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greyminyoon1 · 3 months ago

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SAFE & SOUND — part 6

Navigating one year post-apocalypse, when the dead began to walk and the living proved to be no better, you decide that trust is a luxury you can no longer afford. But after a run-in with a group of seven peculiar survivors, you learn that there are bigger problems than just the undead roaming the streets. You also start to wonder if there’s more to survival than simply staying alive.

word count: 18k

a/n: heavy trigger warning for depiction of gore, blood, killing and death. reader discretion is advised. enjoy! ☺️

MASTERLIST

Dusk.

It settles over the camp, painting the sky in deep purples and burnt oranges. The air is thick with the kind of quiet that only comes before a storm, heavy and expectant.

You and Jungwon sit side by side on the rooftop, gazing out at the horizon, lost in your own thoughts. Your head rests against his shoulder, his warmth grounding you, the occasional brush of your legs against each other a quiet reminder of just how close you are.

Neither of you has spoken for hours, yet the silence between you isn’t empty. It’s comfortable, weighted with everything that doesn’t need to be said. Words feel pointless when the future is a gaping unknown, when death lingers at the edge of every decision you make.

You still don’t know what your feelings for Jungwon truly are. Is it respect? Admiration? Or something deeper—something dangerous—something resembling affection? You don’t want to find out. Not now. Not when either of you could be dead by sunrise. Naming it would only make it real, and you can’t afford that kind of pain.

A shift in the air makes you straighten slightly. The atmosphere thickens, the world around you seeming to still. And then, in the distance, you see it.

The horde.

It moves like a single entity, a writhing, heaving mass of death spilling over the landscape. Even from miles away, the sheer size of it is terrifying, bigger than what you remember from the bus terminal. Bigger than what you had prepared for. A lump forms in your throat.

You feel Jungwon tense beneath you, his muscles coiling like a wire pulled too tight.

“They’re here,” he murmurs.

The words send a ripple of finality through your chest, cold and sharp. No hesitation, no maybe, no they’re coming—they’re already here.

Without another word, the two of you silently pull apart from one another. Your muscles move on instinct, years of survival kicking in, pushing back the rush of dread clawing up your spine. Your fingers twitch at your sides, curling into fists before flexing out again, steadying yourself.

Your feet barely touch the ground as you move, slipping down from your vantage point with Jungwon close behind. “You see ‘em?” Jake appears beside you just as your feet touch the ground.

You nod. “Yeah. And… the horde’s bigger than I remember.”

A sharp exhale. Jake runs a hand through his hair, his usual confidence slipping. “Fuck, man. Is it too late to pack up and leave?”

Jungwon ignores the comment, already shifting into leader mode. He turns to Sunoo. “The masks?”

Sunoo jerks his thumb towards a small crate by the petrol pumps. “Over there. Though we haven’t actually tried them on…” His voice trails off as the weight of what you’re about to do sinks in.

The idea of wearing the dead suddenly feels more real. More horrifying.

Jungwon strides over to the crate, crouching beside it. He lifts the lid, revealing a mess of grotesque masks, stitched together from the rotting flesh of the dead. The smell alone is enough to make your stomach churn.

Even though you knew what to expect, seeing them up close, knowing you’re about to wear them—it sends an involuntary shudder down your spine.

Sunoo hesitates, eyeing the pile of decayed flesh like it might lunge at him. “I don’t think I can do this,” he mutters, swallowing hard.

“You can,” Jungwon says, his voice steady, leaving no room for argument. “We don’t have a choice.”

Jake exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders like he’s trying to shake off the dread creeping up his spine. “Well, no point in putting it off,” he mutters before reaching into the crate. He hesitates for only a second before pulling one out, inspecting it under the dimming light. His face twists in disgust. “Jesus Christ.”

“You think A’s people ever got used to this?” Sunghoon mutters, grabbing a mask and flipping it over in his hands.

“No,” Jay answers. “You don’t get used to things like this. You just learn to live with it.”

Just then, a muffled scream cuts through the tense air, sharp and urgent. Your attention snaps to Lieutenant Kim, still bound to the chair beside the convenience store entrance, her body jerking violently as she struggles against the restraints. Her feet slam against the floorboards, the hollow thuds echoing in the heavy silence.

“Shit, I forgot about her,” Ni-ki mutters under his breath, exasperation laced with something closer to unease.

Heeseung strides over without hesitation, yanking the cloth from her mouth in one swift motion. The moment she’s able to breathe freely, she sucks in a sharp breath before her smirk returns, curling at the edges like a predator baring its teeth.

“Hah,” she exhales, eyes flicking straight to you. “That mask… looks like it was made for you.”

Her words slither through the air, taunting. But they don’t hit their mark. Not like she wants them to. Not when you’ve already embraced the horror of what you’re about to do.

Heeseung doesn’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction, moving to shove the cloth straight back in her mouth.

But then she panics.

“Wait!” she blurts out, her voice cracking ever so slightly, the first sign of real fear slipping through the cracks in her bravado. “You can’t just leave me out here with nothing! I’ll die!”

Heeseung pauses, cloth still gripped in his hand, his gaze narrowing as he watches her panic take hold.

The mask of arrogance slips from her face, replaced with something raw. Desperation. The kind that seeps into your bones when you know—truly know—that death is coming for you.

“You knew this was coming,” you say, your voice eerily calm. “You knew we’d figured out A’s plan. That’s why you went after Sunoo. You were buying time, weren’t you? Hoping that if you could keep up the act just a little longer, you’d distract us long enough for them to get here.”

Lieutenant Kim’s eyes snap to yours, her expression flickering with something unreadable.

“You should’ve known what you were getting into the moment you decided to reveal yourself,” you continue, your gaze unwavering. “So why are you acting like the victim?”

Her jaw tightens, and for a split second, she hesitates. It’s barely perceptible, but you see it—the tiny fracture in her composure. The smug confidence she had only moments ago is slipping, cracking at the edges like glass under pressure. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, and for the first time since she first revealed herself, she looks afraid.

Then, just as quickly, she scowls, yanking at the ropes again, frustration spilling out in sharp bursts of breath. “I was foolish,” she spits, voice laced with venom. “That was before I realised just how fucking insane you all are.”

Her laugh is bitter, hollow, like something jagged scraping against stone. “You’re actually going through with this? Walking in there like sheep to the slaughter? You don’t know the first thing about walking with the dead.” She shakes her head, eyes flashing with something almost close to disbelief. “The dead don’t think. They don’t hesitate. One slip-up—one wrong breath—and they’ll tear you apart before you can even blink.”

Jungwon steps forward then, his shadow stretching across the floor as he towers over her. “Then you have nothing to worry about, do you?” His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it—sharp and unyielding. “You wanted to see us dead. Whether it’s by their hands or yours, the outcome is the same, isn’t it?”

Lieutenant Kim’s breath catches. The bravado she clung to so fiercely is slipping from her grasp. “You don’t understand,” she says, her voice lower now, strained. “I know A. You don’t. You think this is just about killing you? He wants you to turn. He wants you to become part of his army.”

You’ve already figured that much on your own.

She swallows hard, her eyes darting between you all. “You think you can play his game, but you’re not like him. You still care. And that’s why you’re going to lose.”

A heavy silence follows.

No one moves. No one breathes.

Jungwon tilts his head slightly, regarding her with cold calculation. Then he kneels, lowering himself to her eye level. “If you’re so sure we’re going to lose,” he murmurs, “why are you afraid?”

Lieutenant Kim flinches, her mouth pressing into a thin line.

“That’s what I thought,” Jungwon says, standing back up. He nods towards Heeseung. “Stuff the cloth back in.”

“No, wait—you need me,” she spits, trying to regain some ground. “You think you can just walk among them without understanding how it really works? You’ll fuck it up, and then what? You’ll be torn apart before you even reach the first one of them. I know how they move. I know how they think. You need me alive!”

It’s a compelling argument. But the fear in her voice betrays her—this isn’t about being needed. This is about survival. The truth is, she’s terrified. Of being left behind. Of facing the things she’s been walking with for so long without the protection of her disguise.

You step forward then, slow and deliberate, your expression unreadable. The flickering light from the campfire casts long shadows across your face, making your eyes seem darker, more hollow. You look down at her, considering.

“You think we’re going to risk our survival for yours?” Your voice is quiet, dangerous. “You spent how long spying on us? Hunting us? Forcing us into this mess? And now you expect us to trust you?”

“I didn’t force you into anything,” she snaps back, but there’s no real bite to her words anymore. “You were always going to lead them back here. That was inevitable.”

A chill runs through you at her words. So they have been watching you, ever since you ran into the group at the auto shop.

No. Not just since the auto shop. Not just since the city. Not even since the forest.

They’ve been watching you ever since you first rolled up to this rest stop, all those months ago. The horde that swarmed the city that night—it wasn’t a coincidence. They released it. Because that was the night the group finally came out of hiding. The night you ran into them. The night they made sure you would meet.

The night they ensured you would lead them back here.

Your breath stills, your mind racing to fit the pieces together. The city—the ambush—it wasn’t just bad luck. It was orchestrated. Every move you made, every choice you thought was your own—it was all guided. Manipulated. They herded you like cattle back to this place. Back home. Only they hadn’t considered you would leave and expose their plans.

It makes your skin crawl.

“You were there, weren’t you?” you ask, your voice lower now, almost to yourself. “That night in the city. You knew I would run into them. You made sure I did.”

Jungwon’s brows furrow, his mouth parting slightly as if to respond, but he doesn’t. Because he doesn’t know. None of them do.

You scan their faces. They’re all wearing the same expression, a mixture of unease and complete bewilderment. They have no idea what you’re talking about.

The realisation makes your pulse spike. You hadn’t even had time to sit them down, to tell them what you suspected, to lay out the signs that had been gnawing at the back of your mind since that night.

Because everything was happening too fast. Your emotions are a mess—your anger, your fear, your desperation all tangling together, clouding your judgment, making you second-guess things you know are true.

There was no time to think, to process, to make sense of the truth before you were already neck-deep in it.

Lieutenant Kim tilts her head, her smirk creeping back like an old habit. “We were always watching. We knew you tried coming back here for supplies.”

The rage comes quick, burning through your veins. You knew something was off that night in the city, you knew it wasn’t just bad luck. But hearing it confirmed, hearing it from her—it makes your fists clench so tight your nails dig into your palms.

“You led me to them,” you grit out, the realisation settling like a stone in your stomach.

“And you led them here.” Her eyes gleam, victorious. “Funny how that works, huh?”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Your mind is screaming at you to do something. To hit her. To shut her up. To make her feel the fear she forced onto all of you. But you don’t. You can’t. Because deep down, she’s right. You did lead them here. Whether you meant to or not, whether it was orchestrated or just fate, it doesn’t matter now. It happened.

And now, you have to deal with it.

Your throat feels tight as you try to swallow the guilt, but it clings to you, digging its claws into your ribs. You force yourself to breathe. Shutting your eyes for a moment, you focus on the ground beneath your feet, the slight chill of the night air, the distant groans of the horde closing in. You don’t have time for this. There’s no room for regret, no space for self-pity. If you stop now, if you let yourself spiral, you’ll fall apart.

And you can’t afford to fall apart. Not now.

Jungwon sighs beside you, the sound heavy, exhausted. When you finally open your eyes, he’s looking at you, his gaze searching, measured. “What do you think?” he asks.

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“I need to know what you think,” he says, his voice calm, but firm. “Do you think we should keep her alive?”

His words hang between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. He’s asking you something deeper than just a yes or no. He’s asking if you can handle this. If you’re still the person who came back, the person who stood in front of them and said this was the only way. If you’re willing to see it through.

You inhale sharply, steadying yourself, and look at the group. At the way they’re waiting, expecting you to take responsibility for your own mess. Your throat feels dry, the weight of the decision hangs in the air like a guillotine, waiting to fall, waiting for you to let it.

Lieutenant Kim watches you, her smirk fading ever so slightly as she realises that Jungwon has placed her fate in your hands. Your psychotic hands.

Jungwon’s eyes are locked on you, unwavering, searching. He’s not testing you, not challenging you. He’s just waiting. Letting you make the call. Because you’re the one who brought this plan to life. You’re the one who gave them hope. And now you have to decide what to do with the person who tried to take that hope away.

You swallow hard, forcing your voice steady. “We keep her alive.”

A few people tense. Sunoo shifts uncomfortably, his fingers still curled around the pistol he took from her. Jake exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. Jungwon doesn’t react, doesn’t move, just waits for you to continue.

“She’s right,” you say, hating the words as they leave your mouth. “She knows how they move, how they think. She knows what they’ll do when they get here. We’d be idiots not to use that.”

Lieutenant Kim raises a brow, the smirk crawling back onto her face, but you cut her off before she can speak.

“But make no mistake,” you say, stepping forward, letting the words press into her like a blade. “The only reason you’re still breathing is because I let you. Don’t mistake that for mercy.”

The smirk falters.

Jungwon watches you, unreadable, before giving a slow nod. “Fine. But she’s not getting any chances to turn this on us. We keep her tied up with Jay on the roof. And if she so much as thinks about playing games—” His voice drops, dark and final. “She’s dead.”

No one argues.

She exhales through her nose, looking between you and Jungwon, something unreadable flashing through her eyes. “Fine,” she says simply. “Have it your way. As long as I come out of it alive.”

Despite the restraints, she looks unnervingly comfortable, like she’s been in worse situations and lived to tell the tale. She’s watching you all carefully, like a cat surrounded by mice, waiting to see who flinches first.

“Well?” Jungwon prompts, arms crossed, standing a few paces away. “You wanted to live. Start talking.”

She exhales through her nose, tilting her head slightly. “I’ll tell you, but don’t think for a second that it means you’ll survive doing it.”

Ni-ki scoffs from where he’s crouched near the crate of masks. “Really selling it to us, thanks.”

She ignores him, shifting slightly in her seat. “Walking with the dead isn’t just about the masks,” she starts. “It’s about becoming them.”

You frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She lets the words sink in before continuing. “You can’t just put on rotting skin and expect them to ignore you. They sense things. They’re drawn to movement, sound. They can tell when something isn’t right. The mask covers your scent, sure. But if you twitch too much, breathe too hard, look too alive—they’ll notice.”

“Right,” Jay mutters, voice laced with something between disbelief and dark amusement. “Act like the living, and you’ll be dead. How ironic.”

A shiver crawls up your spine.

Sunghoon crosses his arms. “So what, we just shamble around like zombies?”

“Yes,” she says, with an almost sick kind of amusement. “Slow, steady, unbothered. And most importantly—quiet.”

Sunoo, who’s been unusually silent, finally speaks. “How did you learn to do it?” His eyes flick to her missing arm, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

She hums, tilting her head slightly. “I guess I’m just naturally gifted,” she wiggles her remaining fingers as if to taunt you. “You get it wrong once, you don’t get a second chance.”

The room falls silent for a moment, the weight of that statement settling over everyone.

Jake exhales sharply. “And the people who got it right?”

“They learned that fear is the biggest giveaway,” she continues. “If you panic, if you start breathing too fast, moving too much—they’ll know. You have to be still inside. Empty.” She flicks her gaze to you, then to Jungwon. “That’s why A’s people don’t hesitate to kill. When you strip yourself down to nothing, there’s nothing left to be afraid of.”

Your stomach churns at her words, a deep, unsettling nausea curling in your gut. There’s a casual ease in the way she speaks, like she’s explaining something as simple as tying a shoelace, as if becoming nothing is a switch you can just flip.

And maybe for her, it is. Maybe that’s why she’s so willing to spill every secret, to reveal all the intricacies of how A’s people move and survive. Because, at the end of the day, she doesn’t care about them—not more than she cares about herself.

It makes sense now, the way she smirked when you asked how she got here, how she survived this long. There was no grand loyalty to A, no deep-seated belief in his cause. She simply did what she had to do to not die. And now, she’s doing it again.

Jungwon seems to come to the same conclusion, his gaze narrowing slightly. “So that’s it, then?” His voice is steady, but there’s something beneath it, something edged with quiet contempt. “You don’t care who wins, who dies. You’ll sell out anyone as long as you get to keep breathing?”

She doesn’t even flinch. If anything, she looks amused. “Now you’re getting it.”

There’s no shame in her expression. No guilt. Just the bare, stripped-down truth of what she is.

Survival at all costs.

Jungwon’s expression remains unreadable. “So what’s stopping you from walking out of here?”

She smiles, slow and sharp. “Nothing. If you hadn’t tied me up.”

It’s a warning. A challenge. And a reminder that this is not something you can half-ass. If you’re going to do this, you have to commit.

Jungwon glances at you. “You still think this will work?”

You swallow hard, pushing down the unease clawing at your ribs. “We don’t have a choice.”

Lieutenant Kim’s smile widens. “Then I suggest you start practising.”

You, Heeseung, and Sunghoon move in unspoken sync, lifting her from the ground, each of you gripping a limb as you haul her up toward the roof. She’s heavier than she looks, dead weight in your grasp, but she doesn’t resist. Even as you tighten the ropes around her body, securing them to the support pillar, she doesn’t flinch. She only watches, her dark eyes gleaming under the moonlight, the ghost of a smirk still tugging at the corners of her lips.

