72: Chapter 72 You think you can just run away after crying? What a scumbag!

"Six points." These two words were like two hailstones, crashing onto Lee Qri's burning, chaotic nerves, bringing a sudden wave of clarity and an even deeper sense of shame.

She abruptly loosened her fingers, which had been clutching his shirt in nervousness, and stumbled back a step, increasing the distance between them that had been overly intimate and filled with the scent of lipstick and ambiguity.

Her lips still held the tingling sensation from being kissed forcefully, mixed with the sticky feeling of lipstick, reminding her of what she had just done.

She had initiated the kiss with Song Tianhao, a long and deep kiss, and then received a calm rating: "Six points."

Above passing, but far from excellent. What was this? A periodic summary of a teaching evaluation?

A huge sense of absurdity and loss of control swept over her once again.

Lee Qri watched Song Tianhao calmly wipe away the lipstick stain from the corner of his mouth, watched the wrinkles she had grabbed into his shirt collar, and watched his eyes, which remained as calm as ever. An indescribable emotion collided within her chest—was it grievance, anger, shame, or something else?

She couldn't tell; she only felt all her emotions clogging her throat, burning her eyes, yet not a single tear could fall.

The emotionally exhausting, near-breakdown crying session from just moments ago seemed to have overdrafted all her moisture.

She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, to question him, or just to make a sound, but her throat felt as if it had been scrubbed with sandpaper—dry and painful—and she could only let out a broken, breathy sound.

She looked at Song Tianhao, her eyes filled with lingering daze and the watery sheen from being kissed, but more than that, it was a near-desperate bewilderment.

Song Tianhao wiped his mouth clean, folded the handkerchief, and put it back into his pocket.

He glanced at Lee Qri. The tear tracks on her face were mixed with smeared lipstick, her hair was slightly messy, her eyes were red and swollen, and her gaze was unfocused. She looked like a bird with wet feathers, lost and helpless, standing in the empty practice room, appearing exceptionally fragile and disheveled.

"Go wash your face first," he said, his voice returning to its usual coldness, devoid of any emotion. "Wipe off the lipstick."

Lee Qri's body trembled almost imperceptibly. She lowered her head, avoiding his gaze, her fingers curling unconsciously. She didn't move or respond, just stood there stiffly, like a doll that had lost its instructions.

Song Tianhao waited for two seconds, and seeing she didn't react, he didn't say anything more. He simply walked to the wall and turned off the harsh fluorescent lights, leaving only a dim yellow emergency exit sign in the corner, which barely outlined the contours of the practice room. "I'll give you five minutes."

After saying this, he stopped looking at her and turned towards the door, seemingly preparing to leave.

The moment his hand gripped the doorknob, a dull thud came from behind him, followed by hasty, stumbling footsteps that quickly moved away.

"Bang!"

Song Tianhao paused his movements and turned back.

Lee Qri was no longer in the practice room. There was only the door leading to the internal dressing room, which "clicked" shut right before his eyes, followed by the distinct sound of it being locked.

"..."

Song Tianhao stood in the dim light for a few seconds, the cold metallic touch of the doorknob still lingering on his palm. He let go, not leaving immediately, nor going to knock on that tightly closed dressing room door.

He simply turned around, leaned his back against the cold wall, pulled a cigarette case from the inside pocket of his suit, popped out a cigarette, and lowered his head to light it.

The scarlet glow of the flame flickered in the dimness, illuminating his expressionless profile. A faint scent of tobacco permeated the empty practice room, mixing with the lingering scent of lipstick from before, creating a strange and ambiguous atmosphere.

He smoked quietly, his gaze fixed on the closed door of the dressing room, while his ears caught the movements inside.

At first, there was dead silence.

It was as if the person who had just rushed in had instantly evaporated or turned into a stone statue.

But Song Tianhao was very patient. He smoked slowly until the cigarette had burned halfway down.

Then, he heard it.

It was very soft, very suppressed, like a sound squeezed out from the depths of her throat, from the very bottom of her chest. It was muffled, intermittent, like a wounded little beast whimpering in the dark.

