#please please dont hate me

[yongility]

NEO TV # i like me better when i'm with you ꗃ╭╯ jung jaehyun.

──────── chapter ⵌ10 (the final) : a prayer for the damned.

𒄬 genre: slowburn / angst / suggestive / gang au / rich kid au / e2l

𒄬 warnings for this chapter: it's the end / fights / mental manipulation / use of weapons aka knifes and guns / gunshots / mention of blood and bleeding / this whole ahh chapter it's angst, angst and more angst (you might hate me but i promise i'll make it better)— wait for the epilogue please. 𒄬 word count: 6k

The night before— of the exchange. it all comes down to this moment.

The warehouse felt like the closest thing to hell.

It felt like an extension of his soul— an abyss, suffocating, suffused with the smell of rust and decay, mirroring everything Jaehyun had become. Everything he had done. Every bad decision he had ever made. It was as though the very walls of this place absorbed the sins he carried, mocking him, daring him to escape them.

The car was a furnace, stifling. The air around him was thick— saturated with something he couldn't name, but which weighed on him, sinking into the marrow of his bones, making it harder to breathe, harder to think. He gripped the wheel with a force that made his fingers ache, the knuckles turning an agonizing white, his palms slick with sweat. As though holding on this tightly could stop everything from unraveling. As though gripping so hard could stop the inevitable. But it was too late. He knew that. He could feel it.

He dragged in a breath, slow and controlled, as though his lungs had forgotten how to fill themselves. But even as the air slid into him, it didn't help. It couldn't help. He couldn't shake the tremor in his chest, the suffocating weight pressing down on him. The silence outside wasn't the comforting kind. It wasn't the kind that wrapped you in peace. No, this was the kind of silence that felt like a warning— like the pause before everything you had ever known was torn apart.

His heart thudded erratically against his ribs, beating too fast, too hard— each pulse a hammering reminder of the time ticking away. He could feel his own blood rushing in his veins, rushing to his head, flooding him with a heat that made his whole body tremble.

He moved his fingers, almost in a daze, brushing the GPS device hidden beneath his clothes. It was there. It was still working. The small device pressed against his skin like a tiny time bomb, reminding him of the lies he was about to live, the truth he was about to bury.

The microphone under his shirt was on, waiting. Listening. Baekhyun would hear every breath, every word, every sound. The team of agents would be in place— waiting for him to lead them into the lion's den.

His family should be safe. That was the plan. It was supposed to be foolproof.

So why did everything feel like a death sentence?

His instincts had always been sharp. They had always been his guide. But right now, every instinct in him was screaming. Screaming for him to run, to turn around, to stop the madness. But it was too late.

Jaehyun squeezed his eyes shut, trying to fight off the ache in his head, the pain in his chest. He could feel it intensifying— the pressure, the weight of everything he was carrying, the crushing realization that this was it. The end. This had never been a choice. It had never been an escape. This was just a countdown to his own grave. And deep down, he knew, with chilling certainty, that when they buried him tonight, there wouldn't be enough left to mourn.

He hadn't been afraid of dying. Not really. Not after everything he had been through. Not after losing his father, after losing Winwin, after losing everything that had once made him feel human. Death didn't scare him anymore. What scared him was knowing that his family would be left with nothing but the ashes of a man who had failed them. The ghosts that would follow them— ghosts that he would never be able to protect them from.

He wasn't a religious man. He hadn't been for a long time.

Maybe he had been, once— back when he still believed in salvation. Back when he thought there was a way out. Back when he thought prayers meant something. But that was before he learned the truth about this world. Before he understood that hope and faith wouldn't stop a bullet, that love couldn't save you from the mess you created.

But tonight... tonight was different.

For the first time in years, Jaehyun found himself praying. But it wasn't for him. It wasn't for the hollow shell of a man he had become.

He prayed for them. For his family. For the ones he still loved, even though he knew it was too late to fix anything. For the people who would suffer for his failures.

He prayed for every part of him that had already died. For the pieces of him that were buried under years of violence, betrayal, and regret.

And he prayed for her.

(Y/N).

If the Universe had been cruel enough to make him love her, then he only asked one thing: let her forgive him. Let her heal from the damage he had done. Because if she couldn't be his in this life, if the weight of the past and the ghosts that haunted him were too much to let him be the man she deserved, then maybe, just maybe, the Universe would let them be together in the next life.

His chest tightened. The thought of her— her face, her laugh, her warmth— it burned him more than he could handle. He had never been this honest with himself. He had spent so long building walls, keeping everyone at arm's length, but she— she had seen through them. She had seen him, not as Jaehyun, the monster, the failure everyone else saw in him— but as Jung Yoonoh, the person he had buried deep inside. She loved him for who he was. And it had broken him in the most painful way.

But now— now he had to let her go. For her sake. For the sake of the life she deserved. He couldn't drag her any deeper into his hell.

With a shuddering breath, he forced his gaze up, staring at the ceiling of the car, as if somehow it could offer him a sliver of comfort. He murmured something under his breath, something so quiet it was barely a whisper. A prayer. A plea. But it wasn't for him. It wasn't for his redemption.

