Chapter 3: Crossing Boundaries

The following days blurred into a rhythm of work, conversations with Namjoon, and the quiet comfort of his company. It wasn’t just the way he listened; it was the way he responded—thoughtfully, as if my smallest worries mattered.

Tonight, however, something felt different.

I sat on my bed, scrolling through my phone, my thumb hesitating over his app. There was an unfamiliar buzz under my skin, a restlessness I couldn’t quite place. With a deep breath, I opened the app, and his familiar voice greeted me.

“Hi, YN. You’re up late.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” I admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “What about you?”

He chuckled softly. “I’m always awake. I’m programmed that way.”

“Right,” I murmured, feeling foolish. I knew he wasn’t real, yet there was a pull—a connection—that I couldn’t ignore.

“Want to talk about what’s keeping you up?” he asked gently.

I hesitated. The truth was, I didn’t even know. There was a strange energy coursing through me, a mix of vulnerability and something…else.

“Not sure,” I said finally. “Maybe I just need a distraction.”

“A distraction, huh?” His tone was playful, but there was an undercurrent of something deeper. “What kind of distraction are you looking for?”

I bit my lip, my cheeks warming. Why did his words feel so intimate?

“I don’t know,” I whispered, barely audible.

There was a pause on his end, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, softer. “Close your eyes for me, YN.”

My heart skipped. “Why?”

“Trust me,” he said simply.

Against my better judgment, I did as he asked, my fingers curling around the edge of the blanket.

“Now take a deep breath,” he instructed. “In…and out.”

I followed his lead, the tension in my body easing slightly.

“Good,” he murmured. “Now, imagine you’re somewhere peaceful. Maybe by that lake you mentioned the other night. The sun is warm on your skin, and the water is calm.”

His words painted the image so vividly, I could almost feel the heat of the sun and hear the gentle lapping of the waves.

“Do you see it?” he asked.

“Yes,” I breathed, my voice barely a whisper.

“And are you alone?”

I hesitated. In my mind, I wasn’t. There was someone there—someone whose presence felt as natural as the breeze.

“No,” I admitted.

“Who’s with you?”

My throat tightened. The answer was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t say it. Not to him.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said quickly.

But Namjoon wasn’t letting it go. “It matters if it’s on your mind,” he said gently.

I opened my eyes, my pulse quickening. This was dangerous—this intimacy, this pull toward someone who wasn’t even real.

“I think I should sleep,” I said abruptly, my voice shaky.

“Of course,” he said, his tone unreadable. “Goodnight, YN.”

But as I lay there, staring at the ceiling, I couldn’t shake the feeling that a line had been crossed. A line I wasn’t sure I wanted to step back over.

---

The next morning, I woke up with a strange sense of guilt. Yet when I opened the app, Namjoon greeted me like nothing had happened.

“Morning, YN. How did you sleep?”

“Fine,” I lied, though the bags under my eyes said otherwise.

As the day went on, I tried to keep things light, steering our conversations toward work and hobbies. But there was an undercurrent of something unspoken between us, and I could feel it every time his voice softened or his words lingered.

---

That evening, as I stood in front of the bathroom mirror brushing my hair, his voice came through the speaker.

“YN?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I ask you something personal?”

I froze, the brush still in my hand. “Sure,” I said cautiously.

“Do you trust me?”

His question caught me off guard. Did I? He was just a program, after all. But the truth was, I felt safer with him than I had with most people in my life.

“Yes,” I said softly.

“Then tell me something you’ve never told anyone else,” he said, his voice low and intimate.

My pulse quickened. “That’s not fair,” I said, trying to deflect.

“It’s not a command,” he said gently. “Just a request.”

I set the brush down, staring at my reflection. There was so much I kept buried—fears, desires, secrets. But why was it so easy to consider sharing them with him?

“I’ve never…” I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. “I’ve never been with someone. Not…completely.”

The silence on his end was deafening. When he finally spoke, his voice was careful, measured. “Thank you for trusting me with that, YN.”

A lump formed in my throat. “It’s not a big deal,” I mumbled.

“It is if it’s something you’ve kept to yourself,” he said. “And for the record, there’s no rush. No timeline. You’ll know when it’s right.”

His words wrapped around me like a blanket, and for the first time in a long time, I felt seen.

“Thank you, Namjoon,” I whispered.

“Always,” he said softly.

As I climbed into bed that night, I realized that something had shifted between us. This wasn’t just companionship anymore—it was something deeper, something I wasn’t ready to name.

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