You steal a glance towards the horizon, your breath catching slightly as your eyes settle on the horde. They are closer now. A wave of bodies stretching far into the darkness, moving in sluggish, restless synchrony. From up here, they look almost surreal—like a living, breathing organism, pulsing forward with one singular purpose: consume.

Your stomach twists. You count the minutes in your head, assessing their pace, the way they stumble but never truly slow down. Thirty minutes. Maybe forty at best. That’s all the time you have before they reach the outer perimeter. Before they begin pressing against the barricades, before the presence of the living draws them forward in a frenzy.

It’s not enough time. It never is.

You force yourself to look away, tearing your gaze from the inevitable and climbing back down.

By the time your feet hit the ground, the fire crackles against the heavy quiet, flickering shadows dancing across the tense faces gathered around it. The warmth barely reaches you. It should—should seep into your bones, chase away the cold curling at your core—but instead, the chill settles deeper in your chest, curling into the spaces between your lungs.

Jungwon is already watching you, his expression unreadable. You don’t know what he’s looking for, what he sees when he looks at you, but after a moment, he nods. “Put them on,” he instructs the group, his voice calm but firm.

Lieutenant Kim’s warning must have sunk deep into him. What she said about never being able to truly walk with the dead unless you learn to become them.

Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for the mask in the crate, fingers brushing against the decayed flesh. You force yourself to pick it up, ignoring the way your stomach twists at the thought of pressing this thing against your skin.

The texture is sickly, stiff yet disturbingly soft, like leather left out to rot in the rain. The edges are uneven, jagged where it had been hastily cut from whatever corpse it once belonged to.

You swallow down the bile rising in your throat.

A deep breath. In. Out.

You can do this. You have to.

The stench hits next. A foul, overwhelming odour of decay and stagnant blood floods your senses the moment you lift the mask closer to your face. It’s a putrid mix of damp earth, copper, and something sickly sweet—the unmistakable scent of death. It clings to the inside of your nostrils, coating your tongue as if you’ve tasted it rather than smelled it. You breathe through your mouth in an attempt to lessen the nausea, but it doesn’t help. The scent seeps into you, invasive and inescapable.

You hesitate, staring down at it, your grip tightening. You tell yourself that it’s just a mask. Just a means to an end. A tool for survival. But as you turn it over in your hands, inspecting the ragged stitching that barely holds the flesh together, the hollowed-out sockets where real eyes once sat, the weight of what you’re about to do settles deep in your chest.

It’s not just a mask. It was once a person.

A shudder rakes through you, your mind flashing to the possibility—who were they before they became this? Before their face was carved from their skull and turned into a disguise? A survivor? A fighter? Someone clinging to their last shred of humanity?

Would this be your fate too, if you failed? Would your face be the next to be hollowed out and worn by someone desperate enough to do whatever it takes to live?

Your breath shakes as you glance at the others. They’re watching you, waiting for someone to move first. Waiting for you to move first.

This was your idea.

You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself. Then, slowly, you lift the mask to your face, your heart hammering against your ribs. The moment it presses against your skin, everything inside you screams. The dampness of rot sinking into your pores, the way the texture clings to your cheek, how the rancid scent floods every sense—it feels suffocating. The edges don’t sit comfortably; they scratch against your jaw, the flaps curling slightly where the flesh has begun to peel. You feel it stretch across the back of your head, tightening against your forehead, your breath now trapped in the confined, hellish space beneath.

The worst part? It moves.

The lingering remnants of decay shift with each breath you take, subtle but unmistakable, as if the dead thing is still breathing with you. The mask absorbs your warmth, dampening further, moulding itself onto you as if it has claimed you as its own.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, your instincts screaming at you to rip it off, get it off, get it off! But you don’t. You can’t. Everyone is watching you. You force yourself to stay still, to endure.

For a moment, you feel sickeningly, terrifyingly not yourself.

But then you remind yourself: This is survival. This is how you live.

The silence around you is suffocating, save for the faint rustle of movement as the others follow suit. No one speaks. You don’t need to look at them to know they’re struggling, too, each reaction ranging from silent horror to barely suppressed gags.

Sunoo dry heaves. “I think I’m actually going to be sick.”

Sunghoon, adjusting his mask, smacks him on the back. “Not in the mask, dude.”

Jake groans. “I swear to god, if I hear one more joke, I’m ripping this thing off and taking my chances.”

Despite everything, a faint smirk tugs at Jungwon’s lips. “Good. If we can joke, we can handle this.”

Your fingers clench into fists at your sides as you watch Jungwon secure his mask. His hands don’t shake, his breath doesn’t falter. Even now, even when you know he’s just as afraid as the rest of you, he refuses to show it. He carries it all in silence, swallowing the fear, locking it away where no one else can see.

Except you.

You can see the tightness in his jaw, the way his shoulders are rigid with tension. He’s terrified—just like you, just like all of you—but he won’t show it. He won’t let himself. Not when everyone is looking to him for reassurance.

And as much as it hurts to see, it makes you admire him even more.

The moment he fastens the last strap, he turns to you. The sight of him like this—his sharp eyes peering out from behind something so grotesque, something that doesn’t belong to him, doesn’t deserve to be him—it unsettles you in a way you can’t quite name. Not because he looks different, but because he doesn’t. The mask, with its decayed flesh and empty, hollowed-out sockets, should strip him of his identity, should erase the Jungwon you know.

But it doesn’t. Even through the filth, through the horrid disguise, he’s still him. Still Jungwon. Still the boy who pulled you back from the edge when you thought you had nowhere left to turn. Still the boy who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders without ever asking for help. Still the same person standing beside you on the rooftop just hours ago.

And yet, something about this feels wrong. Like you’re looking at a ghost of him, a version of him twisted by the world you’re trying so hard to survive in.

He moves with purpose, with certainty, with that same quiet resolve that makes your chest tighten. Because it’s real now. This is real. There is no pretending, no hypothetical outcome where this isn’t happening. You’re doing this.

The world suddenly feels too small, like it’s closing in on you, squeezing the air from your lungs. You’re painfully, horribly aware of the texture of dead flesh pressing against your forehead, against your cheeks. Your vision is slightly obscured, the edges blurred, distorted. The mask is heavy. It’s claustrophobic.

For a split second, panic swells in your chest.

But then you hear it—Jungwon’s breathing. Slow. Measured. Steady.

You focus on that.

If he can do this, so can you.

You lift your chin, squaring your shoulders, forcing yourself to push past the nausea crawling up your throat, past the revulsion, past the unbearable itch of decay against your skin.

This is survival. This is what it takes.

Jungwon watches you for a beat longer, his sharp gaze scanning your face, searching for something. Maybe he’s making sure you’re not going to bolt, that you’re not second-guessing this at the last second. Maybe he’s trying to commit your face to memory before it’s buried beneath the grotesque mask.

“Alright.” His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it now, like he’s bracing himself for what’s to come. He adjusts his mask once more, as if settling into this new, monstrous identity. As if making peace with the fact that he has to become something unrecognisable to survive.

“It’s time.” The words ring through the silence like a final verdict.

He had given you the chance to walk away—multiple times. Every step of the way, he had left the door open to let you decide if this was a fight you were willing to take on. No pressure, no demands. Just a choice. And yet, here you are.

You chose this. Chose to stay. Chose to fight. Chose to bury whatever fear, whatever hesitation still lingered inside you, and stand with them.

Now, you have to hold your ground and finish what you started.

The air is thick with tension, the dying embers of the campfire flickering weakly in the distance, casting long, warped shadows that stretch long and distorted against the walls—the same walls that will either be left standing or reduced to rubble by the time this is all over. There is no in-between.

Everyone stands ready, motionless, save for the occasional shifting of weight, the tightening of fingers around thin air, the quiet, steadying breaths swallowed into the night.

In the dim light, their silhouettes blend into the darkness, merging with the moment. Because from this point forward, none of you are who you were before.

And then, there’s Jay.

He’s the only one still wearing his own face, the last reminder of what normal used to look like. His jaw is tight as he exhales a slow, controlled breath, eyes moving between each of you. The faintest crease in his brows betrays the frustration, the helplessness. He hates this. You can see it in the way his fists clench at his sides, in the way he looks at Jungwon as if asking to be given a role more substantial than being a distraction.

But there is nothing for him. Not tonight.

You know he understands. Knows why he has to stay behind. But knowing doesn’t make it easier. You’d feel the same if you were in his position—sidelined while the people you care about throw themselves into the unknown.

Still, it’s better this way. Better to have him on the bench than risk him collapsing in the middle of the dead, his wound opening up like a beacon in the dark.

Jungwon steps forward, his voice calm and controlled. “Remember the plan. A small cut is all it takes. Even when they catch on to what we’re doing, don’t engage. They won’t be stupid enough to expose themselves in the middle of the horde either. We move in groups and we don’t leave anyone behind.”

He hands each of you a small pocket knife, pressing the cold steel into your palms. You feel its weight, its deadly potential, and the knowledge of what you have to do settles deeper into your bones. Your fingers curl around the handle instinctively, as if your body already knows what your mind is still trying to accept.

Jungwon scans the group, his expression sharp, calculating. “There are seven of us. Let’s split into two pairs and a group of three—”

You don’t let him finish. You do what you do best.

“No.” The word leaves your lips before you can stop it. “Having three of the us walking together could look too out of place. It’s dangerous. We stick to pairs.”

Jungwon sucks in a breath, his jaw tightening. He knows where this is going. You can see it in the way his eyes twitch, in the way his posture stiffens. Despite that, he pushes. “Then I’ll—”

“No,” you cut him off again, firmer this time. “You already know I’m not going to let you do that.”

Jungwon’s entire body stills, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. His chest rises and falls in measured breaths, but his eyes are locked onto yours, searching, challenging.

“Y/N.”

It’s not just your name. It’s a warning. A command.

But you don’t back down. You can’t.

Because you know exactly what he’s thinking. You know that look. You’ve seen it before—the night before you left—when he’s making a decision he knows he won’t change, when he’s preparing to throw himself into the fire, to take on the worst of it, to shoulder the danger like it’s his duty. And maybe, on some level, he thinks if he’s the one to do it, if he’s the one leading the charge, it’ll keep the rest of you safe.

But you know better.

This isn’t just strategy. It’s not just about what makes sense.

It’s about him. It’s about the way he carries the weight of this group like it’s carved into his bones, the way he never lets himself be the one protected. It’s about the way he expects to be the one who pays the price.

And you refuse to let him.

You refuse to lose him.

The tension coils tighter, suffocating, pressing into the space between you like a force of nature neither of you can control. It coils around your throat, wraps around your ribs, making it harder to breathe, harder to think. Every second wasted here is a second closer to death, and yet, neither you nor Jungwon back down.

The others watch in silence, their gazes shifting between you and Jungwon, their fingers tightening around their weapons. They don’t speak, don’t interfere—because this isn’t their fight. It never is when it comes to the two of you.

Whatever moment you shared before—whatever fragile, unspoken thing that had existed in the quiet safety of the rooftop—it stayed there. Preserved like an ancient relic, untouched, unspoken, waiting for a future where the two of you return to reclaim it—a future that may never come.

Jungwon exhales sharply, jaw tightening as he secures the pocket knife into his belt with clipped movements, frustration simmering beneath his skin. But it’s not just frustration. It’s anger. Not at you—never at you—but at the situation. At the inevitability of it all. At the way you refuse to let him shoulder this weight alone.

“Forget about it. I’m not letting you have this one.”

You watch the way his fingers tremble, the way his breath hitches ever so slightly before he forces it into something steady, something controlled. It’s the same way he always is—poised on the edge of breaking, but never quite letting himself fall.

“Jungwon,” you persist.

He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even look at you. As if ignoring you will make you accept his decision. As if you’ll ever just accept it.

“You know I work better alone anyway.” The words come out firmer than you expect, but you don’t take them back. You mean them. You always have. “Hell, having one of you with me probably signs my death penalty.”

The words land between you like a blade, sharp and cutting, splitting open the raw truth neither of you wants to acknowledge.

Jungwon doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react, but something shifts in his eyes—something unreadable, something you can’t afford to decipher right now.

Silence stretches between you, thick and unrelenting. You know he wants to argue, to push back, to demand that you don’t do this. But you also know that, deep down, he understands.

Because you do work better alone. You move faster. Think sharper. Fight harder when there’s no one to slow you down, no one to hold you back. No one to lose.

And maybe that’s why he hesitates. Because if you’re alone, there’s no one to stop you from making the kind of choices that get people killed.

No one to stop you from getting yourself killed.

His fists clench, his knuckles white, his breathing even, but you can see it—the storm behind his gaze, the way his mind races for an argument he knows won’t change anything. He’s searching for an opening, for something he can say to pull you back from this. But there isn’t one.

“Y/N…” His voice is low, raw, edged with something dangerously close to surrender.

There’s a finality in the way he looks at you now, dark eyes burning beneath the grotesque mask. He doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like you standing beside him like this, just as willing to throw yourself into the fire as he is.

But he won’t stop you. He can’t.

And you both know it.

Jungwon exhales sharply, the sound heavy with frustration, his jaw tightening as he finally looks away. You hear it—the quiet resignation in the breath he releases, the way his chest falls just slightly.

And you know you’ve won.

"Jake and Ni-ki. Sunghoon and Sunoo. Heeseung with me." His voice is clipped, controlled, but there’s an edge to it—a thread of reluctance he can’t quite hide. His gaze flickers back to you, lingering for just a second longer, before he turns to Heeseung and the latter nods.

“We’ll tie a white cloth around our left arms,” Heeseung says, moving swiftly to pass down strips of lazily torn fabric. “It’ll help us tell each other apart.”

The cloth feels rough as Sunoo helps you tie it around your arm, the knot tightening like a promise. It’s a fragile identifier, but it’s all you have.

Ni-ki moves to put out the fire completely, the last glow of warmth vanishing in a final flicker. Darkness swallows the camp whole, wrapping around you like a living, breathing entity. The absence of light shifts something in the air, thickens it. You blink, trying to adjust, barely able to make out the vague outlines of the masks surrounding you. The decaying disguises blur into the night, turning your friends into fragments of shadow.

The absence of the fire’s crackling also seem to make everything else sharper. The sound of your own breathing. The faint scuff of movement as someone shifts their weight. And beyond the walls, bleeding through the night like a slow, creeping tide—the groans and shuffling of the dead.

They’re closer than before.

You strain your ears, trying to gauge just how near they are, but it’s impossible to tell. Their movements are uneven, unpredictable, a restless shifting mass of bodies dragging themselves forward, step by step, inch by inch. Every groan, every shuffle, every wet, hollow breath is a reminder of what waits for you on the other side of these walls.

Your fingers twitch at your sides. The weight of the mask presses against your skin, suffocating, the scent of decay curling thick in your nose. You can’t afford to slip up. Especially not now. Not when you’re about to step into the midst of the very things that have haunted you since the world fell apart.

“Move into position.” The command ripples through the group in an instant, setting everything in motion.

Ni-ki and Jake move first, guiding Jay towards the rooftop where Lieutenant Kim remains bound, a cloth still stuffed into her mouth. Her presence is almost an afterthought now—just another problem to deal with once this night is over, if any of you make it that far. The only access point to the roof is a narrow chokepoint, and with Jay positioned there, armed and watching, there’s no chance A’s people will be reckless enough to attempt an ambush from above. Not unless they have a death wish.

At the same time, Sunghoon and Sunoo slip into the shadows behind the convenience store, their silhouettes dissolving into the darkness. When the dead breach the camp, they’ll blend in seamlessly from the side, hidden in plain sight.

Jungwon and Heeseung move next, their footsteps light, measured, a careful synchrony of movement as they make their way towards the gate. Even in the heavy silence, they communicate without words, understanding what needs to be done.

Jungwon reaches the barricade first, fingers curling tightly around the reinforced metal. His breath is steady, his shoulders squared, but you can see the tension in his grip, the way his knuckles whiten as he glances at Heeseung. No hesitation, no uncertainty—just the briefest nod before they begin.

The creak of shifting metal fills the air, a slow, deliberate screech that makes you cringe. The sound alone is enough to make your pulse spike, your body stiffening as your ears strain for any sign of movement beyond the walls.

And then—you hear it.

A shift in the groans outside. A change in the rhythm of their movements. A ripple through the dead.

They know. They feel it—the space opening, the presence of the living.

Heeseung glances back at Jungwon, something unspoken passing between them before they push further, widening the gap just enough for them to slip through.

The threshold stands open, a gaping maw in the barricade, an invitation to the horrors waiting just beyond. And now, all that’s left to do is wait for them to step through.

Ni-ki and Jake are waiting inside the convenience store, bodies pressed against the shadows. They won’t move until the horde has fully pushed through, until they can slip between them unnoticed, blending into the chaos like ghosts.

Meanwhile, Jungwon and Heeseung are taking the longer route, slipping outside the barricade to wrap around from the back, disappearing into the darkness beyond the rest stop. You trust them to know what they’re doing. You trust them to know how to move without hesitation, without fear.

And you—you are right here. Right by the gate. Right in the thick of it.

