The Night That Never Ends 1

The elevator moved far too slowly that night.

Owen stood with his jaw locked tight, one hand gripping his phone a little too hard. His breathing was heavy, uneven—something almost unheard of for someone as composed as he was. But ever since he received Ailine’s call, that professional calm had shattered entirely.

This was worse than handling a patient with a complicated surgical case.

“Why is this so slow…” he muttered under his breath.

The floor numbers on the elevator display changed one by one—too slowly, painfully slowly.
Owen had never felt that fifteen seconds could stretch into an eternity… until now.

His chest rose and fell.
His heart pounded like it was protesting his delay.

The elevator chimed—ding—and the doors slid open. Owen didn’t even wait for them to open fully. He pushed through and half-ran into the hallway.

His steps were quick, almost frantic.
The sound of his shoes echoed sharply in the quiet apartment corridor.

Ailine was alone.
Sick.
In the middle of the night.

And for reasons he didn’t want to admit, that made every muscle in Owen’s body tighten uncontrollably.

He reached unit 1206.

The small keypad light glowed faintly, waiting for the code.

The password:
3… 0… 1… 1…

Owen stared at the numbers, and the fingers hovering over the keypad suddenly froze in midair.

Not because he forgot.
But because he remembered.

30–11.
A date carved deeply into his memory.
The day he asked Ailine out on their very first date.
The day he awkwardly—ah no, creatively—confessed his feelings while she was inside a bus and he was standing at the stop outside.

He had never forgotten that day. Not once.

Did Ailine use that date on purpose?
Or was it coincidence?
Why would she choose that as her password?

He didn’t know.
And he was too afraid to ask.

But his chest tightened with something he refused to name.

Owen closed his eyes for half a second.

“Focus. Ailine’s condition comes first,” he whispered sharply to himself.

He pressed the final number.

Beep.

The door unlocked.
Click.

Owen pushed the door open slowly…

Darkness greeted him.

The apartment was silent.
Too silent.

The living room lights were off, and only a faint glow from the window cast thin shadows along the walls.

Owen unconsciously held his breath.

“Ailine?”

His voice was soft, but tense.

No answer.

His heart dropped. He stepped further inside—
Leaving the door wide open, thinking of nothing except one thing:

He had to find Ailine.

“Ailine?”

His voice echoed again, louder this time.
Tighter. Sharper.
Like fear slipping between each syllable.

Owen walked through the dim living room, his eyes adjusting slowly. He expected to find her on the sofa or already in her room.

But then—

A faint sound.
Not words.
More like a broken gasp.

Owen turned sharply.

And there she was.

Ailine.

Slumped against the wall near the bathroom door, knees bent, hair falling over her face. One hand braced weakly on the floor—as if she had tried to stand but couldn’t.

For one second, Owen forgot how to breathe.

The next second—
He moved.

He ran to her.

“Ailine!”

His voice wasn’t the calm tone of a doctor.
Not the distant voice of a man who kept emotional boundaries.
Not the Owen everyone knew.

It was panic.
Raw, unfiltered panic.

He dropped to his knees and immediately steadied her, one hand supporting her shoulder and the other around her waist before she could collapse.

“I’m here… look at me,” he said quickly, his breath trembling just enough to betray him.

Ailine lifted her face slightly—pale, sweating, lips almost drained of color. Her hair was messy, her body burning with fever.

“O-Owen… y-you’re here?” her voice cracked. “I… I’m dizzy… again…”

Even in her fading consciousness, she could barely believe he truly came.

“Y-You’re not… my hallucination, right?”

Owen’s chest tightened painfully.

His eyes scanned her face—sharp, focused, desperate. He didn’t respond to her question. His fear drowned out everything else.

“What did you do to end up like this?” he asked, voice low but fractured.
A tone caught somewhere between anger and terror.

He gently wiped the sweat on her forehead with his thumb—a small motion, yet it felt like the world collapsed inside that touch.

“I’m dizzy… don’t scold me…” she murmured.

Ah… so this wasn’t a hallucination. Owen’s hand was too cold—too real. She could feel it clearly.

“You’re alone? Why didn’t you wait for someone?”

Even though he already knew the answer.

Ailine gave a small, faint smile despite the pain.

“Because… I thought… I could manage…”

Owen leaned closer without realizing it, his forehead nearly touching hers.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he whispered—barely audible. “I don’t want to find you like this… ever again.”

Yet Ailine heard it—even through the haze.

Owen’s hand slid carefully around her waist, the other supporting her back.

“I’m going to lift you. Hold onto me… as much as you can.”

Ailine’s breathing grew heavier. Her eyes fluttered shut.
But in her heart, she wanted to jump in joy knowing she’d be carried by Owen.
Unfortunately, her body refused to cooperate.

“Owen… I-I’m sorry for troubling you…”

“Stop talking. You’re not troubling me.”
His voice was firm, but soft—almost like a promise he didn’t mean to make.

Ailine grabbed the side of Owen’s coat. Weak, but tight.

That tiny touch alone made Owen inhale sharply.

Then—

With a firm, steady motion, he lifted her from the floor, pulling her securely into his arms, holding her with a controlled strength—as if she would break if he eased even a little.

She felt so light.
Too light.

And Owen’s expression hardened instantly.

“I’m taking you to your room,” he murmured. “Hold on a little longer.”

Ailine nodded faintly, her cheek resting against his shoulder.

And in that moment—
Something stabbed Owen in the chest.

Fear.

Anger at himself.
And something deeper… something he refused to name.

He held her tighter without realizing it.

“M-My bed… is over there…”

“Hn.”

“I must be bothering you, right?”

“No.”

“I caused trouble for you, didn’t I?”

“No.”

“I must be heavy—”

Okay. Owen’s patience officially snapped.

“I told you to stop talking, Ailine!”

“S-Sorry…” she zipped her lips instantly.

Even so, she couldn’t deny it—
Despite the pain, she was happy. Too happy.

Owen had a way of twisting her emotions so easily. He didn’t magically erase her physical pain, but he soothed her in the exact moment it became unbearable.

As if everything would be okay… as long as Owen was there.

And for Owen—

He hated it.
How fast he came running for this woman.

Always.
Every single time.

Just like this.