This was Lee Qri's crying. It was no longer the silent breakdown of before, with only tears streaming down, but actual crying that made sound.

Although still suppressed, and still carrying a tremor of extreme restraint, it was indeed a sound—a choked sound full of pain and helplessness.

Song Tianhao's fingers holding the cigarette paused, and the ash at the tip fell silently.

The crying in the dressing room gradually grew louder. It was no longer a whimper but turned into clear sobs, one after another, echoing in the narrow space, carrying a muffled resonance as it came through the door panel.

The crying was filled with all the grievances, unwillingness, fear, and exhaustion accumulated over these ten years, as well as the shame and chaos brought by that absurd "teaching" session just now, like a burst dam, finally breaking through the last levee.

Song Tianhao listened, his face still expressionless, and simply pressed out the remaining half of his cigarette against an abandoned beverage can by the wall, emitting a faint "hiss" sound.

He walked to the dressing room door. He didn't knock, but raised his hand and tapped twice with his knuckles, neither too lightly nor too heavily.

"Knock, knock."

The crying inside the dressing room stopped abruptly, as if a pause button had been pressed. But immediately after, there was an even more violent, almost out-of-control explosion. It was no longer suppressed sobbing, but turned into wailing—heart-wrenching, reckless, as if she wanted to cry her soul out.

Song Tianhao withdrew his hand, did not continue knocking, and did not leave.

He just stood quietly outside the door, leaning against the cold wall, listening to the woman inside—who had always been known for her elegance, composure, and perfection—crying like a lost child, crying until her voice was hoarse, crying as if the whole world had collapsed.

Ten minutes. Perhaps longer.

The crying inside the door finally gradually subsided, turning into intermittent sobs, and then into a long, exhausted silence.

Just as Song Tianhao thought she might have fallen asleep inside or closed herself off again, there was a soft sound.

"Click."

The lock of the dressing room door was turned from the inside.

The door didn't open immediately, but was pulled open just a narrow crack. Dim yellow light shone through the gap, illuminating a small patch of the floor by the doorway.

Behind the gap, a pair of red, swollen eyes appeared, with undried tears still hanging at the corners, and long eyelashes stuck together in clumps by the tears.

Lee Qri was hiding behind the door, only half her face visible. Her voice was severely hoarse from crying, carrying a heavy nasal tone and a hint of near-breakdown bewilderment:

"President... I..."

She sniffled, and more tears welled up, sliding down her cheeks.

"I can't stop..."

She said, her voice very small, very light, filled with desperate helplessness.

Song Tianhao looked at the eye she exposed from behind the door gap. It was filled with tears, and also filled with the fragments of the "perfection" she had carefully maintained for ten years after it had shattered, as well as a complex and difficult-to-understand dependence and fear towards him, the instigator.

He didn't speak, just reached out, pressed against the door panel, and applied a little force.

The door hinge made a slight "creak," and the gap widened.

Lee Qri did not resist, or rather, she no longer had the strength to resist. She let go of the doorknob and allowed Song Tianhao to push the door open.

The dressing room was very small, only a few square meters, with a row of lockers against the wall, a bench in the middle, and a huge floor-to-ceiling mirror opposite. The lights were off at the moment, and only the faint, dim yellow light from the practice room's emergency exit sign, which filtered in through the doorway, barely illuminated the room.

Lee Qri stood at the doorway, her back against the cold lockers, still wearing the wrinkled practice outfit. Her hair was messy, tear tracks crisscrossed her face, her lipstick was smeared in a complete mess, and her lips looked exceptionally red and swollen from the earlier kiss and crying.

Her eyes were swollen like peaches, her gaze unfocused, and her body was still uncontrollably trembling slightly, sobbing from time to time, like a little animal abandoned in a rainstorm that couldn't find its home.

Song Tianhao strode inside.

The narrow space seemed even more crowded because of his entry. The scent on him, mixed with a faint tobacco smell, instantly filled this enclosed area.

Lee Qri subconsciously shrank back, wanting to retreat, but behind her was the hard locker, and there was nowhere to retreat. She could only lift her red, swollen eyes, looking at him approaching with bewilderment and helplessness.