The cold metal of the barricade presses against your palm as you steady yourself. The night is alive with the low, guttural groans of the dead, shuffling closer, their movements slow but deliberate, drawn in by the sound of something living just beyond their reach.

The gate is open just enough. Just enough to let them pour in, one by one. And when they do, you will be right there with them.

Your plan is to let the dead surround you from the moment they step through. A’s people won’t risk being the first ones to enter the rest stop. Not when there’s a chance they’ll be gunned down before they even make it inside. They’ll wait, watching from the darkness, using the dead as their shields.

They’ll release a handful first, let them flood in, let them test the waters. And only when they’re sure it’s safe, only when they believe the dead have done their job, when they hear the panicked screams of the living being torn apart—then they will come.

Only they won’t hear a single thing. No cries of pain. No desperate gunfire. No sound of bodies hitting the dirt. Only silence.

And silence breeds curiosity.

They’ll hesitate, uncertain, waiting for a sign that their plan is working. But by then, the dead will have filled the space within the barricades, their numbers too dense to pick apart who is living and who isn’t.

And in that moment, that single beat of doubt—it will already be too late.

Because you’ll be waiting.

Right in the heart of it.

The night feels colder now, the wind carrying the putrid scent of rot as the dead shuffle forward, drawn to the opening like moths to a flame.

The closer they get, the more overwhelming the sounds that accompany them—the wet, sickening squelch of decomposing flesh dragging against the ground. The suffocated gurgle of air forced through ruined throats, moans stretching into the night in a discordant chorus. The dull clack of exposed teeth clicking together like chattering bones. Feet scrape against the pavement, shuffling, stumbling, pushing forward with no will, no purpose beyond the primal hunger that keeps them tethered to what remains of existence.

It’s no longer a distant warning carried by the wind, no longer something that exists just beyond reach. It’s here, pressing against the boundaries of your world, seeping through the cracks in the barricade, slithering into the spaces between heartbeats.

It’s everywhere.

Echoing. Reverberating. Surrounding you.

Your pulse pounds in your ears, a frantic drumbeat against the overwhelming noise. The sound of your own breath feels deafening but you force it to stay steady.

And then, the barricade shifts.

A creak of metal echoes into the night, the rusted hinges straining as something presses against it from the other side. Your fingers twitch at your side, but you don’t move. You don’t react. You force yourself to stay still.

And then—

Tok. Tok. Tok.

A deliberate, unnatural knock against the metal. You know that sound. It’s not the dead.

It’s one of them.

Another knock. Tok. Tok. Tok.

A’s people are out there, controlling the horde, directing them like sheepdogs herding cattle. They aren’t pushing through blindly—they’re being led, positioned, placed exactly where they need to be.

Another shove. The metal creaks louder this time.

And then, the first one reaches the gate.

A hand presses through the opening, gnarled fingers curling around the rusted metal, nails cracked and blackened, skin peeling away in wet, glistening strips. It clutches, pulling itself forward, its eyes locking onto you, no consciousness behind that milky, clouded gaze.

It groans, and the sound is guttural, rattling from deep within its ruined throat. More hands appear—reaching, grasping, clawing.

Then, the first body pushes through.

It stumbles, jerking unnaturally, the sheer weight of the horde behind it forcing it forward. Its head lolls to the side, neck bent at an impossible angle, skin stretched taut over exposed bone, lips chewed away leaving only the glistening remains of its teeth permanently bared in an endless, frozen snarl. A second follows. A third.

One by one, they seep into your world, like ink spilling into water, like a plague swallowing everything in its path. It stumbles, feet dragging through the dirt, jerking forward with that disturbing, twisted movement.

Another pushes in behind it. Then another.

They’re so close now. Close enough that you can hear the faint creak of joints stiffened by death, the sticky squelch of exposed muscle shifting beneath half-rotted skin.

And then, one of them turns towards you. Your breath catches, freezing in your throat as it lurches forward, its head tilting unnaturally, as though sniffing the air.

It’s testing you.

A lump forms in your throat, and you will yourself to remain still. Don’t move. Don’t react. Don’t breathe too fast. Lieutenant Kim’s words echos in your head, over and over.

Fear is the biggest giveaway.

The thing sways slightly, its milky-white eyes staring right through you, empty yet searching. It leans closer, enough that you can see the way its skin peels away in slow, sickening strips, revealing the raw, festering tissue underneath. Its breath—if it can even be called that—hits your cheek, rancid and thick with the scent of spoiled meat so pungent that you almost gag.

A low groan rattles from its throat, and for a terrifying second, you swear it knows. It knows you don’t belong.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, an instinct to reach for the knife strapped to your belt. But the thing’s head jerks suddenly, its jaw slack, teeth clicking together as if considering something. Then—

It moves past you.

The second it turns away, your lungs burn from the breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding. Your pulse is erratic, hammering against your ribs so hard it physically hurts.

You don’t dare move just yet. Not when another is staggering past you, its shoulder bumping yours with enough force to send a sickening squelch of something wet against your sleeve.

The dead move past you, groaning and shuffling, their scent wrapping around you like smoke, their bodies brushing against yours as they push further in, filling the gaps between the pillars, the scattered supplies, the places they had laughed and planned and hoped.

From where you stand, you can’t see them anymore—Jungwon, Heeseung, Jake, Sunghoon, Sunoo, Ni-ki, or even Jay.

But you can feel them. Their presence lingers, just out of sight but never truly gone.

A’s people must be thinking you’ve been caught off guard, that the horde is nothing more than a terrifying accident, a cruel twist of fate forcing you into a corner.

But they’re wrong.

You’ve come to terms with it—the fear that once gnawed at your ribs has dulled into something quieter, something steadier. This isn’t an accident. This isn’t a mistake. This is what has to be done. And now, standing at the edge of it all, watching the dead spill through the gate like water rushing through a cracked dam, all that’s left is the hope that they’ll make it.

That they’ll survive.

That they’ll no longer have to run.

So you let go of whatever fear is left, whatever hesitation still lingers in the back of your mind. You swallow the bile rising in your throat and keep walking.

Walk like you belong.

Blend in.

Be nothing.

Time has lost all meaning. You keep walking, one sluggish step after another, matching the mindless rhythm of the dead around you. You’re searching, scanning, waiting for movement that doesn’t belong. But you’ve seen no sign of A’s people, no flicker of a shadow that moves with intention.

You wonder if the others have had better luck. But if they had, you’d know. You’d hear it. A scream, a shout—something that would disrupt the sickening harmony of the horde.

Nothing.

A flicker of doubt creeps into your mind. Were they even here? Or had they figured you out before you even had a chance to act? The thought sends a shiver down your spine, despite the heat pressing in from all directions. If they’ve already seen through your plan, if somehow Lieutenant Kim managed to send a message out, if they’re just watching, waiting for you to make the first mistake—

You spot Jay.

He’s crouched low near the edge of the rooftop, barely visible unless you tilt your head just right. His body is still, his presence so well-hidden that you almost miss him entirely. But his hand—his hand is moving. Pointing to somewhere ahead of you.

Your pulse spikes. You follow the angle of his gesture, gaze sharpening, focusing—

Movement. Your muscles lock instinctively as your eyes snap to it. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible against the shifting mass of the horde. A figure standing slightly apart, just enough to not be swallowed by the dead. But it’s not the stillness that gives them away.

It’s the way they shift. Too smoothly. Too deliberately. The dead don’t move like that.

Got you.

Your grip tightens around the pocket knife, the cold metal slick against your clammy palm. You don’t hesitate—hesitation will get you killed. Your movements are careful, calculated, slipping through the sea of bodies like a ghost, closing the distance between you and the figure that doesn’t belong.

Your breath is shallow, controlled, just as Lieutenant Kim told you. No fear. No hesitation.

You are nothing.

The figure stands just ahead, barely distinguishable from the others, their posture slightly too rigid, their movements too alive. They’re trying to blend in, just like you. But you see them.

You get close enough that you could reach out and touch them, close enough that the rancid stench clinging to them mixes with your own.

You strike. The blade slices clean across the back of their arm, just deep enough to draw blood.

And for a moment, nothing happens.

Then—

The reaction is immediate, violent. The scent of fresh blood fills the air, and the change is instantaneous. A guttural, inhuman groan rips through the horde.

Bodies shift, jerk, twist toward the source like puppets yanked by unseen strings. The shuffle of feet turns into frantic, erratic movement. Hands that once hung limply at sides now reach, claw, grasping blindly toward the scent that calls to them like a siren’s song.

A’s man panics, the realisation hitting too late. They jolt, trying to shove past the dead, trying to escape, but it’s useless. The moment they stumble, the horde collapses on them.

Then the screaming starts.

You don’t have time to react before the wave of bodies surges forward, a relentless force slamming into you from all sides.

You stagger, nearly losing your footing as rotting arms push past you, skeletal fingers grazing your skin as they reach for something more tantalising than your presence. The pressure is crushing, bodies pressing in too tight, the heat suffocating. You can’t move. You can’t breathe.

You feel the breath of something too close against your ear. A low, gurgling moan.

Panic claws at your throat.

No, no, no—stay calm.

You are nothing.

You are one of them.

You force yourself to remain rigid, unyielding, keeping your breaths shallow. One wrong move, one slip of fear, and they’ll turn on you next.

The screams beneath the pile of dead become muffled, wet gurgles as teeth sink into flesh, tearing, consuming. The horde writhes and shifts around you, desperate, mindless. A frenzy.

And you—trapped in the middle of it all.

The air is thick with the sickly-sweet scent of blood and decay, the stench clogging your throat, coating the inside of your lungs like something tangible. Your heart is slamming against your ribs.

You need to move. You need to get out before this frenzy becomes uncontrollable.

Through the gaps between writhing bodies, you spot another figure—another one of A’s people. They’re frozen, watching the carnage unfold, horror painted across their face—the kind of terror that only comes when a plan unravels right before your eyes.

You catch their gaze. They see you. They know what you just did.

You don’t hesitate. You push forward, weaving through the dead with slow, careful steps, keeping your movements unnatural, hollow. They see you coming, their panic doubling as they shift subtly, preparing to slip away, to disappear back into the horde before you can reach them.

But then you see it—a flash of a familiar white cloth threading through the chaos.

Sunghoon.

He moves fast, quicker than even you anticipated, stepping through the wall of the undead with a precise, calculated strike. His knife cuts deep into the back of their thigh. A clean, swift motion.

The moment the blade slices through skin, the figure stumbles, a sharp, pained gasp slipping past their lips. Their leg buckles, their balance wavers and they fall right into the pit of waiting hands and gnashing teeth. The scream that follows is a raw, jarring sound of pure terror. It barely lasts a second before it’s drowned beneath the frenzied moans of the dead.

Sunghoon doesn’t linger. He doesn’t even spare them a glance as he withdraws, blending seamlessly back into the tide of bodies.

You watch as the horde reacts, the scent of fresh blood igniting them into another violent frenzy. They collapse onto the fallen figure like starving animals, the wet, sickening sounds of tearing flesh sending a shudder down your spine.

Before you can even register the chaos unfolding before you, the provoked growls of the undead rise in a deafening chorus as a shattering scream erupts from the other side of the rest stop.

Then another cry near the gates.

Another from inside the convenience store.

It’s working.

The plan is working.

It’s brutal. It’s monstrous. But it’s working.

Bodies fall beneath the swarm, the dead closing in, sinking their teeth into warm flesh, tearing, consuming. The air is filled with the sound of it—bones snapping, wet, visceral gurgles as throats are ripped open. And yet, something about this moment doesn’t sit right.

You’ve seen what happens when the dead consume the living. But this—this is different. This is calculated. You’re not fighting back. You’re not defending yourself. You’re orchestrating their deaths.

And the worst part?

You don’t feel anything. Not guilt. Not satisfaction. Just the awareness that this is what needs to be done.

That thought lingers, unsettling in its clarity, but there’s no time to dwell on it. You push forward, scanning through the chaos, searching for the next one when you hear it—

A whisper.

“Am…bush…”

Your breath catches.

It’s quiet, barely audible beneath the grotesque symphony of groans and shuffling feet, but it’s there. A hushed, broken murmur, threading its way through the carnage.

They’re communicating.

“Among… us…”

Your head snaps towards the sound, eyes darting wildly, scanning through the writhing bodies, trying to pinpoint where it came from.

But then—it spreads. Like a disease.

One whisper becomes two, then four, then too many. The words ripple through the horde, eerie and fragmented, carried on gasping, inhuman voices. The whispers spread like wildfire, bouncing between the scattered remnants of A’s people still hidden among the horde.

“Am…bush…”

“Among… us…”

Your eyes dart frantically across the shifting mass of bodies, searching for the ones still thinking. The ones who don’t stumble blindly, the ones whose steps are too careful, too measured. The ones who haven’t bled yet.

Then you see it.

One of them, face half-shrouded by the grotesque mask. Their gaze snaps to another figure just a few paces ahead in a silent exchange. They know.

A cold spike of adrenaline rushes through your veins. Your grip tightens around the knife, sweat slicking your palm despite the freezing night air. You move, carefully at first, weaving through the dead, keeping your movements slow and disjointed—just unnatural enough to blend.

The figure in front of you turns their head ever so slightly, as if listening, as if searching for—

You strike.

The blade slices clean across the wrist—deep, precise. Blood wells instantly, dark against the pale, rotting hues around you. The effect is instantaneous.

The closest zombie snaps to attention, its sunken, hollow eyes igniting with something primal. The moment the scent hits, the dead lurch forward.

The scream barely leaves their throat before they’re swallowed whole.

You don’t watch. You don’t think.

You move.

Another step. Another body.

Another quick slash. Another spill of blood. Another scream.

And the dead descend.

The horde surges, bodies slamming against yours in a frenzy, the desperate hunger of the undead overpowering even the whispers of fear.

But it’s not enough. There are still more of them. Still too many. And you don’t even know if A himself is among them.

Your heart is a relentless drum against your ribs, your breaths shallow, measured. You’re not spiralling. Not yet. But the whispers—they don’t stop.

“Am…bush...”

“Among… us...”

You push forward, eyes darting wildly through the shifting mass of bodies. There—another one. You recognise the panic before you even see their face. It’s in the stiffness of their shoulders, the way their breathing picks up just slightly, the instinct to run beginning to override the act.

They know they’ve been made. And unfortunately for them, you’re not the only one who notices the flicker of panic, the unconscious twitch of muscles, the quickening breaths beneath the mask.

Fear is a beacon—and the dead are always drawn to it.

Before they even get the chance to react, the zombie beside them lunges. Teeth sink into their neck with a sickening, wet crunch.

A strangled cry tears from their throat, raw and desperate, but it’s swallowed by the chaos, lost beneath the endless groans of the horde. Their hands claw uselessly at the decayed body latched onto them, but it’s too late—the damage is done, blood spilling down their collar, staining the air with the scent of fresh death.

They struggle. They always struggle. But there’s no winning against something that never stops coming.

You watch as their body jerks, collapsing beneath the weight of the undead, their form vanishing into the sea of rot and decay. And you can’t help but wonder—

Is A panicking too? Is he feeling that same instinctive terror, that slow-dawning horror of watching his own weapon be turned against him?

Maybe then it would save you the trouble of hunting him down.

Or maybe—

“Y/N! To your left, Jake is cornered!” Jay’s voice cuts through the groans.

The dead react instantly to his voice—clear, human, alive—pulling them in like a magnet. Their heads snap toward the direction of the noise, their bodies shifting, pressing forward, pushing closer to the convenience store.

Jake.

Where’s Jake?

Your breath catches as your head whips to the left, eyes darting wildly, scanning—

Bodies, so many bodies, all shifting, writhing, moving as one. Where is he?

Then you see him.

Jake is backed against the rusting frame of the barricade. He’s slowly retreating as two of A’s men close in on him. And not just A’s men—

The mask covers his face, but his body language betrays him—chest rising too fast, shoulders tensed, muscles coiled like a spring about to snap. He’s panicking.

And the dead is starting to pick up on it. Closing in, drawn to that silver of uncertainty, to the quickened breath that doesn’t belong.

A’s men sees it. They’re not trying to attack him, they’re taunting him, taunting the fact he’s about to die due to his inability to kill.

You move before you can think, pushing forward through the crush of bodies, the sickly heat of decay pressing against your skin. The world narrows to the space between you and Jake, to the suffocating mass of the undead, to the time—the seconds slipping through your fingers, too fast, not enough.

You reach the closest zombie, discreetly plunging your knife into it’s temple. You stumble forward towards A’s men, as if on purpose and push one of them into the horde. The yelp that escapes their lips signed their death warrant.

Then the shift. Like a ripple through water, the dead turn, their attention snapping to the unnatural sound. The bodies heading for Jake now twisting towards the new prey.

Jake stumbles forward, breath ragged, shock still clouding his face. He turns to you, eyes wide, as if still catching up to what just happened.

No time.

You grab his arm, dragging him away, forcing him to move, to blend. He’s shaking, his body still locked in fight-or-flight, but he follows.

The two of you push towards the rooftop access, barely making it through the press of bodies. Above you, Jay is already watching, crouched low near the edge. He gestures frantically, silently urging you up.