He asked for it to let him end this hell once and for all.

Jaehyun didn't need to be a genius to know it. Even before he stepped foot inside the warehouse, he knew. Because the air felt wrong, thick, unnervingly still.

The lights above him flickered faintly, casting shadows that stretched like crooked fingers across the walls. It was dark, as if the place were holding its breath.

His jaw tightened. His stomach twisted— and when he tilted his head toward the door, lit only by the sliver of moonlight that spilled through the window, his body stiffened, muscles locking into place as a cold, slow terror crawled up his spine.

Because there he was.

Sooman.

Waiting.

Standing by a pile of crates with his hands in his pockets, his pristine suit untouched by the grime of this place— as if he hadn't already decided how tonight would end.

Their eyes locked. A silent battle, one that didn't need explanation— thoughts, memories, emotions buried deep within those two sets of eyes, speaking to each other without words.

When Jaehyun dared to look away and acknowledge the silhouettes lurking in the shadows, he knew. The men surrounding the warehouse weren't just guards.

They weren't looking at him. They were waiting. For a signal. For a shot. For an end.

Jaehyun knew a trap when he saw one. And this place? This was nothing but one— a damn trap.

"You're late," Sooman's voice sliced through the silence like a blade, drawing Jaehyun's gaze back to him. He fought to hold his stare, forcing himself not to break.

No emotion. No shout.

Sooman shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, feigning casual control.

Baekhyun should be listening.

"I didn't think we were in a rush," Jaehyun replied, his voice calm despite the storm brewing inside.

Sooman chuckled, shaking his head.

"Always so quick with that mouth of yours." His smile twisted. "It's a real shame."

Jaehyun gave nothing. No reaction. Sooman hummed, taking a step forward, the click of his polished shoes echoing on the floor like a countdown.

"You know what this is, don't you?"

Jaehyun stood still. "Clearly, it's not the exchange."

And the only answer he received was a smile.

"You've always known how to read the room, Jaehyun." Another smile, another step forward. His legs shook. "I'll admit—" Sooman exhaled, sounding almost disappointed. "—I never thought it would end like this."

"End like what?" Jaehyun asked, his chest tight.

Sooman tilted his head, his grin stretching impossibly wider.

And then he laughed.

"Like your father."

Jaehyun's blood turned to ice. "You think I don't see it?" Sooman's voice was light, but each word cut deep, sharp as a blade. "The way you look at me now? The way you pull away?" Jaehyun stopped breathing. "It's the same way he did."

Jaehyun's fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms until his skin screamed.

"You had a great future with the gang, Jaehyun. You really did. I gave you everything. Trust, advice, a place in the family." Sooman's smile faded, his eyes darkening. "But words spread fast, and secrets don't stay buried forever."

"Let's not talk about trust," Jaehyun shot back, his voice bitter, but he was cut off.

"Your father thought he could be better than me. That he could improve the path of Neo Zone— that he could betray me and live to tell the tale." Jaehyun could swear his hands were bleeding from how hard he was clenching them.

"And you?" Sooman laughed. "You're just like him." Jaehyun's vision blurred. "But that's something you already know, right?"

Silence.

And then, with the weight of everything crashing down on him, Jaehyun exhaled. Slow. Controlled.

"My father was better than you."

Sooman's eyes darkened, and Jaehyun took a slow step forward, challenging.

"You want to talk about betrayal?" His voice was cold. Unforgiving. "You're the traitor. Killing your men. Using them. Making them think they owe you their lives—"

Sooman's jaw tightened.

"But the second they're no use to you. The second we're no use to you. You put a bullet in our heads."

A slow, cold chuckle.

And then— a gun.

The click of the safety felt like a death sentence— Jaehyun's breath stilled. Sooman raised the gun, aiming it at his chest.

"Look me in the face, Jaehyun."

He did. Cold, dark eyes staring back, his smile breaking through the silence.

"You know, when I killed your father, you cried in my arms." The lump in Jaehyun's throat grew painfully thick. "— like a baby. You cried in the arms of the man who put a bullet in your father's head."

And the world exploded.

Something inside Jaehyun snapped— it wasn't just anger. It was a deep, crushing, and consuming fury. And Sooman knew it. He could see it in Jaehyun's eyes.

And that only pleased him more.

"Ah, there it is." Sooman teased, his hand moving the gun slightly. "That look. The same look your father had before I finished him off." Jaehyun's breath quickened, the barrel of the gun now almost pressing into his jacket.

But Sooman wasn't done yet.

"Tell me, Jaehyun," he stepped closer, his voice a low whisper. "Did you really think you could get out of this? That I wouldn't know?"

Jaehyun didn't move— because he couldn't.

"Did you really think I wouldn't find out you were working with the police? You've always been so predictable— always pretending you're smart, but in the end? You're just another dog thinking it can bite the hand that feeds it."

