Seori The Rooftop Pact
Seori
The Rooftop Pact
There’s something wrong with me. I’ve redrawn my protection wards three times tonight. Re-shelved my weapons. Lit incense. Burned sage. Chanted old rites until my voice cracked.
Still—his name is carved behind my eyelids like a spell I never cast.
Rheon.
That mark on my hand—our mark—it’s glowing again. Faint. Feral. Alive. I’ve tried to cover it, to suppress it with fae-dampening balm, but it thrums beneath my skin like it belongs to him now.
Maybe it does. Maybe… I do.
I didn’t plan to leave. Didn’t dress for war. Didn’t carry my blade, and yet—my feet move. My body knows.
It walks a path I haven’t chosen… straight toward him.
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The rooftops of Seoul blur under my boots. The city lights flicker like warnings, like omens. Neon signs hiss curses in Hangul as I pass. Still, I keep moving—pulled by something invisible, magnetic.
I know where he is. I shouldn’t know. But I do.
He’s waiting.
He’s there. On the edge of a forgotten rooftop in Itaewon, standing against the skyline like he belongs to the night itself. Arms crossed. Shadows twisting at his feet.
“Seori,” he says, like a sin.
I hate that it sounds like a prayer.
My steps slow. I should leave. Run. Bury this in holy fire.
But instead—
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” I blurt.
The words hang there, raw and jagged.
He tilts his head.
“Good.”
Silence blooms between us—heavy, trembling, electric. I stand in front of him, chest heaving from the run. He doesn’t reach for me. He doesn’t need to.
I feel his magic brushing mine, lapping at the edges like Shadowfire. I feel… the bond. It coils between us, tugging softly at my ribs, whispering a single truth:
We belong to each other.
And it terrifies me.
“We can’t do this,” I murmur, eyes flicking to the mark.
His gaze lowers to it, and his voice dips low.
“Then why are you here?”
"Because I needed to see if it was real," I whispered. "If you were real. Or if I'm just losing myself."
He steps closer. Just one step. Close enough that I feel the heat off his body. That inhuman stillness. That hunger.
“We’re both lost,” he says. “But at least we’re lost in the same direction.”
The world shrinks to him. To this rooftop. To the sharp ache in my chest and the sting behind my eyes. His hand lifts—slow, careful. He brushes a strand of hair from my face, fingers skimming my jaw. The touch is featherlight. Reverent.
I don’t move.
“Temporary truce,” I manage to say. “Silence. Just… until I figure this out.”
He leans in, lips a breath from mine.
"Fine," he murmurs. "But when you're done pretending this isn't fate—I'll still be here."
My body betrays me. I lean into him—just barely—but it’s enough.
The bond flares. I feel it. So does he. Our breathing syncs. My skin buzzes with want. With fire. With something worse than lust—need.
If he kisses me now, I won't stop him.
But he doesn't. He steps back. Lets me go. And that restraint? That self-control? It undoes me more than any kiss ever could.
I thought I came for clarity. But the closer I get to him, the more I forget who I’m supposed to be.