Song Tianhao stood still in front of her, looking down at her.

Then, he reached out his hand, not to touch her, but to reach over her shoulder and press the light switch on the wall.

"Click."

The overhead light in the dressing room turned on, and the pale white light instantly flooded every corner, exposing everything with nowhere to hide.

Lee Qri squinted uncomfortably and turned her head away.

Just the moment she turned her head, her peripheral vision caught a glimpse of the huge floor-to-ceiling mirror opposite.

The mirror clearly reflected her appearance, which was disheveled to the extreme at this moment, and also reflected Song Tianhao standing behind her, as well as the mess of dark water stains on his shirt chest caused by her tears and smeared lipstick.

But what made her pupils contract suddenly was not these things.

It was the large characters written on the mirror in lipstick.

The bright red, messy handwriting, with strokes so forceful they almost scratched the mirror surface: "If you can't do it, go die."

It used the exact same true red lipstick that was on her lips—the one Song Tianhao had given her.

She was very familiar with the handwriting.

It was her own.

Lee Qri's body instantly stiffened, and her blood seemed to freeze in an instant. She stared fixedly at those words on the mirror, her eyes wide, even her sobbing stopped; only her body, due to extreme shock and panic, couldn't help but tremble violently.

When was it written? Was it after she rushed in and locked the door just now? She had absolutely no memory of it... Was it written by that "her" in her subconscious, the one who was always forcing her and loathing her?

A huge sense of fear and shame gripped her heart, making her almost unable to breathe. She didn't dare to look at Song Tianhao's reaction, only wanting to disappear immediately, or for this mirror to shatter.

Just at this moment, a warm palm gently landed on the top of her head.

Very lightly, carrying a strange power of comfort.

Lee Qri shuddered, stiffly and extremely slowly turning her head, lifting her face to look at Song Tianhao.

Song Tianhao's face had no expression of shock or disgust; he didn't even look at the words on the mirror, but just looked down at her, his gaze calm, even carrying a hint of... understanding?

"It's good that you've cried it out," he said, his voice not loud, but exceptionally clear in the narrow dressing room. "Ten years. You must have been stifled."

"Ten years..." Lee Qri repeated these three words muttering, as if touched on some most secret, most painful switch. The intermittent sobs she had been holding back suddenly turned into a broken, painful cry once again.

She no longer suppressed it, nor did she have any more scruples. Like a child who had finally found a sanctuary, she lunged forward, throwing herself into Song Tianhao's arms, her hands tightly clutching the fabric of his shirt on his chest, burying her face deeply into his chest, which carried a faint scent of tobacco.

"Woo... wuwu... It's been ten years, this is the first time... the first time I've cried out loud..." She cried incoherently, tears gushing out, quickly soaking the fabric on his chest. The hot temperature passed through the thin shirt to his skin. "I... I'm so tired, really so tired... I can't do it, I can't do anything... wuwu..."

She recounted things intermittently, incoherently, with chaotic logic, but the pain, grievances, self-loathing, and bottomless exhaustion suppressed for ten years finally found an outlet for catharsis, pouring out along with her tears.

She cried until her whole body was trembling, almost unable to stand steady, her entire weight pressing onto Song Tianhao.

Song Tianhao did not speak, just stood steadily, bearing all her weight and breakdown. His hand slid down from the top of her head, landing on her thin, trembling back, patting her gently with moderate force, as if comforting an overly frightened child.

Lee Qri cried uncontrollably, as if she wanted to shed all the tears accumulated over these ten years at once. The crying echoed in the narrow dressing room, hitting the walls, appearing exceptionally sorrowful. Her fingers clutching his shirt were so forceful that her knuckles turned white, her nails almost embedding into the fabric, and her body went limp in waves due to the extreme release of emotions.

She didn't know how long she had been crying; her voice gradually lowered, turning into weak whimpers, and finally, only intermittent sobs and heavy, exhausted gasps remained. She cried until she was drained of strength, her whole body feeling as if its bones had been removed, sliding down softly.