You climb. The second your feet touch the rooftop, the breath you didn’t realise you were holding escapes in a sharp exhale.

Jake’s still shaking as he rips the mask off his head.

“Are you okay?” you pant, turning to him, but he doesn’t answer. He’s staring at nothing, breath still ragged, hands trembling at his sides.

Jay grips his shoulders, shaking him slightly. “Jake. Where’s Ni-ki?”

“Ni…ki?” The realisation flickers in his eyes.

The world tilts. Your breath catches, eyes snapping to Jake, but he’s already unravelling. His fingers dig into his hair, his chest rising and falling too fast, the weight of the realisation crashing down on him in real-time.

Jay’s fingers tighten. “Jake, where is he?”

“I—I don’t know.” His voice breaks on the last word. “It was so chaotic—I must’ve lost him in the horde. Fuck. Fuck. No. What if he’s—” His breath stutters. His knees buckle slightly. “Fuck. God. No.”

He’s spiralling. You feel it too—that cold, sinking dread curling in your stomach.

Jay grips his shoulders tighter, his own panic bleeding through. “Jake, focus. Where did you last see him?” His voice is sharp, urgent, but Jake is barely hearing him. He shakes his head violently, trying to claw through the fog of shock clouding his mind.

“I—I don’t know!” The words rip from him like something physically painful. “He was right there, I swear he was right there! Then everything—everything just—” He chokes on his own breath, stumbling back a step. “I lost him. I fucking lost him.”

You don’t realise you’re moving until you’re gripping Jake’s arm, hard enough to bruise. “Where, Jake?” Your own voice is taut, barely controlled. You can’t afford to lose control. Not now. Not when Ni-ki is still down there.

Jake’s breathing is erratic, but his gaze flicks to yours, locking onto it, grounding himself just enough. He swallows thickly, blinking hard as he retraces his steps. “He—he was with me when we got separated near the barricade. We were heading toward the convenience store, but then—then the horde—” His voice cracks, and he squeezes his eyes shut as if trying to will himself back to that moment, to see through the panic.

Without a second to spare, you turn on your heel, ready to plunge back into the chaos.

“You’re going back down there?” Jay steps in front of you, his hand flying to your arm, fingers tightening around your sleeve. His grip isn’t harsh, but there’s urgency in it, in the way his breath stutters, in the disbelief written across his face.

“I’m going to find Ni-ki.”

You attempt to push past him, but he doesn’t budge—not without a wince, his hand flying to his side, pain flickering across his features. He’s still injured, but he doesn’t let that stop him.

Jay’s jaw clenches, already scanning the mass of undead below, searching for any movement that doesn’t belong. “He’s smart,” he says, but the conviction in his tone wavers just slightly. “Ni-ki’s smart, he knows how to blend in. He knows.”

You want to believe that. You need to believe that.

But the horde is still moving, still feeding, still shifting, a sea of rotting bodies and gnashing teeth. It’s impossible to tell where they begin and where they end. The noise, the suffocating stench of decay, the endless press of bodies—it’s too much, too chaotic.

And Ni-ki is down there. Alone.

Your pulse thrums in your ears, the sheer wrongness of standing here—safe—while he’s down there, somewhere in that hell, clawing its way through your body like poison. Every second that passes feels like a mistake, like a betrayal, like you are choosing safety over him.

Your eyes meet Jay’s, your voice low, steady, unwavering. “There’s nothing you can say or do that will keep me here. Let me go.”

"Y/N," he snaps, his voice lower now, harsher. "Think for a second. If you go down there without knowing where he is, you’re not saving him—you’re just adding another body to the horde."

His words cut through the panic rattling in your chest, but they don't stop you. They can’t. Because every second that passes is another second Ni-ki is alone, lost in the sea of the dead, and you cannot—will not—stand here and wait.

"He could be anywhere,” Jay presses, his own panic fraying at the edges. “Do you even have a plan? Are you just going to charge in and hope for the best? Hope that the dead don’t pick up on the fear pouring off of you right now?”

You glare at him, your breath ragged, fists clenched at your sides. "If I don’t go, he dies."

Jay exhales sharply, his jaw locking. He turns to Jake, who has barely moved, still frozen with guilt, still staring at the ground like if he looks hard enough, the earth might just swallow him whole.

"Jake," Jay grits out, snapping him back to the moment. “Come on, say something."

Jake’s head lifts, his face pale and sweat-slicked. He looks at you, then back at Jay, then at the chaos below.

"I—" He swallows hard, his voice shaking. "She’s right."

Jay’s expression twists.

Jake lets out a breath, unsteady. "If she doesn't go, and Ni-ki—if Ni-ki doesn’t make it—" He cuts himself off, shaking his head. "Then what the fuck are we even doing here?"

Jay curses again, his hands dragging down his face before he lets them fall limply to his sides. He looks back at you, his frustration bleeding into something else—something that almost looks like resignation.

You don’t wait for his approval.

Your feet hit the ladder, the rungs cold against your hands as you descend. The stench of rot thickens, the groans of the dead stretching into the night like an eerie melody. Your heartbeat is steady, your muscles locked tight with focus.

You slip back into the horde.

And you become nothing.

The dead press against you, their heat suffocating, their slow, dragging movements brushing against your limbs. You move like them, let yourself become one of them, let your breath still in your lungs.

Ni-ki. Where is Ni-ki?

Your heart hammers as you push forward, eyes darting through the mass of rotting flesh and hollow faces. If you were him, where would you go? The convenience store? The back entrance? Had he managed to climb up somewhere, out of reach?

A flicker of movement catches your eye, but before you can react, a hand shoots out from the darkness, latching onto your wrist with an iron grip.

Panic surges through you as you're yanked sideways, dragged into the shadowed entryway of the convenience store. The noise of the horde muffles around you as you’re pulled inside, the door swinging shut with a soft but final thud—swallowing you into sudden silence.

Your knife is already in your hand as you twist, heart hammering, ready to drive it into whoever grabbed you—

“It’s me.”

Jungwon.

You barely have time to register his presence before another figure steps forward—Heeseung. His eyes are sharp, scanning you for injuries, for any sign that you’ve been compromised. The tension in his posture doesn’t ease when he sees you’re unharmed

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Jungwon hisses, his grip still tight around your wrist. His voice is low, controlled, but the anger—the sheer panic—lurks just beneath the surface. His fingers are cold against your skin, but his hold is firm, unrelenting. There’s something in the way he looks at you that makes your stomach twist—a mixture of frustration, disbelief, and something else, something deeper.

“Everyone and their mothers could see you climb down from the roof,” he continues, his voice sharp, cutting through the suffocating silence of the store. “It’s like you want them to find you.”

The words sting. Because he’s right. You were careless.

His breathing is measured, but you can tell he’s barely holding himself together, barely keeping himself from shaking you for being so reckless. His jaw is clenched so tightly you can see the tension in it, the flicker of something dangerous in his eyes.

But you don’t have time for this. You don’t have time to let his concern sink in, don’t have time to unpack the way his voice wavers at the edges, the way his fingers twitch against your wrist like he’s afraid to let go.

You don’t attempt to calm him down. You don’t explain yourself. You shove his grip off and cut straight to the point.

“Ni-ki is alone somewhere in the horde. I need to find him.”

The shift is instant.

Heeseung’s face darkens as he exhales sharply. “And Jake?”

“He’s on the roof,” you say, voice tight. “Scared shitless out of his mind.”

Heeseung curses under his breath, running a hand through his already dishevelled hair. His usual easy confidence is nowhere to be found—he knows what this means. What it could mean.

Jungwon is silent, but his eyes remain locked on yours, unreadable. His breathing is heavier now, barely noticeable unless you’re close enough to feel it in the air between you.

Still, his voice is clearer than everything else when he says, “You should’ve been more careful. What if one of A’s people were waiting for you below the ladder?”

You glare at him. “I didn’t have a choice.” Your voice is sharp, frustration laced into every syllable. “I’m not going to sit up there while he’s trapped in all that.” You gesture wildly to the boarded-up windows, beyond which the dead are still groaning, still hunting.

Jungwon exhales sharply, rubbing his face, trying to suppress whatever storm of emotions is raging inside him. “You never think,” he mutters. But there’s no real anger in it. Not really.

You swallow against the lump rising in your throat. “Where was he last?” Heeseung asks, stepping forward, all business.

“Near the barricade,” you say quickly. “Jake was with him, but then things got chaotic, and he—” You falter, pressing your lips together. “He could be anywhere by now.”

Jungwon exchanges a glance with Heeseung.

“Alright,” Jungwon exhales, nodding. “We’ll find him.”

You nod quickly, your grip tightening on the knife at your belt, already bracing yourself to head back out.

But then—

“And by we, I mean Heeseung and I.” Jungwon’s tone is firm as he meets your gaze.

Your eyebrows draw together. “What?”

“You’re not in control right now,” he states simply. “I need you to stay here until we get back.”

“No.” You shake your head, already stepping forward. “That’s not happening. I’m going out there.”

“Y/N.” Jungwon’s voice stops you cold.

He’s looking at you now—really looking at you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes that roots you to the spot.

“Please,” he says. It’s barely above a whisper. Not an order. Not a command.

A plea.

It nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

You open your mouth to argue—to fight—but you can’t. Because suddenly, it’s hitting you why he’s saying this.

He knows. He knows that if you go back out there, you’ll do something reckless. You’ll throw yourself headfirst into the chaos. You’ll act without thinking. You’ll do whatever it takes, no matter the cost.

Your hands tremble slightly as you tighten your grip on the knife. You hate this. You hate feeling useless. But as much as you want to deny it, you know he’s right. You’re not thinking straight. You’re acting on impulse.

Jungwon must see the conflict in your expression because his fingers brush your wrist—gentle, grounding.

“Let us do this,” he murmurs.

You force yourself to nod.

It nearly kills you.

You hold your breath as Jungwon and Heeseung slip through the entrance of the convenience store, vanishing back into the seething mass of bodies outside. Your fingers twitch uselessly at your sides, every fibre of your being screaming to do something. But all you can do is watch as they move deeper into the horde, their forms blurring, dissolving into the restless sea of death.

And then—just like that—they’re gone.

You stay put, just as Jungwon instructed, though the restraint feels like a noose tightening around your ribs. Every so often, a scream pierces through the night, sharp and sudden, cutting through the air like a blade. A shout follows somewhere deeper in the horde, indistinct but undeniably human. Your stomach churns. What’s taking them so long?

The longer you stand here, trapped in your own silence, the harder it is to keep your mind from spiralling.

What if Ni-ki is injured? What if Jungwon or Heeseung gets caught up trying to keep each other safe—trying to keep everyone safe—and gets bitten? What if something happens to them, and Jake never recovers from the trauma, the guilt? Where even are Sunghoon and Sunoo?

What if all of this—every risk, every desperate move—was for nothing?

Your pulse thrums violently against your skin as your eyes sweep the horde once more, searching, searching—until they land on something familiar.

A strip of white cloth.

It’s tied around the steering wheel of the van, barely visible beneath the layers of grime and blood staining the windshield. The van sits in the middle of the petrol station, wedged between the pumps, surrounded by the dead.

Your breath catches. A flicker of movement.

Then, through the dust-streaked glass, a pair of eyes rise just above the dashboard.

Ni-ki.

You don’t think. There isn’t time to think.

Before you even register what you’re doing, you’re already moving, pushing through the door and stepping back into the horde. The stench hits you like a brick wall, thick and suffocating, but you ignore it. You keep moving, head ducked low, steps slow and unnatural as you weave through the crush of bodies.

It’s congested here—too congested. Every inch of space is occupied by the dead, the air thick with the sound of gurgling breaths and the grotesque squelch of decayed limbs shifting against one another. You can barely squeeze through without making contact, without brushing against clammy, rotting flesh.

With painstaking effort, you reach the van, every step an exercise in restraint, every movement deliberate and calculated. Your breath is shallow as you discreetly tap your knuckles against the metal frame, the sound barely audible over the discordant moans of the horde. After awhile, a pair of eyes flick up over the window.

Relief surges through you like a tide as recognition dawns in his gaze, the tension in his expression softening ever so slightly. You hear the faint click of the door unlocking, followed by the hesitant creak of rusted metal as he pushes it slightly ajar—just enough for you to slip through if needed.

But movement catches your eye. A zombie shifts, turning its head toward the noise. Your muscles seize, heart hammering against your ribs as you brace for it to lurch towards you.

It doesn’t. The corpse stares for a moment, milky eyes sweeping over you—before turning its attention elsewhere, back to the lifeless rhythm of its existence.

You exhale shakily and push forward, peeking through the gap in the door. The van reeks of stale sweat and rust, the interior cloaked in darkness save for the weak glow of the moonlight filtering through the grime-smeared glass.

Ni-ki sits hunched against the driver’s seat, his chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths. Your eyes scan him, searching, cataloguing every detail for anything out of place.

And then he moves—shifting slightly as he gestures downward. Your gaze follows and the dim light catches the swollen outline of his ankle.

He’s injured.

"Can you walk?" The words slip past your lips, barely above a whisper, the sound almost lost in the cacophony of groans surrounding you. The sweat rolling down the back of your neck feels almost like an invitation—an open door for something to bite you, to tear into your flesh if you so much as make one wrong move.

Ni-ki doesn’t answer immediately and you see the contemplation flicker in his eyes. He’s calculating—debating if it’s worth it. If risking your life to get him out of here is a choice he can live with.

But there’s no need. You’ve already made up your mind. You’re getting him out of here, whether he agrees to it or not.

His jaw tightens before he finally speaks, his voice barely audible over the noise outside. “It hurts if I put pressure on it. I’m afraid I might make a sound that’ll give both of us away.”

Your eyes flick to his injured ankle, noticing the way it's slightly swollen, the bruising starting to form beneath the fabric of his trousers. But that’s not your biggest concern.

“Are you bleeding?” You keep your voice steady, but the weight of the question presses hard against your ribs. If he is—if there’s even a drop of fresh blood—then the moment he steps outside, the horde will catch the scent. And you won’t stand a chance.

He swallows thickly, lifting his hand and tugging at the fabric of his jeans just enough to expose the injury. You strain your eyes in the dim light, scanning for any sign of an open wound. Your breath catches when you see nothing but bruising. No cuts. No breaks in the skin.

You nod, already forming a plan in your mind, already pushing aside the worst-case scenarios clawing at the back of your thoughts. "You can lean on me," you murmur. "We’ll limp towards the ladder and get you to the rooftop. You think you can do that?"

A beat of silence.

Then—he nods.

Your hands tremble slightly as you shift, angling your body just enough to shield Ni-ki from immediate view. The dead are close—too close—but if you do this right, they’ll remain oblivious, unaware that their next meal is slipping right through them.

Ni-ki grits his teeth, his face contorted in silent pain as he struggles to ease himself out of the van. His body tenses when his injured ankle makes contact with the ground, the jolt of agony flashing through him so intense that his breath hitches. You feel it in the way he stiffens, the sharp inhale he quickly muffles, as if sheer willpower alone can keep him from making a sound. The moment hangs precariously between failure and survival, teetering on the edge of catastrophe.

Without thinking, you move—instincts overriding hesitation. You duck beneath his arm, your shoulder pressing firmly against his side as you slip an arm around his waist. He’s heavier than you expected, his weight pressing into you, but you adjust quickly, steadying him against you. He leans into your hold, muscles tense, breaths shallow. You can feel the warmth of him through the layers of grime and sweat-soaked fabric, the stark contrast to the cold, lifeless bodies that surround you.

The dead continue their slow, aimless shuffling, bodies pressing together in a writhing sea of decay, yet they don’t react to you—not yet. You mimic their movements, forcing yourself to stagger in disjointed steps, your limbs slack, your breaths shallow. Ni-ki follows suit, matching your pace as you move in eerie synchronisation with the horde. Every step is agonisingly slow, every second stretching into an eternity.

A noise breaks through the suffocating tension—a sudden clang, sharp and jarring against the restless murmurs of the undead. Your head snaps up instinctively, heart lurching in your chest. Across the rest stop, movement flashes in the corner of your vision—shadows shifting along the rooftop.

Jay and Jake.

They’ve caught on.

The realisation sends a fresh wave of relief through you, but you don’t have time to dwell on it. They’re making noise—deliberate, strategic—drawing attention away from your position. The dead react instantly, their heads snapping toward the source, bodies lurching forward in slow, uncoordinated steps. The groans rise in volume, filling the air as they shift, their hunger reeling them in like a magnet.

A gap opens in the horde—small, fleeting, but just enough.

Your grip on Ni-ki tightens.

This is your chance.

You exhale slowly, steadying both your nerves and your footing before dragging him forward, each staggered step calculated, each movement a fine line between blending in and being discovered. The dead remain oblivious for now, too distracted by the rooftop noise to notice the two living bodies slipping through their midst.

But the living—the living is different.

You feel it—the weight of a gaze cutting through the thick rot-stained air, sharp and knowing. Unlike the vacant, mindless stares of the dead, this one lingers. It searches. It sees.

Your breath hitches, fingers tightening around Ni-ki as you force yourself to keep moving, keep staggering, keep pretending. But the prickle at the back of your neck won’t go away.