One more word, and Jaehyun's hand would break from how tightly he was holding his fists.

"And Jeno?" Jaehyun's body stiffened, his eyes flashing with a flicker of fear. Sooman had him.

"You really think you could protect him?" A slow shake of his head. "Jaehyun, Jaehyun, Jaehyun... you don't get it, do you? Jeno is already one of us."

"Shut up."

The words hurt more than the bullet that was waiting to hit him.

Where the hell was Baekhyun?

"Maybe he hates you, but at least he knows his place— unlike you. Do you think he will cry your death? Just like you cried your father's?"

"You're a—"

"And Sicheng? Ha, you failed him too. Your best friend's rotting in a hospital bed for months, all because of what? Your stupid sense of loyalty?"

Stop. Stop. Stop.

What he hated most was how nothing seemed to leave his mouth.

And then came the final blow.

"She's been snooping too much, don't you think?" Sooman sighed, his tone dripping with mock disappointment. "People are starting to talk." Jaehyun's ears began to ring. "Maybe it's time to deal with her too."

And something inside Jaehyun shattered.

He lunged at Sooman before he could even think.

A blurry movement.

A flash of lead.

A click—

And then— a shot.

Pain seared through his ribs. The force pushed him back, his body stumbling as a burning sensation tore through his side.

His jacket was damp. Warm— and the blood...

"That was a warning." Sooman lowered the gun a little. "Now— let's try this again."

Jaehyun saw red.

"You're a bastard."

He didn't think. He didn't hesitate. He didn't care about the gun. The pain. The plan.

He wasn't going to be the only one to fall tonight.

He launched himself, and chaos erupted. Like a war that had been waiting to explode, one that could never be stopped. Jaehyun collided with Sooman, scrambling for the gun.

BANG—

A stray bullet.

And with the sound of metal against concrete, the gun skittered away, sliding across the floor.

Jaehyun's breath was ragged, his heart pounding in his ribs as his body reacted to the punch Sooman threw at his jaw— barely enough time to react when another hit landed in his side, the bullet wound flaring up in agony, causing a guttural scream.

The warehouse air was thick with tension, the faint hum of distant machines barely cutting through the sound of fists colliding with flesh. Jaehyun's breath came in ragged gasps, his body battered and bruised. The metal walls around him echoed every strike, the harsh clanging of steel and bone ringing in his ears. Sooman stood opposite him, a twisted smile on his lips as he wiped blood from his lip, never once breaking his stride.

"You're still here, Jaehyun? I thought you'd be gone by now."

Jaehyun growled, his fists tightening as he lunged forward, throwing a quick jab to Sooman's jaw. It landed with a sickening thud, but Sooman barely flinched. Instead, he grinned wider, dark amusement flickering in his eyes.

"That's the spirit. Too bad it's useless now." Sooman countered, his fist crashing into Jaehyun's ribs. The pain was sharp, instant, and all-consuming. Jaehyun stumbled back, gasping for air, but he didn't fall. He couldn't fall.

Sooman took a step forward, grabbing Jaehyun by the collar and slamming him into a nearby metal crate. The force rattled Jaehyun's skull, and for a moment, everything around him blurred.

"Your father wasn't even able to protect you. You think you can?" Sooman's voice was a taunting whisper in his ear. "You're nothing but a little boy, Jaehyun. Always trying to play grown-up."

Jaehyun's mind flashed back to his father's words from years ago: "Protect Jeno. He'll look up to you one day. Make sure you have something worth looking up to." But what was he now? A broken mess, trapped in a world he couldn't escape from. A world he hated.

"I'm not like you, Sooman," Jaehyun spat, pushing against the crate to regain his footing, his voice a low growl. "I won't be your puppet anymore."

Sooman's expression faltered for just a moment, the first sign of frustration. He shoved Jaehyun hard, sending him sprawling across the ground. Jaehyun's vision blurred, his head spinning from the impact, but he fought the dizziness back. He couldn't let himself go down.

Sooman's footsteps echoed around him, slow and deliberate. "You're still just a kid, Jaehyun. Always trying to run away from the truth. You'll never escape this life. You'll die just like your father did—alone."

Jaehyun's hands trembled, his fingers sore from the pounding he'd taken. His body felt heavy, and with every breath, his muscles screamed in protest. But he refused to let go. He couldn't. Not now.

"You're wrong," Jaehyun grunted, pulling himself to his feet, wiping the blood from his mouth. "I'm not him. I'm not you."

He lunged forward again, this time with everything he had left. A desperate strike, his fist catching Sooman in the side. For a split second, Jaehyun felt the rush of victory—a brief flash of hope. But then, Sooman's fist found his gut, and the air was knocked from his lungs.

Jaehyun staggered back, his vision swimming. His body felt like it was made of stone, heavy and unyielding. But in the pain, he found something. A flicker. Something that drove him forward again.

His fists moved without thinking, each punch feeling like it was ripping him apart, but he kept going, kept fighting. The pain, the exhaustion, the doubt—it all blurred together.