Song Tianhao, who had been supporting her arms, applied slight force, stopping her from sliding down to the floor. Then, he bent down, one hand passing through the back of her knees, the other still holding her back, and with a slight exertion of force, he scooped her up in his arms, her body limp from crying to the point of collapse.

Lee Qri gasped in surprise, subconsciously raising her hands to wrap around his neck, her red, swollen eyes looking blankly at his jawline, which was just inches away. The feeling of weightlessness brought by her body suddenly being suspended in the air formed a sharp contrast with the warmth and stability brought by his embrace.

Song Tianhao held her, turned, and walked to the bench in the middle of the changing room, where he sat down.

He didn't put her on the empty seat beside him, but instead let her sit on his lap, still keeping her wrapped entirely in his arms.

The posture was excessively intimate, but at this moment, Lee Qri no longer had the strength—or rather, had lost the will—to resist.

She was like a weary young beast, curled up in his arms with her face resting against his neck, her body still trembling uncontrollably, hiccuping with sobs from time to time.

Song Tianhao adjusted his posture to make her more comfortable, then continued to pat her back, one stroke at a time.

His movements were not gentle, even somewhat mechanical, but the rhythm was steady, carrying a strange, reassuring power.

Lee Qri closed her eyes, hot tears sliding down her cheeks, dripping onto his shirt and smearing against his skin.

She could smell his clean, crisp scent, mixed with the faintest hint of tobacco, and a trace of... the sweet, cloying fragrance of her lipstick from the kiss just moments ago.

This realization made her cheeks burn, yet her body craved the warmth and sense of security this embrace provided.

It had been ten years.

Since her trainee days, she had been like a taut string, never daring to slack off, never daring to show weakness, always perfect, always proper.

This was the first time she had allowed herself to break down so completely, to rely on someone so messily.

Even though this person was the "culprit" who had pushed her to the brink of collapse.

Silence spread through the changing room, broken only by her occasional uncontrollable sobs and his steady breathing.

After a while, Song Tianhao stopped patting her back, his gaze falling on the glaring red characters on the mirror opposite them.

He watched for a moment, then, holding Lee Qri, reached out and used the pad of his index finger to slowly wipe away the writing along the strokes.

The bright red lipstick smeared on his fingertips, feeling sticky.

He wiped carefully and slowly, bit by bit, erasing those words full of self-loathing and despair, leaving a blurry red smear on the smooth mirror surface.

"If you want to write in the future," he said while wiping, his voice sounding exceptionally deep and steady in the silent room, "write it on me."

Lee Qri leaned against his shoulder, her body stiffening almost imperceptibly.

The lashes of her closed eyes trembled violently, but she did not open them, nor did she speak; she merely curled her fingers, which were wrapped behind his neck, unconsciously, gripping the short hair at the back of his head with a light touch.

Song Tianhao seemed unbothered by her reaction, continuing to wipe the mirror in a leisurely manner until the last character was erased, leaving only an ambiguous red smudge.

Then, he took out the handkerchief from earlier, wiped the lipstick from his fingertips, and casually tossed the soiled handkerchief into the trash can nearby.

After doing all this, he placed his hand back on Lee Qri's back and patted it gently.

"Now," he said, his tone carrying an unquestionable command, "sleep for ten minutes."

He paused, then added three words, like a promise, and also like a spell: "I'll watch over you."

Lee Qri's body relaxed completely, the last bit of forced strength vanishing.

She leaned in his arms, her nose filled with his reassuring scent, her ears catching his steady heartbeat, and her back feeling the rhythm of his stable, gentle pats.

The extreme emotional release brought a massive wave of exhaustion that drowned her like a tide.

Her eyelids became too heavy to lift, her consciousness gradually blurring.

Before sinking into darkness, she thought hazily, this embrace... was actually so warm.

She had truly fallen asleep.

Her breathing gradually became long and steady, her tense body completely relaxed, yet her hand wrapped around his neck did not let go, like a drowning person clutching the only piece of driftwood.

Song Tianhao maintained the posture of holding her, motionless, letting her weight press entirely against him.

After a few minutes, confirming she was fast asleep, he carefully adjusted his arm to make her more comfortable, then, with his free hand, took his phone out of his suit pants pocket.