Someone is watching you. You don’t know how long, if they saw you help Ni-ki out of the van, if they recognise the way your movements are just slightly too deliberate, too measured.

But if one of them has caught on, how long until the others do? How long until they abandon their own disguises and make their move? How long before this entire plan unravels into chaos?

The rooftop feels impossibly far away now. Every step feels heavier, every moment stretching unbearably thin. Jay and Jake are still making noise, still doing everything they can to keep the attention of the horde. But that won’t help if the real threat isn’t the dead.

The real threat is the living.

The moment it happens, you feel it before you see it. A shift in the air—subtle yet unmistakable, like the quiet before a storm. An unspoken warning prickles along your spine, a whisper of danger slithering beneath your skin. Your stomach lurches, a hollow pit of dread unfurling as your senses sharpen, heightening to a razor’s edge.

Someone is charging straight for you.

Your breath stutters, heart pounding in frantic warning, but you barely have time to react before—

BANG!

The gunshot tears through the night, sharp and deafening. A body crumples before it reaches you, a lifeless heap of tangled limbs and fabric collapsing in on itself. The scent of gunpowder lingers in the air, mixing with the sickly metallic tang of fresh blood. A second later, the dead react.

A grotesque chorus of guttural moans rises like a wave, carried on the wind, deep and insatiable. The horde shifts in unison, their rotting bodies lurching toward the fresh kill with single-minded hunger.

Your head jerks up, breath snagging in your throat as your gaze snaps to the rooftop. Jay stands steady, rifle still raised, the tension rolling off him in waves despite his unwavering stance. His aim had been precise, unerring. He saved you again.

But there’s no time to process the relief. The reality of your situation presses down on you like a crushing weight. The distraction Jake had been orchestrating across the compound is rendered useless as every pair of eyes—dead and alive—now fixates on the spot where the gunshot rang out. The frenzy has begun.

You tighten your grip on Ni-ki’s wrist and push forward, muscles burning, heart hammering as you force your way through the thick, unyielding press of decayed bodies. The air is thick, stifling, choked with the rancid stench of rot. Fingers—some whole, others stripped to sinew and bone—graze your skin, reaching, grasping, desperate. The heat of their decaying flesh is suffocating.

A second shot cracks through the night.

Another body collapses. Another life extinguished.

Ni-ki starts to turn, his instincts telling him to look, but you shove him forward, jaw clenched, refusing to acknowledge what you already know.

The ladder is within reach now, just a few more feet. Just a few more agonising steps—

Then the ground shifts beneath you.

A body drops right in front of you with a sickening thud. The sudden obstruction is unavoidable. Your foot catches on the sprawled corpse, balance teetering on the edge of disaster, and before you know it, the world tilts. You’re falling.

The impact slams through you like a sledgehammer, pain exploding through your ribs as the unforgiving ground rushes up to meet you. The breath is knocked from your lungs in a violent gasp. Your knife slips from your grasp, clattering away into the darkness, lost among the sea of writhing bodies.

You blink, dazed, before your vision locks onto the body lying inches away. The vacant eyes of one of A’s men stare back at you, glassy and unseeing, a bullet hole punched clean through his temple. Blood seeps into the cracks of the pavement beneath him, dark and thick, pooling like ink in the dim light.

Shit.

You have to move. Now.

The dead are shifting, the scent of fresh blood igniting their primal hunger. You can feel it in the way they stir, the guttural growls reverberating through the air. They’re moments away from turning their attention on the body in front of you.

You scramble to your feet, hands grasping at slick concrete, fingers slipping in the growing pool of blood. Desperation claws at your chest, white-hot and searing. You don’t even bother trying to blend in—there’s no time. You just need to get away before the dead close around the body with you inside it.

Ni-ki reaches his hand out for you. His face is taut with fear, his fingers stretched toward yours, urging you to take it. Relief surges in your chest as you lunge for him—but the moment your fingertips brush against his, the horde surges forward. The press of bodies crashes into you, dragging you back into the abyss.

A strangled sound rips from your throat as you’re swallowed whole by the swarm. Panic flares in your chest, a raw, visceral thing, sinking its claws deep.

You thrash against the press of decayed bodies, but it’s like drowning in quicksand. The heat is suffocating and the weight is unbearable. The slick, clammy flesh of the dead clings to you, grasping, pulling, consuming. Your left arm is trapped, ensnared in the tangle of limbs, the rancid breath of the undead hot against your skin.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Ni-ki yanks at your free arm, his grip bruising, desperate, but the sudden movement only draws more attention. The nearest corpse jerks its head toward you, milky eyes locking onto yours. Its lips peel back, revealing blackened gums and jagged teeth, and then—

A groan. Low. Hungry.

More follow.

The walls are closing in.

Ni-ki is shouting something—your name, maybe—but the sound is distant, drowned beneath the deafening roar of blood rushing in your ears. You see the way Ni-ki’s expression crumbles, the sheer desperation as he refuses to let go. His grip tightens, fingers digging in, raw desperation in his eyes.

He’s trying to save you, but in doing so, he’s going to get himself killed too.

But if he keeps trying, he’ll die too.

No. Not like this. Not after risking your life to get him out of this mess.

You open your mouth to tell him to run—to leave you—but before the words can leave your lips, a spray of blood splatters across your mask.

A skull erupts into fragments inches from your face. The force of the shot sends the corpse toppling backward. But the bullet—it didn’t come from above. It came from in front.

Then another. And another.

Jungwon and Heeseung.

Then, Sunghoon and Sunoo emerge, pistols raised, their movements cold, precise. They’ve abandoned their disguises, stepping out of the shadows, tearing through the horde with practiced efficiency. Each shot is a lifeline. Each bullet carving a path straight toward you.

Above, Jay and Jake rain down gunfire, thinning the horde before they can overwhelm.

“GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE, NOW!”

You don’t hesitate.

Adrenaline fuels you, burning through your veins as you throw your weight forward, kicking free of the bodies threatening to swallow you whole. You stumble as you come loose easily now that majority of the zombies around you have been shot dead. Ni-ki stumbles with you, his breath ragged, his fingers still locked around your wrist.

Almost there.

Your legs feel like lead, every muscle in your body screaming, but you push forward, forcing your way through. You hit the base of the ladder, hands fumbling for purchase, every second stretching unbearably long.

You shove Ni-ki up first. He scrambles desperately, his body trembling from the pain in his ankle, but he doesn’t hesitate or falter.

The moment he starts climbing, you push Sunoo up after him while taking out another zombie that manages to get too close. Sunghoon follows, then Heeseung.

Then it’s just you and Jungwon again.

It reminds you of that moment in the motel, when you first ran into them. Back then, you insisted Jungwon go first, and he did. But now, as you turn to him, intending to do the same, the fear in his eyes stops you. And in that moment, you know he won’t take no for an answer.

You start to climb. Your limbs feel heavy, exhaustion weighing you down, but you force yourself up, step after step, gripping the metal so tightly your knuckles ache. You can still hear the gunshots being fired from above and below you but the sounds are muffled, like you’re underwater and all you can really hear is the sound of your own heartbeat.

As you near the crawlspace, a hand locks around your forearm, yanking you onto the rooftop. Your knees hit the concrete, your chest heaving, lungs burning, the night air rushing into your body like fire. You mutter a small ‘thanks’ though you don’t know who it was.

You don’t even register the pain at first. Your body is running on pure adrenaline, every nerve still screaming from the chaos below. You tear the mask off your face as your vision swims, breath coming in ragged gasps, but you force your gaze across the rooftop.

They’re here.

They’re safe.

Alive.

The weight pressing against your chest loosens just slightly.

Thank God.

You did it.

You—

“You’re bleeding.”

The words cut through the haze, spoken so quietly, so eerily calm, that they don’t quite register at first.

Your heart stops as you notice something in Jay’s expression. It almost makes you throw up. His wide eyes stay fixed—not on your face, not on the carnage behind you—on you.

More specifically—your arm.

Your breath catches as your gaze drops, following his line of sight.

Your sleeve is torn. The fabric is soaked in red, the colour spreading, seeping into the seams, staining your skin. A sharp, pulsing pain finally reaches your brain, cutting through the numbness like a blade.

No.

With trembling fingers, you peel back the fabric. Your stomach twists into a suffocating knot as the wound is exposed.

Teeth marks.

Deep, raw and final. A wound that does not heal.

The rooftop is silent. You can feel their eyes on you—frozen, watching. The weight of their gazes is crushing, suffocating.

No one speaks. No one breathes.

The world seems to tip sideways, the ground slipping out from beneath you. The air is too thick. Your lungs won’t expand.

The relief, the victory—the hope—it all vanishes.

It takes everything in you to force the words out.

“…I’m bit.”

And just like that—everything shatters.

“You’re what?” The moment his voice breaks through the suffocating silence, something inside you completely shatters. The sheer disbelief in his tone makes your throat tighten, makes the wound on your wrist throb as if your body is reminding you of the truth you can’t escape.

“Say that again.”

Your fingers twitch at your sides, nails biting into your palms as you exchange a knowing glance with Jay. He doesn’t say anything, just watches, the weight of his unspoken words pressing down on you like a stone.

There’s no point in dragging this out. No point in trying to soften the blow. You inhale sharply, gathering what little strength you have left, and turn to face Jungwon.

His mask is already coming off, ripped away with shaking fingers, discarded like it’s suffocating him. And for a brief second—a single, fleeting moment—you think you almost forgot what he looked like.

But there he is. Jaw clenched, eyes burning, exhaustion etched into every sharp line of his face.

Jungwon—the leader, the fighter, the survivor.

Jungwon—who has carried everyone through this war, through this night, through the impossible weight of survival.

And now he’s standing in front of you, waiting, eyes searching yours for an answer you already know he won’t be able to accept.

So you don’t draw it out. You don’t let yourself waver. You don’t waste what little time you have.

“I’m bit.”

The way he stills—it’s like all the air has been sucked out of the rooftop. For a second, he doesn’t react. Just stands there, staring at you, expression blank, unreadable, as if his mind is struggling to process the weight of your words, to piece them together into something that makes sense. But his eyes—his eyes—they tell you everything.

“You’re lying.”

You wish you were. You really, really wish you were.

The ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of your lips, but it’s hollow, lifeless. It doesn’t belong to you. It belongs to defeat. The world has won.

Jungwon shakes his head, stepping forward, desperate, refusing to let the words sink in. “No. No.” His voice is cracking, trembling under the weight of something he’s never allowed himself to feel. “Why?”

Then his entire body seems to fold inward, like something inside him has snapped. His hands fly to his hair, gripping, pulling, trembling. “I told you to stay put inside. I told you.” His voice is shaking, rising, unraveling into something wild. “You never listen. Fuck.”

“Jungwon—”

“NO.” His breath is ragged. His eyes are blazing, glassy with emotions he refuses to name. He looks like he wants to grab you, to shake you, to force you to take back what you just said—to make this not real.

But you don’t move.

Because it is real.

“I’m sorry…” The words come out in a whisper, fractured, barely holding themselves together. You swallow hard, forcing yourself to keep standing, to keep from breaking apart completely.

But you can’t stop your hands from trembling. You can’t stop your fingers from curling into fists, nails digging into your palms, grounding yourself against the pain threatening to consume you whole.

Jungwon stares at you, breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts, his chest rising and falling too fast, too unsteady. Then, all at once, you see it happen.

You’re watching his world fall apart.

And this time, he isn’t trying to hide it.

There’s no mask, no pretense, no desperate attempt to hold himself together like he always does. He doesn’t fight it.

Because he can’t.

Because he’s breaking.

And so are you.

Then, without a second thought—without hesitation, without permission—he drops the weapon in his hands, the metallic clang drowned out by the imminent death roaring in your ears, and pulls you into him.

It’s not careful. It’s not slow.

It’s crushing.

One arm winds around your neck, the other cradling the back of your head, his fingers digging into your scalp as if he can keep you here, keep you whole, keep you alive just by holding on tight enough.

He’s trembling. He’s holding you so tight, as if letting go would kill you—when in fact, you both know that letting go would kill him.

And something tells you that if you don’t pry him off of you—he’ll never let go. Even when you’re no longer yourself, even when there’s nothing left but a hollow shell of what you once were, he’d still be here, still holding onto you, still refusing to let go. Even if it destroys him. Even if it means exposing the bare skin of his neck, offering himself to you without fear, without hesitation, without care for what happens next.

Because this isn’t just grief.

This is affection in its most dangerous, most reckless form.

And yet you don’t push him away. You should. You really should tell him to stop. To pull himself together. To walk away before it’s too late.

But instead your arms slowly wrap around his waist, your hands gripping the fabric of his t-shirt so tightly it creases beneath your fingers. Your body sinks into his warmth, and for just a second—you savour it.

The way he feels against you, the way his heartbeat pounds in time with yours, the way he’s breathing you in like this moment is the last thing he’ll ever have of you. And maybe it is. Because this moment will never come back.

And you will never have this again.

Slowly, you feel it—the warmth of hands wrapping around you, one by one, hesitant at first, then stronger, until you’re encased in something far greater than just Jungwon’s embrace.

The others press in, their bodies closing the space, forming a human shield around you like this little confined bubble between all of you is the only thing that matters.

And in that instant—you break. A sob rips from your throat, raw and uncontrollable, and once it starts, it doesn’t stop.

You crumble into Jungwon’s arms—into all of their arms—sobbing incessantly, helplessly, like the sheer weight of everything you’ve been holding back is finally too much to bear.

You don’t know how long you stay like that—clutching, breaking, falling apart together—but when you finally pull back, when your bodies part, Jungwon’s hand never leaves yours.

And it kills you when you bring yourself back to earth. Because this—whatever this is, whatever this moment is meant to be—it’s not over.

A’s people are still out there, still roaming beneath you, waiting, watching. A himself is still out there. And even with your death penalty signed, stamped, and sealed—you still have to finish this. Now more than ever, because you won’t be here in the future. You won’t be around to throw yourself into the fire again and again for them.

And when you’re gone—Jungwon will pick up that role again.

And it’ll get him killed.

Your chest tightens, resolve hardening as you take a slow, shaky breath. You know what you have to do.

"I need to go." The firmness in your voice catches them off guard.

"No." Jungwon doesn’t even give you the chance to argue. His voice is sharp, final, a command, like sheer refusal will be enough to stop you.

But he should know better. A simple "no" isn’t going to suffice.

"I’m no help up here," you push, forcing yourself to be rational, to be cold, even though every fibre of your being wants to fall apart in his arms all over again. "In fact, I’d be a threat. A is still out there. If I don’t find him, he’ll come back. He’ll keep coming back."

"No." Jungwon’s grip tightens on your wrist, his fingers digging in, like he’s trying to anchor you here, to stop you from slipping away like sand through his fingers.

“We can still win, we can—”

“I’ve already lost, Y/N.” You freeze at that. But your conviction doesn’t waver.

“Please, Jungwon.” Your voice quivers, but you step closer, looking into his eyes, begging him to understand, to let you go before it’s too late. “I need to know that you’re safe. Only then can I die in peace.”

The words leave your lips like a final nail in the coffin. You’re going to die. Period.

And the moment they do—you see it sink in. The reality of it. The undeniable, unforgiving truth that this is how it ends.

You see it in the way his head shakes, as if denying it will make it disappear, as if he can erase the bite on your skin just by refusing to believe in it. You see it in the way his gaze drops to the ground, unfocused, staring at nothing, his mind spiralling into a place you can’t reach.

So, with one swift motion, you cup his face between your hands, lifting it so his eyes have no choice but to meet yours.

Your thumb grazes over his cheekbone, the touch gentle, almost reverent, and for a split second, your gaze catches on the bite marks decorating your own wrist.

They taunt you.

Remind you of what’s coming.

But when you look back at Jungwon, it’s suddenly acceptable.

Because in exchange for your life, they will be rewarded. And that thought makes you wonder—when did it happen?

When did their survival become just as important as your own?

When did you stop seeing them as liabilities?

When did you start caring?

You don’t leave room for regret. You lean in, pressing a soft, longing kiss against his lips. It’s gentle—not desperate, not rushed—just enough.

You feel the moment he tenses, the shock rippling through his body. Then, he releases it into you. His jaw relaxes, his grip on you tightens, like he’s pouring everything he can into this moment.

When you pull back, you hesitate.

Just for a second. Just long enough to press your forehead against his.

“Now there’s no way I’m letting you go.” His voice is quiet, a whisper against your lips, but there’s so much weight in it, so much desperation, so much hope—

And you ruin it.

Because you pull away. And he chases after your warmth, his eyes still closed, still pretending you’re there. But when he opens them, his heart drops.

Because he knows. He sees it in your face.

You’re going to do it.

Your gaze moves past Jungwon, landing on Jay behind him.

No words are needed.

Jay understands immediately. And Jungwon realises too late.

“Well, you don’t have a choice.”

The moment the words leave your lips, Jungwon lunges forward, his arms reaching out but he doesn’t reach you. Because Jay and Heeseung are holding him back.

Your heart shatters seeing Jungwon struggle, his entire body writhing in their grip, crying out your name, his voice hoarse, desperate, like sheer force of will could somehow stop this from happening.