Sooman's face twisted in frustration as Jaehyun landed another blow, this one cutting across his cheek. But the older man's anger boiled over, his attacks becoming more reckless, more vicious. "You think you can beat me? You're nothing but a little boy who doesn't know when to stop."

"I know exactly when to stop," Jaehyun muttered, but it was more to himself than to Sooman. "When it's over."

Sooman charged, and the two collided once more. Metal screeched as Jaehyun was thrown into a pile of rusted equipment, his back slamming against the sharp edges. He let out a pained grunt, but his mind was clear. He couldn't back down. Not now.

Sooman moved in, fury evident in his eyes. Jaehyun barely managed to block a wild swing, feeling the weight of the man's force behind each punch.

And then he landed a punch to Sooman's cheek, sending him stumbling. Jaehyun grabbed him by the collar, throwing him against the nearest wall.

A thin stream of blood dripped from Jaehyun's mouth.

Sooman coughed, spitting blood onto the floor— and then he laughed.

"Is that all you've got?"

Jaehyun's fingers dug into his throat.

"Go to hell."

"After you, kid."

And the next thing Jaehyun knew— something sharp sliced through his shoulder.

A knife.

Sooman's knife.

Jaehyun staggered back, the pain shooting through his arm. The blade gleamed in the faint light as Sooman twisted it, making Jaehyun cry out.

"LET GO!"

The shout echoed through the warehouse. Jaehyun's vision blurred. Blood was pouring from his shoulder, staining the ground beneath him. But a glimmer of hope stirred in his chest as he heard it—the sound of heavy footsteps, the click of weapons being readied.

They were close.

Jaehyun barely had time to process it. His vision swam, his thoughts faltering, as he felt Sooman's grip tighten around the knife's handle. The blade shimmered in the dim light, moving toward Jaehyun's throat, and in that instant, the space between them seemed endless. Jaehyun's pulse thundered in his ears, and it wasn't just from the pain—it was the fear. The fear of dying here, without even a chance to redeem himself, to fix the mess he had made.

He was certain this was it. This was the end.

But then—

The sound of gunshots rang through the warehouse, echoing off the cold metal walls. Baekhyun and his team had arrived.

Sooman froze.

The echo of those gunshots felt like a distant memory, the sharp crack of the weapons like the sound of salvation ringing in Jaehyun's ears.

"Put your fucking hands up, Sooman!"

Baekhyun's voice rang out, unwavering, as the first wave of officers stormed into the warehouse. Jaehyun could barely focus, his vision swimming. He saw flashes of movement—uniformed officers rushing in from all sides, weapons drawn, eyes sharp with determination. They weren't here to negotiate; they were here to end this.

But Jaehyun wasn't sure if he was going to make it long enough to see it through.

"Jaehyun, stay with me." Baekhyun's voice cut through the chaos like a lifeline. Jaehyun's body wanted to collapse, but he held on, his hand still wrapped weakly around Sooman's collar, his knuckles white from the grip.

Sooman hissed through his teeth, pulling the knife back as though to strike again—but before he could, a shout rang through the air.

"Drop the weapon!"

A blur of motion. An officer moved forward, knocking Sooman's arm aside. In an instant, Sooman's knife clattered to the floor, the danger momentarily dissipating. Jaehyun's body slumped, his muscles no longer able to hold him upright. His legs gave out beneath him, and he crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath.

The pain in his shoulder and chest was blinding, but all Jaehyun could think about was the sound of Baekhyun's voice—so close, so real.

"Stay with me, Jaehyun. Stay the hell with me."

Jaehyun's vision wavered. He felt himself slipping into darkness, but there was something about Baekhyun's voice—something that anchored him to the present, something that told him there was still a chance.

Baekhyun was here. They were here.

The world tilted around him as Baekhyun knelt beside him, pulling him into his arms, the pressure on his chest almost unbearable.

"You did good, kid" Baekhyun said. Praying for Jaehyun's life. "Don't you dare close your eyes on me, Jaehyun. We've got him. We've got Sooman. Your family's safe. They're already on their way to another country. Do it for them."

Jaehyun's heart hammered in his chest, each beat growing weaker, his mind clouded. His eyes fluttered, the world blurring as Baekhyun's words seemed to echo in his mind.

"I can't..." Jaehyun muttered, the words barely escaping his lips. "I don't know if I can do it anymore..."

"You can. You can do this," Baekhyun urged, his grip firm on Jaehyun's shoulders as he helped him sit against the wall. His voice was raw, thick with a kind of emotion Jaehyun hadn't expected. "This isn't the end. We're going to fix this, I promise you. Stay with me."

But Jaehyun could feel the darkness tugging at him, could feel the weight of his body, the ache of his soul. His vision was dimming, the world around him fading into a cold silence.

A blur of memories crashed through his mind, sharp and unrelenting. The scene was too familiar—too much like that night seven years ago. But this time, it wasn't his father slipping away.

It was him.