The screen lit up, the ghostly blue light illuminating his expressionless profile, and also the sleeping face of Lee Qri in his arms, red from crying, with tear tracks still hanging at the corners of her eyes.

He operated the phone with one hand; the screen showed unread emails and messages.

Park Hyomin had sent several coquettish messages, asking if he was free for dinner tonight; Kim Taeyeon had sent a demo of a song she had just recorded, asking for his opinion; Jang Se-hoon had reported the schedule for a meeting with a program PD at MBC tomorrow; and there were several work emails that needed to be handled.

He scrolled through them expressionlessly, replying briefly.

In the gaps between handling work, his gaze would occasionally fall on the face of the woman in his arms, who was sleeping restlessly and still hiccuping occasionally, lingering for a moment before moving away to continue dealing with emails.

Time flowed by in the silence.

In the cramped space of the changing room, there was only the occasional light from the phone screen, his steady breathing, and her occasional, extremely faint sobs in her sleep.

Outside the window, the sky had turned completely dark, and the neon lights of Seoul lit up one after another.

The sound of distant traffic drifted in faintly, making the room seem even quieter.

Who knew how much time had passed—perhaps an hour, perhaps less.

The person in his arms stirred.

Lee Qri woke up groggily, her consciousness not yet fully returned.

She only felt that she was leaning in a warm, solid embrace, her nose filled with a pleasant, reassuring scent, and her ears hearing a steady, powerful heartbeat.

She nuzzled contentedly, wanting to find a more comfortable position.

Then, she froze abruptly.

Her chaotic brain cleared instantly, memories rushing back like a tide.

The breakdown, the words written in lipstick on the mirror, being held in his arms, and... what he said: "Sleep for ten minutes, I'll watch over you."

She... she had actually fallen asleep? And slept in his arms for this long?!

Lee Qri's face burned instantly, even redder than when she had been crying earlier.

She sprang away from his arms as if electrocuted, scrambling to get off his lap.

Because her movements were too rushed, and her body was still weak from just waking up, she nearly tumbled over.

An arm promptly wrapped around her waist, steadying her precarious body.

"Want to run away right after crying?" Song Tianhao's voice sounded above her head, carrying a hint of sleep-induced hoarseness and a touch of light teasing. "You scumbag!"

Lee Qri froze, maintaining an awkward half-risen posture, her cheeks burning, wishing she could find a crack in the ground to crawl into.

She didn't dare look up at him, her gaze fixed only on the deep, wet patch on his shirt chest, which was a mess of her tears and smeared lipstick, and... at the edge of the wet patch, a small sliver of skin faintly exposed, along with an old scar, light in color but with a still-visible outline.

That scar...

She froze for a moment, but the embarrassment at this moment overwhelmed everything else, leaving her no time to think it through.

"I... I'm not..." she said in a voice like a mosquito's hum, trying to defend herself, yet not knowing what to defend.

Should she say, "Sorry, President, I shouldn't have fallen asleep in your arms"? Or, "Sorry, President, I soaked your shirt with my tears"?

Song Tianhao did not let go of the hand around her waist; instead, he tightened it slightly, pulling her back to sit on his lap, preventing her attempt to escape.

"Then..." Lee Qri was pulled back into his arms, her body rigid, her heart pounding like a drum, her brain a chaotic mess.

Almost subconsciously, in a low voice, and with a touch of self-abandoning bewilderment, she asked, "Do... do I need to take responsibility?"

As soon as these words left her mouth, she wished she could bite off her own tongue.

What was she saying?! Responsibility? Take responsibility for what?

For this embrace, for this accidental shared sleep, or for... that kiss?

Song Tianhao seemed not to have expected her to ask this, looking down at her flushed cheeks and evasive eyes, and suddenly let out a low laugh.

The laugh was very light, breathy, and the vibration transmitted through their pressed bodies, making Lee Qri's ears tingle.

"How do you want to take responsibility?" he countered, his tone unreadable.

Lee Qri was stumped by his question, her fingers curling unconsciously.