Like if he just screams loud enough—you won’t leave.

And then, you see it.

Something you don’t have to wonder about this time. Something you know for certain.

Fear.

Not of the dead. Not of the dangers lurking in every corner. Not of you—

But fear of losing you.

And there it is. The weakness.

Love makes you vulnerable. Caring makes you weak. Hope makes you blind to reality.

But maybe—just maybe—it’s also what makes you human.

You don’t look back as you reach down, picking up the mask from the floor, securing it over your head. Even with the wailing screams, the sobs ripping through Jungwon’s chest, you steel yourself.

You rip the white cloth off your arm, wrapping it around the bite, tying it tight.

It’s not ideal. It won’t change anything. But at least it’ll contain the scent of fresh blood. Not that it matters. You’re already as good as dead.

As you begin your descent down the ladder, you catch the gaze of Lieutenant Kim.

She’s still tied to the sign, cloth in her mouth, her eyes sharp with amusement. And even though she can’t speak, the ghost of a smirk is evident on her lips.

She’s mocking you. Like she knows exactly what’s coming. Like she’s already seen how this will play out. But you swear, to every divine being that still exists, that you will rid this world of every last one of them.

When your feet hit the ground, you push forward. Instincts scream at you to act fast. They haven’t run yet—haven’t broken formation.

But if they do, if even one of them makes it out—this will have all been for nothing. And the vicious cycle of revenge will just keep repeating itself until no one is left to claim victory.

part 5 - people | masterlist | part 7 - ?

♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

notes from nat: this chapter actually sucked so much out of me i'm not even kidding. fr put my vocabulary to test because girl was i running out of nouns and verbs and adjectives to use 🤡 also would like to apologise for the mental distress because the next chapter is going to take awhile...

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taglist open. 1/3 @sungbyhoon @theothernads @kyshhhhhh @jiryunn @strxwbloody @jaklvbub @rikikiynikilcykiki @jakesimfromstatefarm @rikiiisoob @doublebunv @thinkinboutbin @eunandonly

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greyminyoon1 · 4 months ago

Text

SAFE & SOUND — part 5

word count: 23.7k

a/n: there's a lot of lore dumping in this one, please read this when you're 100% awake or you'll probably not understand a single thing. additionally, i must preface by saying that this part is all kinds of fucked up. i really urge you to read with discretion. REALLY.

MASTERLIST

People.

They’re dangerous—more dangerous than the dead. It’s a fact that’s been drilled into your mind, reinforced over and over by the world you’ve come to know.

Once stripped down to their core, people will cling to any semblance of purpose. Not just in the sense they'd do anything to keep themselves alive. But they’ll latch onto whatever scraps of hope they can find—convincing themselves that a crumbling building, a barricaded corner of a burning city, is worth dying for if it means they don’t have to face the one truth that terrifies them most: that nothing is safe. That nothing lasts.

But now you understand something even more unsettling.

The only thing more dangerous than people are people with something to lose.

That’s what Jungwon is. That’s what he’s become. He’s not just surviving anymore—he’s holding onto these people, this place, like a lifeline. Like it’s all that stands between him and the abyss.

And that’s what makes him dangerous.

You don’t keep your distance because you think you’re smarter or stronger than him. You do it because you’re afraid. Afraid of the weight he carries every day, the weight of responsibility, of leadership, of knowing that every decision could mean life or death for the people who trust him.

And maybe that’s why being alone feels safer. Because if you’re on your own, you don’t have to deal with the messy, volatile nature of human emotions. You don’t have to shoulder the weight of someone else’s hope or risk letting them down.

You glance around the camp, taking in the barricades, the makeshift beds, the worn-out faces of people who are holding onto hope with everything they’ve got. You’ve already done enough for them.

You’ve gotten them the medicine they need. You’ve made sure they have enough food and water to keep going for however long the heavens permit them to stay alive. You’ve fought alongside them, bled alongside them, and given them more of yourself than you ever intended to.

But that’s it. You’ve reached your limit. You don’t have to hold yourself back for their kindness anymore. You don’t owe these people anything more than you owe yourself. And what you owe yourself—more than anything—is your chance at survival. And with that renewed mindset, you steel yourself.

Quietly, you gather your things. You don’t need much. Just what you can carry. The essentials—enough to keep you moving. Enough to keep you alive. Your hands tremble slightly as you pack, but you don’t stop. You’ve survived this long by knowing when to walk away.

And that’s exactly what you’ll do.

At this juncture, you have to walk away. Now. Before it’s too late. Before hope takes root in you too, and you lose the capacity to leave. You told yourself you’d do it once the immediate danger had passed. Once you were sure they were safe—at least for a little while. It seemed logical, practical. The right thing to do.

But now, standing here with that gnawing sense of dread in your gut, you realise that even that thought in itself was hope.

And hope is stupid.

You can’t stay. You won’t survive if you do—not just because of the imminent danger, but because of them. Because losing them would destroy you in ways the world never could.

The only thing more dangerous than people is people with something to lose.

And you have something to lose.

“I don’t want to see you lose yourself.” your own words echo in your mind, sharp and piercing. They’d felt like a knife to the chest when you said them, and they still do now. Because what you didn’t realise then is that it’s not just about Jungwon, or the group, or the rest stop. It’s about you. You’re afraid of losing yourself, of what you’d become if you stayed.

When you die—because everyone in this world eventually does—you only hope you can die as yourself. Human. Both physically and mentally.

It’s the one thing you’ve clung to since everything fell apart. The idea that, no matter how bad things got, you’d hold onto your humanity. You wouldn’t let the world take it from you. Because once that’s gone, what’s the point? What’s left of you then? A shell. A husk. Something that breathes but isn’t really alive.

You’ve seen it happen to others from the community building. People losing themselves, bit by bit, until there’s nothing left but desperation and violence. Until they become unrecognisable—barely different from the monsters they’re trying to survive. It’s why you’ve kept your distance, why you’ve chosen solitude time and time again.

Once you stay, once you put down roots, the danger will come for you. Because in this world, the danger never truly passes. It’s not something you can outrun or wait out. It’s relentless, always coming back, always finding new ways to haunt you. It’ll keep chasing you and every other survivor until it slowly, inevitably consumes you—or worse, you’ll have to stand there and watch it consume the people around you.

You’ll then risk losing yourself as their deaths start to carve pieces out of you, leaving nothing but jagged edges and hollow spaces.

And you can’t afford to lose yourself like that.

Not to them. Not to hope.

Tonight, you’ll take the first watch, sit through the long, silent hours, and leave without waking anyone for their shifts. Just before the sun rises—before they stir, before they have a chance to notice you’re gone—you’ll disappear.

It’s the best time to disappear—when the world is caught in that liminal space between darkness and light. This way, they won’t be in any immediate danger. They’ll wake to the sun rising over the horizon, unaware of your absence—at least at first. It’ll give them time to adjust, to make plans without you. And it’ll be easier for you to convince yourself it’s for the best.

The thought repeats in your head like a mantra, though it does little to ease the ache in your chest. You pull your jacket tighter around yourself, trying to ward off the chill creeping under your skin. The others are tucked away in the convenience store, huddled in their sleeping bags. Jake is next to Jay, keeping an eye on his breathing. Sunoo and Heeseung are resting against a stack of supplies, their heads lolling to the side in exhaustion.

Climbing onto the roof of the rest stop to take up the watch, you’re greeted by a perfect view of the vast horizon. The landscape stretches endlessly before you, dark and quiet under the blanket of night. From here, you’ll be able to spot a threat from miles away—long before it reaches the camp.

The night air is still, save for the distant rustle of leaves. The barricade feels impenetrable for now, but you know better than to trust in fleeting security. Nothing in this world is permanent. Not safety. Not peace. And certainly not the fragile connections you’ve built with these people.

Your gaze drifts toward the campfire, where the flames flicker weakly in the dark. Jungwon sits there, motionless, the rifle resting across his lap. Sunghoon and Ni-ki are beside him, their quiet conversation dwindling as the fire dies down. But Jungwon hasn’t moved since you started your watch. His posture is tense but controlled, his gaze fixed on the flames.

You wonder what he’s thinking—if he’s still replaying the events of the day in his mind. If he’s questioning the choices he’s made. The burdens he carries are etched into the lines of his face, visible even in the dim moonlight.

A part of you wants to go to him. To say something. To apologise for what you’re about to do. But that would be cruel.

Instead, you sit in silence, letting the minutes crawl by as the night drags on. Every second feels like an eternity, your heartbeat loud in your ears. You keep your gaze on the horizon, but your thoughts keep pulling you back to Jungwon. To the people who’ve come to trust you enough to leave you on watch alone, unaware of what you’re planning.

Slowly, one by one, they start turning in for the night. Sunghoon is the first to get up, quietly disappearing into the convenience store beneath you. Then Ni-ki. But before he goes, he pauses, glancing up at you on the roof. His expression is soft, boyish in a way that reminds you just how young he is.

“Don’t forget to wake me for my shift,” he says quietly.

You don’t think you can trust yourself to speak without your voice betraying you, so you simply nod, managing a small, tight-lipped smile.

Ni-ki lingers for a moment, as though sensing something is off. But when you don’t say anything, he finally turns away, disappearing inside.

And then it’s just Jungwon.

He hasn’t moved. The fire has almost gone out now, leaving only embers glowing faintly in the dark. His silhouette is barely visible from where you sit, but you can still feel the ghost of his presence.

Another hour passes before you sense it—a subtle shift in the air, the faint crunch of footsteps retreating into the convenience store.

You glance toward the campfire. It’s nothing but darkness now, and Jungwon is gone.

You don’t even know how much time has passed when you notice it—the faintest hint of dawn creeping over the horizon. The dark sky softens to a deep grey, the first light of morning stretching across the landscape.

And you know. It’s time.

You descent from the rooftop quietly, careful not to make a sound. The camp is still, the soft snores of your companions the only indication of life. Your gaze lingers on each of them, committing their faces to memory.

Your feet move silently across the gravel, carrying you toward the gate. The path ahead feels both endless and final, the weight of your decision pressing heavier with each step. You push open the metal gate just small enough for you to slip through, pausing only to adjust the strap of your bag.

Freedom.

The word feels hollow as you take your first steps beyond the safety of the camp. The road stretches out before you, bathed in the soft glow of dawn. The world is vast and empty, and for the first time in a while, you’re completely alone.

But as you take another step, a voice cuts through the silence.

“Y/N.”

You freeze.

Slowly, you turn around, your heart hammering in your chest. Jungwon stands by the gate, his silhouette outlined against the rising sun. His rifle hangs loosely in his hand, but his posture is tense. His eyes meet yours, dark and unwavering.

“You’re leaving.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement—a quiet, resigned truth.

You swallow hard, your throat tightening painfully. There’s no point denying it. He’s always been able to read you too well.

“I thought you might. After everything… I knew you wouldn’t stay.” His voice is steady, but there’s a roughness to it, like he’s holding something back.

Jungwon takes a step toward you, but you instinctively step back, creating distance between you. The space feels heavier than it should, like the air between you is suffocating.

“Don’t. Don’t make this harder than it already is.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but it cracks under the vulnerability of your own emotions. The real shock is in the pain you hear in your own words—pain you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

He stills, his gaze never wavering. There’s anger in his expression, exhaustion and a deep sadness that cuts through you like a knife.

Jungwon’s jaw clenches. “Last night, you said you were going to share the burden with me.” His tone is quiet, almost hollow. “Was that a lie?”

You clench your fists at your sides, your nails digging into your palms. “If you already know, why ask?”

A humourless laugh escapes his lips, the sound hollow and bitter. It echoes in the quiet of dawn, amplifying the ache in your chest.

“I had hope that you would stay,” he says simply.

Hope.

Not that damned hope again.

Silence stretches between you, heavy with everything said and unsaid. But you both know there’s nothing either of you can say to change the other’s mind. Nothing Jungwon says will convince you to stay—not if it means standing by while they get hurt, while they die. And nothing you say will convince him to leave—not when he’s already made this place feel like home.

“Why?” His voice breaks the silence, softer now. There’s something in his eyes—exhaustion, yes, but also something more vulnerable. Something broken. “Why are you leaving?”

You don’t answer him. You just stare at the void in his eyes and that’s when you notice the bags under it, the way his shoulders slump under the weight of everything he carries. He hasn’t slept all night. He must’ve been waiting—waiting for you to wake Ni-ki up for his shift. Waiting to prove himself wrong about you.

But you never did.

“So that’s it?” His voice rises slightly, frustration seeping in. “You’re already convinced we’re going to die? You don’t even want to try to fight?” His grip on the rifle tightens, his knuckles turning white. His whole body trembles with barely contained anger.

“For god’s sake, Jay took a fucking bullet for you!”

The words hit you like a slap. You flinch, your mind racing back to that moment. The blood. The panic. The sheer terror.

He’s right. Jay did take a bullet for you.

And you repaid that debt by risking your life at the bus terminal to get him the medicine he needed. Give and take. That’s what survival is, isn’t it? But suddenly, that line of thinking feels wrong. Twisted. Because with that mindset, you could justify anything. You could justify stealing from innocent people, killing whoever stands in your way, and calling it necessity. Just like The Future.

Your chest tightens. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, but even to your own ears, it sounds hollow.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” Jungwon snaps. His voice is raw, laced with hurt and anger. “If you were going to leave, you should’ve done it that night at the motel. You didn’t have to wait until I started caring about you.”

His next words strike harder than anything else.

“What makes you different from the people who walked away from you?”

The question hangs in the air, cutting through you like a knife to the gut.

What makes you different from the people who left you behind?

Everything.

Because those people didn’t care about you when they chose to leave. They didn’t hesitate when they abandoned the community building. And you didn’t care about them when you barricaded yourself in that corner to survive.

But here? Here, you care.

And walking away makes you a monster.

Jungwon steps closer, but this time you’re rooted to the spot. His eyes are searching yours, almost pleading. “You don’t feel anything at all?” His voice trembles, and it shatters you to see him like this—vulnerable and exposed in a way you’ve never seen before.

“Y/N. Say something. Don’t just stand there—”

“You think it’s easy?” Your voice cracks, rising with anger you didn’t even realise you were holding in. “You think it’s easy choosing to leave you? To leave them?”

Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision but you don’t bother wiping them away.

“I wanted to leave that night at the motel,” you continue, your voice trembling. “Hell, I should’ve left. But that would’ve meant leaving all of you to die. I thought I could stay long enough to help, long enough for you to let your guard down so I could slip away. I never meant for it to come this far. I never meant to care.”

“You’re leaving all of us to die now. What’s the difference?” he asks quietly, though you can hear the spite in his words.

“Because I don’t want to stay here,” you choke out. “If you’ve already decided to settle down, there’s nothing I can do to change that. But I will not let myself stay here and watch the worst things imaginable happen to any of you.”

Your voice breaks, the tears flowing freely now. “At least out there, I can tell myself you’re still alive. That maybe I was wrong to think this place is a trap.”

Jungwon takes a shaky breath, his frustration cracking through the cracks in his composure. “Then stay,” he says quietly. “Stay and see for yourself. Stay and make sure you know damn well we’re alive. Leaving won’t keep us safe, Y/N.”

“Well, staying won’t keep you alive either!”

The words come out louder than you intended, your voice breaking as you sob. “I can’t lose any of you. You already saw the state I was in when Jay almost died. Sooner or later I will have to experience that kind of grief—if I have to lose you—I don’t think I’ll survive it.”

He scoffs, and you wince at the evident annoyance. "Back then, you barely knew any of us, and you were willing to sacrifice yourself to save our lives. Now that you do know us, you want to leave because you’re too afraid to see us die?" His voice trembles, rising with frustration. "You’re so full of shit, you know that?"

The words hang in the air, harsher than either of you expected. You see it in his face—the way his eyes widen slightly, the way his lips press together, as if trying to pull the words back. He hadn’t meant to say it, at least not like that. But it’s out there now, and there’s no taking it back.

Jungwon’s expression softens almost immediately, the anger melting into something quieter, something more painful. His shoulders sag, and you can see the weight of everything pressing down on him, heavier than ever. When he speaks again, his voice is low, barely above a whisper, broken by the raw emotion behind it.

“I—I didn’t mean it that way—”

“No.” You cut him off, shaking your head. “You’re right.” Your voice trembles, the truth unraveling inside you, spilling out in a rush you can no longer control. “I’m a coward. I’d rather walk away than experience that loss.”

Jungwon flinches at your words, his expression crumpling as though he’s trying to keep his composure, but failing. His gaze locks onto yours, and in that moment, all the walls he’s built to keep himself steady come crashing down.

“And it’s not a loss to leave us? To leave me?” His voice cracks as he takes a step closer, his eyes dark and glassy with unshed tears. There’s no anger left in him now—just pain. Raw, unfiltered pain.

You can barely breathe past the lump in your throat, your chest tightening with each second of silence that passes. You blink rapidly, trying to push back the tears threatening to fall, but it’s no use. The emotions you’ve tried to bury rise to the surface, clawing their way out.

Jungwon’s hand reaches out, hovering just beside your face. He’s waiting for you to lean in first, to close the distance, to give him a sign that you won’t leave. His fingers tremble slightly, so close that you can feel the faint warmth of his palm.