And yet, even as the darkness closed in, the faces of those he loved refused to fade. Jeno, his mother, Sicheng—(Y/N)... they surged through his thoughts like a heartbeat, relentless, desperate. As if remembering them could anchor him here, could pull him back from the edge.

But he wasn't sure he had anything left to hold on to.

"You're not alone," Baekhyun whispered, just as Jaehyun's vision began to collapse into a blur of black.

And his prayers faded into the night.

The dawn after the setup.

(Y/N) felt like a prisoner in her own home.

For the past few days, her life had been reduced to tears that never seemed to stop. Because just when she thought she had no more left to cry, her body would prove her wrong—another wave would come, leaving her breathless, leaving her drowning.

Daeho was stable now. They had discharged him yesterday afternoon, and for a brief moment, she had felt relief. He was alive. He was safe. That should have been enough.

But it wasn't.

Because this morning, she was about to load her suitcases into the back of her family's Range Rover.

Her face was streaked with tears, red from exhaustion, from grief, from anger. Her chest ached, her throat burned from the countless fights, the desperate pleas, the hours spent screaming at walls that refused to listen.

It was official.

Her parents were sending her away.

And there was nothing she could do to stop it.

The sky outside was painted in shades of soft gray, the world caught in the fragile moment between night and morning. But inside, (Y/N)'s world was already falling apart.

She gripped the handle of her suitcase, her fingers trembling against the cold metal.

She didn't want to go.

Her body refused to move, her legs felt like lead, but outside, the Range Rover was waiting. The engine was on, her parents were waiting for her to get in, and every passing second felt like another nail sealing her fate.

Her chest felt too tight, her breath coming in uneven gasps as if she were suffocating.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

The world looked the same. But her world had already changed

Daeho stood beside her, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his posture stiff with guilt. His face was still pale from the overdose, the dark circles under his eyes proof of the hell they had all just lived through.

"This isn't fair." Her voice was barely a whisper, but Daeho still heard it.

"I know."

The weight of everything pressed down on her chest.

She didn't just feel like she was leaving. She felt like she was being erased.

Her mind drifted back—to the streets she had walked a thousand times, to the skyline she had memorized, to the memories woven into every corner of this city.

She thought about Jungwoo.

The best friend who had been by her side since childhood. The one who had made her laugh even on her worst days. The one who had always known how to pull her back from the edge.

She had told him everything. About Jaehyun. About the way she felt.

And the night she found out she was leaving, he had held her while she cried.

"What am I supposed to do without you?" she had whispered, voice raw with heartbreak.

Jungwoo had smiled—a sad, knowing smile.

"You'll figure it out," he had said. "You always do."

But now, as she stood here, ripped away from the life she had built, from the people who made her feel whole—she wasn't so sure.

The night she found out she was leaving, she had tried.

Tried to call him. Tried to text him. Tried to reach him in any way she could.

But Jaehyun was nowhere.

Her messages went unanswered. The calls rang and rang before going straight to voicemail.

She had never felt more helpless.

Maybe he was avoiding her. Maybe he had already decided that it was better this way.

Or maybe... he never even saw her messages at all.

Either way, the silence spoke louder than words ever could.

And now, it was too late.

(Y/N) clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms as she fought to hold back the tears threatening to spill.

She had already lost the battle.

Daeho shifted beside her, his gaze lowered to the ground.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. His voice was quiet, but the weight of it was crushing.

(Y/N) swallowed hard, turning to look at him, her throat burning.

"This isn't your fault." But even as she said it, they both knew it wasn't true.

If Daeho had never fallen into that spiral, if he had never overdosed—maybe their parents wouldn't have made this decision. Maybe she wouldn't be standing here, forced to leave behind everything.

"I should've been stronger," Daeho admitted, his voice cracking. He finally looked at her, eyes glassy, full of regret. "I should've handled things differently. Maybe then—maybe you wouldn't have to go."

Her lips trembled.

"I don't want to go."

Maybe if things had been different... Maybe if Daeho had been okay... Maybe if Jaehyun had answered the phone...

Maybe she wouldn't be standing here, saying goodbye to everything she loved.

The driver asked them to get in the car politely.

It was time.

Daeho gave her a small, broken smile.

"We'll be okay, right?" he asked.

(Y/N) swallowed hard.

"I hope so."

She turned, took one last look at the house, at the city beyond it.

At the life she was leaving behind.

And then she got in the car.

She didn't look back.

Because if she did—she knew she wouldn't be able to leave.

The car hummed steadily as it rolled down the street, the low sound of the tires against the pavement oddly comforting in the midst of the storm inside her chest. (Y/N) leaned her forehead against the cold window, watching the city slip away from her, each passing building another piece of her life she was leaving behind.

Her throat was tight, her chest aching as the weight of it all settled deeper inside her, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. She couldn't escape the feeling that everything she had loved, everything that had ever made her feel like she belonged, was being ripped from her. It felt like she was suffocating, the air heavy with the bitter taste of regret.

Beside her, Daeho stared out the window too, his expression empty, like he'd already gone somewhere far beyond the confines of the car. He hadn't said a word since they left, and neither had she. There was nothing left to say.