Her fingertips brushed against the buttons of his shirt, the cool touch making her slightly more clear-headed.

She stared at that button, her mind a mess, various thoughts flashing by, finally settling on that crucial audition next week, on those lipstick words wiped off the mirror, on the "six points" he mentioned, and on his words just now: "Sleep, I'll watch over you."

Chaos, shame, bewilderment, and a trace of... something she didn't want to delve into: secret reliance and heart-fluttering.

She bit her still-swollen lower lip, her voice even smaller, with a tone of self-abandonment: "President, you're teaching me acting... I have to pay tuition..."

"Tuition?" Song Tianhao repeated the word, looking at her lowered, trembling eyelashes and those tightly pressed, still somewhat swollen lips.

He suddenly leaned in closer, his warm breath brushing against her sensitive earlobe, his voice lowered, carrying a magnetic, seductive quality: "It's very expensive."

Lee Qri shuddered, her ears turning bright red instantly, the tingling sensation spreading from her earlobe down to her spine.

She didn't dodge, or rather, the waist held by him and the excessively intimate posture left her nowhere to hide.

She could smell Song Tianhao's clean scent, mixed with the faintest hint of tobacco, and a trace of her own—the saltiness of tears.

She mustered the greatest courage of her life, lifting her wet, sleepy eyes to gaze into his bottomless pupils, her voice so soft it was almost inaudible: "How expensive?"

Song Tianhao looked into her eyes, which still held the watery sheen from crying, containing shyness, unease, bewilderment, and a trace of desperate, all-or-nothing anticipation that even she hadn't realized.

He watched her for a few seconds, then leaned in again, his lips almost touching her earlobe, and said slowly in a breathy voice that only the two of them could hear: "Expensive enough that... you might have to spend a lifetime paying it back."

He paused, feeling the slight tremor of the body in his arms.

"..." Lee Qri's body froze completely, her pupils dilating slightly, her breathing stopping in an instant.

A lifetime? This word was too heavy, too ambiguous, and also too... dangerous.

She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but found her throat blocked again, unable to utter a single word.

Only her heart was pounding frantically in her chest, making her eardrums buzz.

Outside the window, the city's neon lights shone through the high vent of the changing room, casting shifting shadows in the dim room.

In the cramped space, the two were extremely close, their breathing audible to each other.

She sat in Song Tianhao's arms, held by both of his hands, the posture intimately exceeding all safe boundaries.

On Song Tianhao's shirt, her tear stains were still wet, the lipstick on her lips was ruined, the trace of the red words wiped off the mirror was blurry, and the air was filled with a complex scent mixed with tears, lipstick, and tobacco.

After Song Tianhao finished that sentence, he didn't lean in further, nor did he pull back, just maintaining that extremely close distance, looking down at her, as if waiting for her reaction, or perhaps just stating a fact.

Lee Qri's fingertips were still unconsciously twisting the button of his shirt, twisting it tight, then letting go.

She looked at Song Tianhao's sharp-featured face, inches away, looked at his calm, bright eyes, and looked at the reflection inside them of herself, flustered and carrying a certain strange light.

A lifetime... spend a lifetime... paying back what? Tuition? Or...

Her thoughts were chaotic again, her brain a blank, with only that word echoing repeatedly in her ears.

Lee Qri looked at the man in front of her who was holding her and saying she had to pay back the "tuition" with a lifetime, then looked at herself in the mirror—disheveled, lipstick smeared, eyes red and swollen, her future a fog.

After a long while, she closed her eyes, extremely slowly.

Then, very, very lightly, she buried her face back into his neck.

No answer, no refusal. Just a silent, weary reliance, carrying total dependence and a certain posture of resignation.

Song Tianhao felt the warm breath against his neck.

He did not speak again, just tightened the arm around her waist, and lifted his other hand to gently stroke the top of her soft hair.

The changing room fell into silence once again.

Only the sound of their breathing and the faint, distant noise belonging to the Seoul night outside the window remained.

After a long while, Song Tianhao picked up his phone again. The screen's light shone dimly, illuminating his expressionless profile and the figure in his arms who seemed to have fallen into a deep sleep once more.