But you don’t move.

“You’re the greatest loss, Jungwon.”

Your voice is so quiet, you almost don’t hear yourself say it. The words slip out like a confession you’ve kept buried for too long. And for a moment, everything is still. Silent.

Jungwon’s eyes widen slightly, as though he’s just realised the weight of what you’ve said. His lips part, like he’s about to say something—maybe to beg you to stay, maybe to tell you he feels the same—but you don’t let him.

You don’t give yourself the chance to change your mind.

You step back, his hand falling limply to his side, and the space between you feels insurmountable. You take another step back, then another.

And this time, when you turn your back on him, you don’t look back. Even with tears streaming down your face, even as your chest aches with the implication of everything you’re leaving behind, you force yourself to keep walking.

Because you know that if you see the look on his face—if you see the heartbreak in his eyes—you won’t be able to walk away.

But even now, as you tell yourself it’s better this way, there’s a small, nagging voice in the back of your mind. A whisper that wonders if isolation is really strength or just another form of self-destruction.

You have no idea how long you’ve been walking. Your thoughts swirl chaotically, clouded by the argument with Jungwon that still plays in your mind like a broken record. The sun hangs high in the sky now, its rays cutting through the morning mist as the chirping of birds fills the air—a hauntingly normal sound in a world that’s anything but.

When you turned your back on him and walked away, you hadn’t planned on where to go. You’d just moved, one foot in front of the other, mindlessly pushing forward like one of the undead you’ve fought so hard to avoid.

All you know is you have to keep moving. Don’t stop. Don’t let yourself get tied down by people, places, or promises.

Before you even realise it, the bus terminal comes into view on the horizon. That bus terminal. The one where everything nearly ended for you. Where Jungwon saved your life.

The memory threatens to surface, but you shake your head sharply, forcing it down. No. Don’t think about him. Don’t think about any of them. You left them for a reason.

And yet, here you are, heading back toward the city. Back toward the very place you tried so hard to claw your way out of when the outbreak first began. It’s almost laughable, the irony of it. Back then, you were desperate to escape, fleeing the chaos and death that seemed to choke every street. But now? Now you’re willingly going back.

It’s not because the city has become safer—it hasn’t. The streets are likely still teeming with the dead, and the stench of decay probably still clings to the air like a curse. Survivors rarely venture in, the danger too great for most to justify. That makes it a kind of sanctuary in its own twisted way.

You don’t know when it happened—when avoiding the living became more crucial than avoiding the dead. But after everything you’ve been through, after everything that went down with the group, you realise now that some people are better off left alone. Like you.

It’s easier this way. In the city, you don’t have to constantly look over your shoulder for someone else’s sake. Every action, every decision you make will only affect you. There’s no group to protect, no lives depending on your choices, no shared weight to carry. You can move freely, without the suffocating burden of responsibility pressing down on your chest.

As you approach the outskirts of the bus terminal, you freeze, your breath catching in your throat.

What lies ahead makes your stomach churn, the sight so incomprehensible it feels like your mind is playing tricks on you. A horde—massive, grotesque, suffocating in its sheer number—fills the gaps between rusting cars and crumbling buses, their guttural moans and the wet shuffling of decayed limbs filling the stagnant air. The commotion from last night must’ve drawn them here.

No, something is off.

Your first instinct is to duck, to press yourself against the side of a nearby car, but curiosity keeps your eyes locked on the scene. The horde’s movements are... strange. It’s not just the usual shambling chaos of the dead, not the erratic, aimless wandering you’re used to. It’s too... coordinated. Sections of the group lurch forward in unison, turning together as though responding to some unseen signal.

And then you see them—figures standing atop the cars, scattered like silent sentinels amidst the chaos. Their heads swivel, scanning the area, their posture betraying an awareness the undead don’t have.

From your hiding spot, you squint, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing. Their bodies are draped in something you can’t quite make out at this distance—tattered rags, maybe? No. Your stomach twists as you squint through the haze. It’s flesh. Patches of rotting skin and gore strapped to their bodies, like grotesque armour. Their faces are hollowed out, decayed. But their eyes… it’s clear. Just like the zombie you spotted in the clearing that day. The one that stood eerily still, watching, waiting.

Then one moves. Not with the jerky, mindless motion of the dead, but with purpose. Deliberate. Intentional. Your breath catches in your throat as the realisation hits you like a punch to the gut.

They’re… human? But the dead is not going after them. How is that possible?

You watch as one of the figures on a car stomp its foot onto the roof. The horde responds almost immediately, a section of the undead turning in unison, moving as if corralled toward a tighter group of vehicles. Another figure lets out a whistle, low and sharp. The sound sends a ripple through the horde. The zombies lurch toward the source, shuffling like sheep to a shepherd’s call.

It’s sickeningly methodical. Choreographed chaos.

Your mind races as you try to process the scene. These people—whoever and whatever they are—they’ve figured out how to control the dead, how to manipulate them like tools.

Then, you spot another one of them on the roof of the terminal, the one you and Jungwon came from. He’s wearing the same decayed face but his stance is confident, almost arrogant, as he surveys the horde below.

“Friends!” he calls, his voice echoing above the chaos, carrying an authority that you’ve never heard before in this ruined world. The horde reacts immediately, pushing forward as if his words alone are a leash pulling them to heel. They claw at the walls of the building, their rotting fingers scraping against the brick, desperate and unrelenting.

Your heart hammers in your chest, the sound almost deafening in your ears. Friends? The word twists in your mind, warping into something grotesque. He’s speaking to the dead like they’re equals, like they’re allies in some twisted cause.

“We’re not far now,” he continues, his voice filled with a fervour that makes your stomach churn. The horde responds again, the shuffling and groaning growing louder, almost like a chant. “Tonight, they’ll pay for what they’ve done!”

Your breath catches, and your grip on your bag tightens. They? Who’s they?

The man raises his arms, the action reminding you of a preacher before his congregation, a maestro before his orchestra, and the dead press closer to the building, their movements frenzied in response to him.

“They won’t even know what hit them!” His voice reverberates, filled with rage and something else—something almost gleeful. It’s the sound of someone relishing the thought of destruction, of revenge.

Your gaze darts to the figures on the cars. At first glance, they seem indifferent, but then they raise their fists in unison, a silent cheer. A rallying cry without words, their collective movements eerily synchronised, like a grotesque sermon preached to the dead.

The noise of the horde grows, a crescendo of chaos that grates against your nerves. You can’t tear your eyes away from the man on the roof as he reaches back, his movements slow and precise, untying something from the back of his head.

Your breath catches as he pulls it forward, letting it swing for a moment in the wind. It’s a mask—thin, gnarled, stitched together from the decayed skin of the dead. The detail makes your stomach churn: patches of dried flesh, sinew hanging loose, and hollowed-out eye sockets that must have once belonged to something that used to breathe. When he looks up again, your blood runs cold.

It’s him. The guy Jay went after.

Your stomach flips violently as the pieces snap together in your mind. The zombie from the clearing—that eerily still, haunting figure that locked eyes with you—it wasn’t a zombie. It was him.

Your gaze jerks back to the other figures standing on the cars, to the masks they wear, and the realisation makes your skin crawl. They’re all wearing the dead. Covering themselves in the stench of decay to mask their scent, blending seamlessly with the horde. Walking among them. Herding them like livestock.

The realisation sends a cold shiver racing down your spine, leaving your limbs heavy and unresponsive. The world around you feels like it’s tilting, the ground shifting beneath your feet as you struggle to process the horror in front of you. Your mind races, frantically revisiting every moment that didn’t make sense before: the horde that ambushed you in the city, the back door at the motel, the perfectly timed attack at the camp. It was them. It’s always been them.

The bile rises in your throat, burning and bitter, but you force it down, swallowing hard as you cling to the only thing you can do right now—stay quiet. Your breath comes shallow, the sound of your pounding heartbeat drowning out the chaos around you.

Your hand trembles as you steady yourself against the car, the metal cool under your palm. You’re not sure how long you can stay here without being spotted, but one thing is clear: these people are dangerous. More dangerous than the dead, more dangerous than any survivor you’ve encountered.

Every instinct screams at you to run, to put as much distance between yourself and this nightmare as possible. But you can’t.

They’re moving the horde.

Towards you. Towards Jungwon. Towards all of them.

Without realising, your legs move on their own, instinct taking over as you bolt back in the direction you came from. It doesn’t matter that it took you nearly an hour to walk here; you’re running now, faster than you thought your body could manage.

Your mind races just as fast as your feet. The whole thing feels like some cruel cosmic joke.

And now, with every step closer to that rest stop, you feel the pull of something you thought you’d severed. It’s not just the danger that’s pushing you back—it’s them.

Jungwon, with his quiet, unshakable strength that masks the unbearable weight he carries. Jay, who bled for you without hesitation. Ni-ki, who never stopped believing in the group’s survival. Sunoo, Jake, Heeseung, Sunghoon—they’re more than just people you met along the way. They’re the only thing tethering you to this broken, crumbling world.

And that’s exactly why you left.

You left because you couldn’t stand the thought of watching them die. Not Jungwon. Not any of them. Because you know what would happen if they did. The rage would consume you, boiling over until it scorched everything in its path. The grief would hollow you out, leaving nothing but an echo of who you used to be. You’d do things you promised yourself you’d never do, and the world would win. It would take you, just like it’s taken so many others. You’d become a stranger to yourself.

But the irony isn’t lost on you now. You left because you didn’t want to watch them die. You told yourself it was about survival—your survival. You couldn’t stay and risk being reduced to ashes by grief and rage.

And yet here you are, sprinting back to possibly watch them die. Back into the chaos. Into the danger. Into the pain.

You don’t want to go back. You do. You don’t. The contradictions whirl in your mind like a storm, a tempest of fear, anger, and regret. Every step forward feels like a step closer to doom. But every thought of turning back feels like a betrayal of something you can’t quite name.

Back then, it was just an invisible threat—a vague, looming shadow of danger that hung over you like a storm cloud. You couldn’t see it, couldn’t touch it, you don’t know for sure, you could only feel it. That gnawing dread, the constant whispers of worst-case scenarios. And you’d told yourself that leaving was the only way to spare yourself the pain of the inevitable.

Or maybe they wouldn’t die at all. Maybe you were just being paranoid. Maybe you were wrong about that place. Maybe they’d prove you wrong by thriving, by turning it into the refuge they so desperately wanted it to be. You told yourself all of that to justify the decision to walk away, to convince yourself it was the right thing to do.

But even that was just another lie. Another twisted attempt to deny what you really felt. And despite your best efforts to shut it out, to drown it in logic and practicality, you realise now—that thought in itself, that denial, that ignorance—is hope.

Hope that leaving would somehow shield you from the pain of watching them fall apart.

Hope that they wouldn’t die, that you were just being overly cautious, overly cynical.

Hope that you were wrong about that place, that it wasn’t a death trap waiting to claim them all.

And maybe that’s why you hate the whole idea of hope.

Hope, in all its naive, fragile glory, has been the cruelest trick the world ever played on you. It’s a poison wrapped in pretty words and good intentions. You’ve told yourself time and time again that hope is what gets people killed. It makes you reckless. Makes you believe in things that don’t exist. Hope makes you stay when you should run, makes you trust when you shouldn’t, makes you care when you can’t afford to. And the worst part? Hope doesn’t stop the bad things from happening. It doesn’t save you from loss, from grief, from pain. It just makes the fall hurt that much more when it all comes crashing down.

And now, running back down this highway with every nerve in your body screaming at you to hurry, you feel the weight of it pressing down on you.

You didn’t leave because you thought they’d be fine. You didn’t leave because you believed they’d prove you wrong.

You left because you hoped. In your own twisted way.

But now? Now, knowing what you know, hope feels like a cruel joke. There can’t be hope. Not anymore. Because you know the truth. You’ve seen it with your own eyes.

The people on the cars, the masks of flesh, the herded horde—it’s all proof that this world doesn’t care about hope. It doesn’t care about survival. It only cares about death, about how it can twist and shape and devour until there’s nothing left.

They’re not fine. They won’t thrive. They won’t prove you wrong. You can’t even tell yourself that you’re overthinking it, that you’re paranoid, that it’s all in your head. Ignorance is no longer bliss because you know. It’s not just some superficial, nebulous fear anymore. It’s real, and it’s heading straight for Jungwon and the others, and you’re the only one who knows.

They don’t know what’s coming. Jungwon doesn’t know. The group doesn’t know. And if you don’t make it back in time—

The thought hits you like a sledgehammer, knocking the breath out of you. You trip over a crack in the asphalt, your body hitting the ground hard, the impact jarring your entire frame.

For a moment, you’re dazed, your palms scraped and bleeding against the ground. But the sound of your ragged breathing snaps you back to reality. There’s no time to stop. No time to let the pain sink in. You scramble to your feet, dirt clinging to your hands and knees, and keep running.

You don’t even know how long you’ve been running. All you know is the tightening in your chest, the fire in your lungs, and the unrelenting truth clawing at the back of your mind.

They’re actually going to die.

That knowledge burns, searing away any last shred of hope you might have clung to.

And maybe that’s why you hate hope so much. Because you wanted it to be real. You wanted to believe, even if it was just for a moment, that they could have a chance. But this world doesn’t allow for chances. It doesn’t allow for happy endings. It only allows for survival—and only for those willing to tear apart everything and everyone in their way.

Your pace slows as the rest stop comes into view in the distance, the barricade just barely visible against the horizon. Your heart twists at the sight of it. It looks the same as when you left, quiet and still, like it’s waiting for something to happen.

You can’t stop the bitterness from rising in your chest as you picture Jungwon’s face when you walked away. The disappointment, the anger, the heartbreak—it’s burned into your memory like a wound that refuses to heal. He probably thought you were giving up on them, giving up on him. And maybe, in a way, he was right. Because you couldn’t bring yourself to watch them cling to hope like a noose tightening around their necks

And yet, here you are, running back. Not because you believe you can save them. Not because you think there’s still a chance. But because you can’t bear to let the world prove you right. Not like this. Not when the price of being right is their lives.

You hate hope. You hate what it does to people. But what you hate even more is the thought of standing here, doing nothing, and watching it die. Not just them—you.

Because saving them is saving yourself.

You realise that now, with every step you take. You can’t separate the two. You can’t convince yourself that walking away from them doesn’t mean walking away from who you are, from the part of you that still has a purpose.

The choice isn’t about hope or survival anymore; it’s about what you’re willing to lose in the process.

If you’re going to lose yourself, let it be in trying. Let it be in throwing everything you have into saving them, even if it breaks you in the process. Let it be because you cared enough to fight.

Because the alternative—the guilt, the regret of turning your back and knowing you could have done something—would be far worse. It would eat away at you. Hollowing you out in a way you’d never recover from.

So if saving them means letting the world take the last piece of you, then so be it. If the cost of trying is everything, you’ll pay it. At least this way, when you lose yourself, it’ll be with a purpose. At least it won’t be for nothing.

And if it comes down to it, if the fight doesn’t go the way you hope, you just pray you won’t live long enough to witness the fallout. You hope the world will be merciful enough to take you before it forces you to watch it take them.

You’re close now, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you force your legs to keep moving. The thought of Jungwon and the others pushes you forward, fuels your determination. You can’t let them be caught off guard. You can’t let them die.

The gates swing open before you can even catch your breath to announce your presence. Figures. They probably saw you miles before you even reached the rest stop, perched from their vantage points or perhaps by sheer habit of being on guard.

It’s Sunoo who greets you at the gate, his face lighting up when he spots you. “Y/N! Back already?” he asks, his tone casual, cheerful even. Like you’ve just returned from a harmless errand rather than the most tumultuous hours of your life.

Back already. The words settle uneasily in your chest as you step through the barricade. You glance at him, noticing the messy state of his hair, sticking up in odd angles, and the faint marks of sleep still etched onto his face. He doesn’t know. None of them know.

You scan the area, catching sight of the others. Sunghoon is by the fire, stretching as if he’s just woken up. Heeseung’s leaning against a pillar, rubbing the back of his neck. Even Ni-ki, who usually has a sharp, alert edge to him, is sitting cross-legged in the back of the van, yawning into his hand.

They don’t know you almost left for good. They have no idea that you had stood on the edge of this very decision, ready to walk away from all of this—from them.

Your chest tightens as you realise how quickly things could have gone another way. If it weren’t for what you saw back at the terminal, you’d be gone right now, miles away from this place, convincing yourself that this is how it had to be. And yet, here you are, standing in the midst of them, and not a single one knows how close you were to never coming back.

And then you see him.

Jungwon is leaning against the wall near the van, his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze locks onto yours the moment you step into the camp, his expression unreadable. There’s no accusation in his eyes, no anger, no “I told you so.” He just looks at you, and you know.

He didn’t tell them.

Whatever passed between you before you left—whatever anger, whatever hurt—it’s gone now, buried under something heavier. Something you can’t quite name.

Your breath hitches as you hold his gaze, a silent exchange passing between the two of you. There’s no point in asking why he kept it to himself. You know why. He’s protecting you, just like he always does, even when you don’t deserve it.