But the silence, deafening as it was, didn't give her any peace.

Her mind drifted to the night before. To the phone calls she had tried to make, to the desperate messages she had sent, to the desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, Jaehyun would answer.

But nothing.

His silence felt like a slap in the face. The unanswered calls, the unread messages—it hurt in a way that felt wrong, almost cruel.

She felt stupid for even thinking it, but part of her couldn't help it. Jaehyun had been so close. They had shared something real, something that had burned so brightly she thought it could survive anything. But now it felt like a distant memory, a dream she would never wake up from.

If she could just talk to him, tell him everything—tell him she was sorry for leaving—maybe things could have been different. But she would never get that chance now.

Her fingers tightened around her seatbelt, her mind spinning with all the things left unsaid.

The car had been quiet for what felt like hours, the air inside thick with unspoken words, with tension that neither of them seemed to know how to break. The city was far behind them now, the skyline a distant memory in the rearview mirror, swallowed by the horizon. And the weight of it all pressed down harder with each mile.

(Y/N) didn't look out the window anymore. She couldn't. There was no point in watching the city she loved disappear. It was as though the farther she went, the more she faded from it.

Daeho shifted beside her, his face still pale from everything that had happened. He hadn't spoken since they left the house, but his presence next to her was a reminder of everything she was leaving behind. Everything she didn't want to leave.

The Range Rover pulled into the airport parking lot, the sudden noise of it startling in the midst of their silence.

It was real now.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her phone buzzing in her pocket. Her heart skipped. Jaehyun? She quickly pulled it out, fingers trembling as she unlocked the screen. It was a message, but from Jaehyun? She swallowed hard and tapped it open.

It wasn't from him.

6:45 am - Jungwoo— have a good flight, bestie. I promise to visit you once you settle down.

"Are you okay?" Daeho's voice was soft as he stood beside her, watching her face, sensing the tension that held her in place. She nodded, though the anxiety bubbling inside her made her feel anything but okay.

She forced a smile, not wanting him to see how fragile she really was. "Yeah, I'm fine."

She didn't mean it. She wasn't fine. She hadn't been fine for days, weeks, maybe even longer. She missed Jaehyun more than she could put into words. But right now, standing at the edge of her own escape, all she could feel was the silence. He wasn't there. He wasn't answering, and she didn't know why.

She clenched her fists at her sides, willing the tears back. She couldn't break down now, not when everything was finally set in motion. Not when she was leaving it all behind—her family, her life, her love.

(Y/N) took a deep breath and walked toward the gate, feeling as if each step was a small betrayal of everything she cared about. She had been waiting for a sign, for something to pull her back, to tell her that Jaehyun was still there, that he wasn't completely lost to her. But the silence remained, deafening, suffocating.

It was too late.

She reached the boarding gate, her stomach twisting with every passing moment. And still, no call. No message. No word from Jaehyun. Just the bitter emptiness that had taken root in her chest.

She looked down at her phone again, scrolling through her contacts, her thumb hovering over Jaehyun's name. She could try one more time. She could reach out again, maybe this time, he'd pick up. Maybe he'd explain. But she didn't.

She couldn't.

Every time she reached out, it felt like he was farther away.

The plane was waiting, the final call ringing through the terminal, and (Y/N) stood frozen in the silence that felt like it was swallowing her whole.

As the plane took off, rising into the morning sky, (Y/N) looked out the window, a deep ache consuming her. She was leaving, yes, but it didn't feel like freedom. It felt like loss.

And Jaehyun? She didn't know where he was. What he was doing. All she knew was that he was no longer reaching out.

Her heart was still tangled in a web of longing and regret, but she knew one thing: she needed to survive. She had to.

And when the time came, when the distance between them was finally bridged, she would find herself again.

But for now, all she could do was walk forward. She would take the first step toward healing, even if she didn't know where it would lead her.

And she prayed. She asked the Universe to let her find a way back to him.

— In this lifetime.

a/n: NOT PROOFEAD! Okay, yes this is the last chapter— I'M SORRY. I know it's pure angst. I KNOW, but fot what is worth it, WE STILL HAVE THE EPILOGUE LEFT. Which i'm gonna post it between tonight or tomorrow morning. It might be the final chapter here— but we still have a part left, so what do you think it'll happen? I'm promise it's not that bad. I wanna see what you think so far, so you can leave a comment or talk to me here. I want to specify that (Y/N) doesn't know what happened to Jaehyun, so maybe that leave us some hope for the epilogue? read the epilogue here.

taglist: @peachfulnight @gojoscumslut @bluedbliss @dear-97 @girlwholovespreppyattire @hana-off-icial @cigarettesafterjae @bts-iris @dojaejung @methneo @kriizztin @mrsuhnshine @pieddpiperr @completelyjae @kanekisheart @daegalismybiasinnct @spicyryujin@dear-97

idk why some of the tags just don’t work out! but we still gonna see each other later or tomorrow for the epilogue!

