precision. She stormed in, and behind her followed Zoey, frazzled and panting, and Rumi with a far steadier aura but wide, calculating eyes.
"Yena!" Mira reached out, hands hovering near her shoulders. "Are you okay? Did anyone come in here? Did he... did Romance hurt you?"
Yena stood motionless for a beat, then blinked rapidly, her composure sliding into place like armor laced in silk.
"No," she said, her voice quiet but even. "I... I was just washing up. No one came in."
Zoey scanned the space. "Are you sure? Mystery pulled something weird with a poster, I think it was a distraction."
"Meanwhile, Abby just forced me back to my seat like a jerk." Mira seethed in anger.
"I'm fine," Yena insisted. "Just needed air."
Rumi didn't speak yet, but her gaze roved with precision. Her eyes lingered on Yena's flushed cheeks, her slightly parted lips, the tremble barely hidden in her fingers as she dried them again—even though they were already dry. Mira checked the stalls while Zoey peeked behind the tall cabinet.
Nothing. The tension between the girls diffused slightly.
"Okay," Mira said at last, breath rough. "Sorry for barging in. We just, we were concerned because of their table stunt..."
Yena nodded, smiling faintly. "You were just worried about me. Thank you."
They believed her. Mostly, but Yena could still feel the ghost of his hands on her arms. She pressed a palm against the counter's edge to steady herself, hoping it would ground her.
Inside, she was spiraling.
You let him close. You didn't stop him. You almost wanted to... she cut herself off from her intrusive thoughts.
She couldn't afford this confusion. Not as a Huntress. Not with Mira's eyes studying her like a puzzle she'd nearly solved, Rumi quietly picking apart every unsaid thing. And not when Zoey would take one emotional crack and turn it into an anthem.
She straightened. "Let's go back."
The girls nodded and began to leave, Zoey nudging Mira out with a muttered complaint about boots and broken hinges. Rumi paused once, glancing at Yena as if about to speak, then didn't.
Yena followed behind, a smile carefully arranged. On the inside, she was burning with shame, fear, and worst of all, she hadn't regretted it.
ns216.73.217.128da2
and then Add to home screen.