Feel free to send any asks here if you want!

[hinamie]

growth // decay

[scramratz]

Least favorite form of political action is those 1 day boycotts. "Everybody don't buy anything for 1 day!" Like cool wtf is that gonna do? You do know what a boycott is, right? You do it until a change is made. Black folks in Montgomery didn't ride the bus for over a year until segregated seating was lifted. For most of them, that was the only transportation they could afford. It was difficult! That's the point! How do you expect things to change permanently if you don't permanently change! Please!

[save-mohamed-family]

In a humble tent, the cat "Loza" trembled from exhaustion, searching for safety amid the cold and fear. Beside her sat Abdulrahman, the kind-hearted boy who knew nothing but love and compassion.

One cold night, Loza gave birth to four tiny kittens inside the tent. Their faint cries blended with the sound of the wind, as if they were mourning the harshness of the world they had entered.

But the joy did not last long...

Abdulrahman suffered severe burns after a shell landed near the tent where he was playing.

He is now in the intensive care unit at Al-Maamadani Hospital.

Meanwhile, Loza and her little kittens wait for him every day at the entrance of the tent, missing his embrace — the small world of safety and love he once gave them.

Today,

Abdulrahman needs us, just as Loza once needed him.

He needs treatment so he can heal, smile again, and return to his little family.

Please donate to help Abdulrahman recover and come back to the life — and the little hearts — that await him every morning.

Donate to Abdulrahman here🔗 .

@bunnydracula @determinate-negation @thatdiabolicalfeminist @riding-with-the-wild-hunt

[cozylittleartblog]

"content creator" is a corporate word.

we are artists.

[akechis-piano]

viktor was jesus for like a WEEK and then jayce had to go ahead and crucify him. this isnt "doomed" yaoi this isnt "toxic" yaoi this is something different. this is eldritch horror yaoi. this is divorce but on a biblical scale.

edit: b4 you leave your “it was actually a couple of months” comment i Know it was months i was referring to the time irl between episodes.

[inkskinned]

i'm a little afraid to go to pride this year. many of us are, a little. sitting around our tapas and video games, the silence that hangs over the discord server. it feels different, we say.

we're privileged. the community that came before us laid the groundwork so i could be raised in a different world, and i will never forget their sacrifices and dedication. they gave us this: a pride that feels like community and celebration and joy. i remember the first few times i went to a queer event - i'd been raised so catholic. feeling safe like that, for the first time... it saved my life. i go to pride to celebrate that feeling - my people, laughing. out in the sun, the way we couldn't have been even 25 years ago. that feeling: no wonder we call it "pride."

who am i to be afraid anyway. there are parts of the world where people are doing much better work than i am. but it's just: i felt at home there, you know? and this year feels different. we are waiting on the dam to break. last year, at boston pride, there was a whole gaggle of sign-holders shouting about jesus. you walk around them and try not to let it get to you.

this year, i'm going to DC's pride with my girlfriend. google sends me concerns about if it's safe to exist in trump's america, if World Pride is a bigass target on all of us. every article uses the words "safety concerns" many, many times. three days ago i witnessed a shooting.

even straight people keep telling me - people are weird lately. sometimes we blame it on Covid and sometimes we blame it on the full moon. but i do remember a time before this, right. it's not just that people are more comfortable being rude. it's this strange, outwards violence. a comfort in being cruel.

it's a big hole to fall down anyway. it's not like they're going to do anything to make pride safe, not really. i don't want a police presence as the solution. and what if this is just fearmongering! what if this is just to get us to stop attending our own events! what if everything is actually fine, and i'm just freaked out by the stated intentions of our president!

and what if i'm just listening to things that are being said. what if i'm weighing the shape and size of this america accurately.

my mother calls me. she's been getting the articles too. i assure her i'll be careful, but i put the phone down and stare at it. i'm going to go to pride. other people made it safe for me, it is my duty and my honor to show up for my community. the only thing we've ever had was each other. it was always an act of bravery. being ourselves is brave.

but i am afraid. i lay out my outfit and i kiss my girlfriend. i cut my nails and clean up my undercut. i hold her hand and hang the sunset flag. the sound of this america feels different. like a volcano trembling. i will love her and i will love being queer and i will sing over the noise of it.

but ... still. in the back of my mind. that feeling, like something terrible has been shifted. like somewhere in the night - they remembered we're different.

[roselade]

any excuse to see papyrus

alternatively:

[meddeef]

Kaoru and Kojiro would have dating rumours about them spread like wildfire and Kaoru would respond like: “I can’t understand why anyone would think that” but he spends his entire day talking to Kojiro, sitting with him at lunch and fighting with him during class and he even walks home with the guy.

Like okay buddy, it’s okay to be a little in love with your best friend, no-one’s gonna hurt you..

[bisexuallycanthrope]

Sorry not sorry

[save-mohamed-family]

I couldn’t run…

Not because I didn’t want to, but because I was carrying my children—Sarah and Leen—in my arms, and my injured hand could barely hold them.

We were forcibly evacuated…

It wasn’t a choice, but a desperate escape from the hellish bombing raining down from every direction.

My children are too young…

They can’t walk long distances, and Abdul Rahman is wounded—he can’t walk at all.

We have no car, and no safe place to go. Nowhere feels like shelter.

Every minute here could be our last…

People are running, fleeing… and I’m trapped.

Trapped by fear, by tears, by my children, and by helplessness.

If you can’t donate, please just share this plea.

But if you can… help us stay alive.

To check my campaign from here .

Donate link to my campaign here .

VERIFIED; #192 ON THE SPREADSHEET BY @/el-shab-hussein and @/nabulsi

[frownyalfred]

platonic Bruce + Clark relationship but it’s just Clark whispering “I cannot handle you like this right now” under his breath at a public event where Bruce is, predictably, being a menace, and Bruce is all 🥺 until Clark rolls his eyes and says “stop making that face, you don’t want to be like this either.”

[toffeebrews]

oughhdhshhhllswee ARHHSHHHJK

HERE!!! MY LUST DESIGN JUST TAKE IT JUST TAKE IT RUNS AWAY

[houseofmarcella]

dear god Albus Potter do you utterly haunt my thoughts

Just… Albus in the cursed child, for as mixed as people seem to be on it… Albus as the certified middle child who doesn’t have the cloak, doesn’t have the map, who doesn’t even have a family name?

Can you imagine little Al (not yet Albus because that’s a name he truly goes by once he has Scorpius) tucking himself into the cracks of the door as he hears his parents talking, hears his dad say it would have been better to know they were having two boys so they could have just called him Sirius

Al, getting teased by his invisible brother, yet seeing so distinctly that his father chose James over him for their family legacy

Al, who grew up on the filtered advice of a distant, out of reach mentor who he could never live up to. Not like James with his fun, his humor, or Lily with her love and her girlhood.

(Albus, who will hear Cedric called the spare and understand far too well what it’s like to be of secondary importance)

Al, who out of all his siblings looks the most like his father, a reflection to every family friend of what harry went through and an eternal reminder to himself and the world that he will always be his father’s legacy (he will look in the mirror for most of his adult life and see his father before he sees himself)

Al, age 11, seeking comfort on the train platform as everything changes around him and getting another lecture about bravery that he doesn’t feel he has

Al becoming Albus on that train, when the boy who would become the most important person in his life actually asks him, asks him what he wants to be called

Albus, under the sorting hat, struggling but thinking about who he wants to be outside of his family’s legacy and getting put in Slytherin for it

Albus, who grew up on war stories and hogwarts hyjinks staying up half his first night because he’s afraid of his peers, but doesn’t want them to know that because he so desperately and conflictingly wants to both fit in and stand out

Albus, who is bad at flying, humiliating himself in front of his peers, because he isn’t harry but isn’t Quidditch player Ginny either… Albus, who all the adults see as Harry’s extension; Albus, who struggles with charms like Lily never will, who can barely make his matchstick silver under the blue eyed portrait in the room, who struggles to parse through the moving and unequal words of wizarding textbooks, who attracts bullies like flies and doesn’t yet have his mother’s hexes to fight back

Albus, struggling to write that first letter home, to tell his parents and little sister that he’s different from them; Albus who doesn’t even get to tell them because James tells them first

Albus, who doesn’t get a green scarf and hat until after the first snow, unable to parse if it’s the color, the fact that he’s the second born, or maybe just that it’s him that made it come later than James’ had

Albus, who goes back home for Christmas and faces his father’s disapproval for befriending a Malfoy, his father’s distrust and attempts to assure his morality for befriending someone harry assumes cruel and antagonistic

Albus, having to hold awkward conversation with Rose and Ron and Hermione, because neither of the kids want their parents to know they’re not talking (they find out eventually, and though they’re nice about it, Albus knows they’ll always put Rose’s feelings first)

Albus, who is suddenly assumed more malicious and problem causing than he ever was before, who suddenly is seen as a prime person to scot the blame off to when things go wrong

Albus, who gets chosen after his sister (“just like her mother!”) during the family quidditch match; who gets meaningful looks from his Uncle Percy; whose Christmas sweaters are no longer red but never green; who suddenly cant seem to talk to his uncle ron anymore, someone who used to understand what it was like to be James’ brother

Albus potter who stradles the line of too Potter for Slytherin and too Slytherin for his family.

Albus Potter, who’s ambition has been squashed out by bullies and disregard and distrust, struggling to find his identity in a house and world that is still in the midst of undoing decades as an indoctrination machine…

[neanmoins-que]

day 3&4 for DDtober

Collection and Ruins

I'm using the twitter's prompt list by @/soul_of_sparda

[wiltkingart]

hey i know i dont advertise (?) this through traditional means but i'm a guy. my pronouns are he/him. not nonbinary not genderneutral not they/them. i am a man. dont let my waist-length hair and elfish looks distract you. focus. he/him/his and nothing else.