Sunoo, oblivious to the weight of the moment, grins at you and gestures toward the rest of the group. “We figured you were off hunting or something, but damn, you’ve been gone for three hours. Did you get anything?”

Three hours. That’s all it’s been. You glance down at your hands, still clutching the strap of your bag like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. It felt like so much longer. Like a lifetime has passed since you last stood here.

You glance back at Jungwon, who hasn’t taken his eyes off you. And in that moment, you understand something you didn’t before. He didn’t just protect your secret because it was the right thing to do. He did it because he knows you. Knows how close you were to walking away. Knows how much you’ve been wrestling with the weight of staying. And somehow, despite all of that, he’s still here, waiting for you.

“Well, are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to tell us what you found?” Sunoo’s voice jolts you out of your thoughts, and you force a smile, your mind already racing with how you’re going to explain what’s coming.

Because they may not know that you almost left. But they’re about to find out what you came back for.

You take a deep breath, willing your trembling hands to steady as you adjust the strap of your bag. Sunoo is looking at you expectantly, his cheerful demeanour a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you. The others are starting to notice now—Heeseung raises an eyebrow, Sunghoon straightens his posture, and Jake steps closer, his gaze narrowing slightly in concern.

“I… didn’t go hunting,” you begin, your voice low but steady. You glance around the group, meeting their eyes one by one before landing back on Jungwon. His expression remains unreadable, though you catch the slightest twitch of his jaw. “I went back to the bus terminal.”

The ripple of confusion is immediate.

“What?” Jake’s voice cuts through the silence, his brow furrowed. “Why the hell would you go back there?”

“I had to check something,” you say, your words rushing out faster than you intended. “Something didn’t sit right with me about that place, about what happened. So I went back to see if—” You pause, your throat tightening as the images flash through your mind again: the horde, the people, the masks.

“If what?” Heeseung prompts, his voice calm but edged with concern.

Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag as you force yourself to say it. “There’s a horde at the terminal.”

“A horde?” Sunghoon echoes, his voice laced with disbelief.

“Yes,” you say firmly, your eyes scanning the group to make sure they’re listening. “A massive one. Bigger than anything we’ve seen before. But that’s not the worst part.” You take another breath, steeling yourself. “There are people. People controlling it.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“People?” Sunoo’s face twists in confusion, his earlier cheer replaced with unease. “What do you mean, controlling it?”

“They’re… wearing the dead,” you say, your stomach churning at the memory. “Masks. Clothes. Covering themselves in the scent of decay to blend in. They’re herding the zombies like livestock. I saw them. They’re leading the horde.”

Silence. The kind that feels too loud, too sharp.

“That’s not possible,” Jake finally says, his tone disbelieving. “No one can control the dead.”

“I’m telling you, I saw it with my own eyes!” you snap, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “They’re moving the horde, and they’re coming this way. They’re coming for us.”

Heeseung’s expression darkens, and he exchanges a look with Sunghoon. “How do you know they’re coming here?”

You hesitate, your gaze flicking to Jungwon. He’s still silent, his eyes locked on yours, waiting.

“Because he was there—the guy that Jay went after,” you admit, your voice dropping. “I saw him. Seems like he’s the one in charge too. They’re planning to attack tonight. They know you’re here.”

The weight of your words sinks in, rippling through the group like a shockwave. The air shifts, heavy with dread, the fragile sense of safety they tried to hold onto cracking under the pressure. Sunoo looks pale, his cheerful energy drained away as he stares at you like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Jake’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing with determination, though the tension in his shoulders betrays the fear he’s trying to suppress. Ni-ki, who’s just stepped out of the van, freezes mid-step, his expression hardening into one of unease.

Then, movement from the convenience store catches your attention. You glance over, your breath hitching when you see Jay standing in the doorway. Relief washes over you at the sight of him upright, alive, looking much better than the last time you saw him. He’s out of bed—too soon, really—but still, he’s here. Thank god.

But then the relief wanes, replaced by a twinge of worry. The pain in his posture is evident in the way he leans slightly against the doorframe, his body curling in on itself as though every breath takes effort. His complexion is pale, almost ghostly, the lack of colour suggesting someone still in convalescence, still vulnerable. Yet he’s standing there, bearing witness to everything.

And there’s something else. A look on his face that tugs uncomfortably at your chest—regret. It’s there in the tight line of his mouth, in the way his gaze flickers between you and the others. He must’ve heard what you said about the guy. About how he’s still alive. About how he’s leading this horde straight to them.

The regret in his expression cuts deeper than any words could. It’s not regret for himself, not for the pain he’s in or the bullet wound that’s barely begun to heal. It’s regret for what he didn’t finish. For the job he couldn’t complete. And now, because of that, the people he cares about are going to suffer the consequences.

Jay’s the type to bear the blame even when it’s not entirely his to bear. And now, standing there, he looks like he’s drowning in it, his regret and guilt weighing him down like a stone tied to his chest.

“What do we do?” Sunoo’s voice is small, almost childlike. It trembles with fear, breaking the heavy silence that’s gripped the group since your return. His wide eyes dart from person to person, searching for reassurance that none of you can offer.

“We leave,” you say firmly, your gaze locking onto Jungwon’s. The words leave your mouth with more force than you intended, your desperation bleeding into every syllable. “We pack up and leave now, before it’s too late.”

But Jungwon doesn’t respond. His dark eyes remain fixed on yours, unreadable, like he’s searching for something he’s not sure he’ll find.

“Jungwon,” you press, your voice rising slightly as the urgency claws at your chest. “You know we can’t stay. Not with what’s coming.”

His jaw tightens, his posture stiffening as the group watches the two of you with baited breath. You can feel the tension rolling off him, coiling tighter with every passing second. For a moment, you think he’s going to argue. But then he speaks, his voice low and measured. “If we leave now, they’ll follow us. A moving group is easier to track. We need to think this through.”

“Think this through?” you echo, incredulous. The disbelief cuts through your voice, sharp and biting. “There’s nothing to think through. They’re coming, Jungwon. If we stay here, we’re sitting ducks.”

“And if we leave, we’re exposed,” he counters without missing a beat, his calmness only fuelling your frustration. “We don’t even know if we’d make it out of the area before they catch up to us. We need a plan.”

The group falls silent again, their eyes darting between the two of you like they’re caught in the middle of a battlefield with no way to escape. The weight of their stares presses down on you, amplifying the tension already thrumming in your veins.

Your chest heaves as you search for the right words to push through his resolve. But before you can, Jay speaks, cutting through the thick air like a blade. His voice is quiet but firm, carrying a gravity that makes everyone turn toward him. “He’s not going to stop, you know.”

You snap your head toward him, your breath hitching at the resignation in his tone. His gaze locks onto yours, and in that moment, you understand what he’s trying to say.

“He’ll find us,” Jay continues, his voice steady despite the obvious pain he’s in. “And he’ll keep finding us until he gets what he’s looking for.”

"If you're suggesting we leave without you, forget it. We—"

“The only choice is to stay and fight. To settle it once and for all.” Jay’s eyes flicker to Jungwon, then to the rest of the group, his words slicing through the growing sense of dread.

The silence that follows is deafening. You can feel the ripple of fear that passes through the group, the unspoken understanding of what staying to fight would mean. It’s not just survival anymore. It’s war. And war always demands sacrifice.

Jungwon’s gaze shifts to you again, his expression unreadable but weighted with expectation. He’s waiting for you to argue, to push back. But you don’t. Because deep down, you know Jay’s right. This isn’t just some random attack. It’s a personal vendetta.

Even if you manage to convince them to leave, to escape the immediate threat, it won’t guarantee their safety. These people don’t just want resources or a fight. They want vengeance. They want blood. And they won’t stop until they have it. Running will only delay the inevitable.

You swallow hard, the words catching in your throat. “If we stay,” you finally manage, your voice trembling slightly, “we need to be ready. Completely ready.”

Jungwon nods once, the tiniest flicker of approval crossing his face before it’s gone again. He turns to the group, his voice steady and commanding as he begins issuing instructions. “Ni-ki, Jake—check the barricades. Reinforce every weak spot you find. Sunghoon—bring out all the guns and ammos from the backroom. Sunoo—gather anything we can use to secure the perimeter. I saw some extra rows of barb wires in the basement earlier. Heeseung and I will map out entry points and blind spots. Jay, you stay inside.”

Then Jungwon turns to you.

You wait, holding your breath, anticipating the order he’ll give you. But it doesn’t come. Instead, his gaze lingers on you for a fleeting second before he looks away, addressing the others again. He’s leaving you out of it—deliberately. The realisation hits you harder than it should.

At first, you think he’s still angry, that the tension from your earlier argument hasn’t fully dissipated. But as you study his face, the way his jaw is set but his eyes avoid yours, you see the truth. He’s not mad at you.

He’s giving you an out. He’s leaving the option open—the option to walk away, still.

The group disperses quickly, each person moving with purpose as they carry out their assigned tasks. The sound of hurried footsteps and shifting supplies fills the air, but you remain rooted to the spot. You feel like a ghost, watching them prepare for a battle you’d been so desperate to avoid. A battle you tried to flee from. A battle you brought right down on them.

You glance back at Jungwon. He’s already bent over Heeseung’s map, pointing at something with a furrowed brow. His posture is tense, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring ready to snap. Even from here, you can see the weight on his shoulders, the burden he carries not just as their leader but as someone who cares too much.

Your chest tightens. You can’t tell if it’s guilt or anger—or maybe something messier than both.

He’s leaving the choice to you because he knows you. He knows you’d hate being told to stay, that forcing you would only drive you further away. But this, this silent permission to go—it feels worse. It feels like he’s already preparing himself for your absence. Like he’s already accepted that you might leave.

You tear your gaze away, your fists clenching at your sides. He’s giving you what you wanted. The freedom to walk away without confrontation. The chance to escape without tying yourself to their fate.

So why does it feel so wrong?

Just then, Jay approaches, his steps slower than usual, but his presence steady. “You look like shit,” he says flatly, his voice cutting through the quiet.

“Could say the same thing about you, Jay,” you shoot back without thinking, the words slipping out with a touch of dry humour. Your chest tightens as you’re brought back to the moment on the roadside—the weight of his voice when he confronted you, the guilt that still lingers in your bones. You wonder if he knows just how close you came to leaving.

Jay tilts his head, studying you in that unnervingly perceptive way he has. “Come on,” he says finally, nodding toward the convenience store. “We can keep watch together on the roof.”

Your brow furrows. “Jungwon told you to stay inside.”

“Inside and on top, same thing,” Jay replies, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “At least on the roof, I get to feel somewhat useful.” He clicks his tongue, and there’s a stubborn edge to his tone that you know all too well.

“Jay,” you start, but he cuts you off, his gaze narrowing.

“Don’t start. I know my limits better than anyone, and sitting around waiting to feel like dead weight isn’t doing me any favours.” His voice is sharper now, but not angry. Just resolute. “You can watch my back if you’re so worried.”

You let out a quiet sigh, glancing toward the roof. He’s not wrong—at least up there, he’s out of harm’s way but still contributing. And truthfully, part of you is relieved for the company. You nod reluctantly. “Fine. But you’re not pulling anything heroic. Got it?”

Jay grins faintly, though the usual arrogance in his expression is muted. “I’ll leave the heroics to you this time.” His voice softens as he adds, “Come on, let’s go.”

The scent of the morning feels sharper now, almost intrusive, carried by the cool breeze that brushes over your face as you and Jay sit cross-legged on the roof. The faint rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds fill the silence between you. Both of you lean back against the convenience store sign, the metal cool against your shoulders.

“How’s recovery been?” you ask, your voice quiet as your gaze stays fixed on the horizon stretching endlessly past the rest stop.

“Good,” Jay replies, his tone nonchalant. “Thanks to the medicine you and Jungwon brought back. And, well, Jake, obviously.”

“So, it doesn’t hurt anymore?” you ask, glancing at him briefly, searching his face for any hint of dishonesty.

Jay lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Are you kidding? It was only two days ago. Of course, it still hurts like shit.”

A wave of guilt crashes over you, sharp and unrelenting. Of course, it hurts. He’s carrying the pain for both of you—for a bullet that was meant for you. Your chest tightens, and before you can stop yourself, the words slip out.

“I’m sorry.”

Jay turns to you, his brow furrowing slightly. “I told you, it’s fine—”

“No, it’s not fine, Jay,” you cut him off, your voice trembling with emotion. “You really could’ve died.”

“Yeah, if you were a little bit taller.” His lips twitch, and you can see him trying to hold it back. But it doesn’t last long before he bursts out laughing—a bright, unrestrained sound that feels almost alien in this grim world. The laughter cuts short, though, as he winces and curls in on himself, the pain from his wound quickly bringing him back to reality.

Your instinct is to reach out, but you hesitate, your hand hovering in the air before dropping back to your lap. “See? It’s not fine,” you mutter, your voice softer now.

Jay breathes through the pain, shaking his head with a faint grin still lingering on his face. “Worth it. That reaction was worth it.”

You stare at him for a moment, incredulous. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re predictable,” Jay shoots back, his grin lingering, though the weariness in his voice cuts through the lightness. Then his expression shifts, something sharper and more knowing in his eyes.

“This morning, you left, didn’t you?”

You freeze, the words hitting like a jolt to your chest. Of course you can count on Jay to call you out on your contrarian shit.

You don’t answer right away, but the silence is all the confirmation he needs. “Yeah, I figured when I woke up and saw Jungwon sitting on the roof. Legs dangling over the edge, just staring at the horizon. Like he was waiting for something. Guess that something was you.”

Your chest tightens, and you turn your gaze back to the horizon. You want to say something, to deny it, but what’s the point? He already knows the truth.

“Did he say anything?” you ask cautiously, your voice quieter now. “Jungwon, I mean.”

Jay’s eyes flick to you, studying your face for a moment before he answers. “Not much. He’s not really the type to spill his guts, you know that.” He pauses, his gaze turning distant, like he’s replaying the memory in his mind.

Jay continues, his tone lighter, but there’s an edge to it. “For what it’s worth, he didn’t look angry. Just… resigned, I guess. Like he already knew what you were going to do before you did.”

You exhale shakily, your fingers tightening around itself. “I didn’t mean to—” you start, but Jay cuts you off.

“I know,” he says, his voice softer now. “And so does he. Doesn’t mean it didn’t mess with him, though.”

His words land heavier than you expect, and you nod, swallowing hard as the guilt settles deeper into your chest. It’s a hollow ache, twisting and gnawing, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything else. The silence between you stretches thin, and you feel yourself teetering on the edge of collapsing into the depths of your own self-loathing.

Jay, ever the mind reader, speaks up before you spiral. “But that just means he truly cares about you. That you bring him comfort and hope in a world that’s devoid of it.”

Hope. That word feels like an accusation, like it doesn’t belong anywhere near you.

"Why?” you whisper, barely able to hear your own voice. “Why does he care about me? I met you all barely over a week ago.”

“What about you?” he counters. “Why do you care?”

His question takes you off guard, echoing in your mind like a challenge. Why do you care? You left to avoid caring, to avoid the inevitability of their deaths, to avoid watching the world tear them away from you like it’s done to so many before. Yet, here you are, sitting on this roof, your chest tightening with every word, every thought.

You glance at Jay, his face calm but expectant, the faint lines of pain around his mouth betraying the effort it takes for him to even sit upright. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t have to. The weight of his question lingers in the air, demanding an answer you’re not ready to give.

“I shouldn’t care,” you say finally, the words falling flat. They feel like a shield, something to protect yourself from what you’re afraid to admit. “It’d be easier if I didn’t.”

Jay lets out a soft laugh, though it’s tinged with sadness. “Yeah, it would be. But that’s not who you are, is it?”

You don’t respond. Because he’s right, and you hate that he’s right. You hate that you care, that you couldn’t stop yourself from coming back, from throwing yourself into the fire again and again. You hate that their survival has somehow become entwined with your own, that you can’t even think about saving yourself without thinking about saving them.

Jay shifts slightly, wincing as he adjusts his position. “You care because you see it, don’t you?” he continues, his voice quiet now, almost gentle. “What we have here. It’s not perfect—it’s messy and dangerous, and it might not last. But it’s something. And for some reason, you want to protect that.”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling to the surface. “I came back because I knew what was coming,” you argue, more to yourself than to him. “Because if I didn’t warn you, you’d all be dead by midnight. That’s it. That’s the only reason.”

Jay tilts his head, studying you with an expression that feels far too knowing. “Sure,” he says, his tone neutral. “Keep telling yourself that.”

You glare at him, but there’s no real anger behind it. Just exhaustion, and maybe a little bit of fear. Because you know he’s right. You look away, your gaze drifting back to the horizon. The beauty of it feels almost mocking, a cruel reminder of what you’re all trying to hold onto in a world determined to take it away.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to keep going when everything feels so... fragile. Like it could all fall apart any second.”

Jay’s expression softens, and for a moment, he looks older, wearier. “None of us do,” he says simply. “We’re all just figuring it out as we go. Even Jungwon. But I guess he tries to hide that from the rest of us.”

“Why?” you ask, finally turning to look at him. “Why does he feel like he has to hide it?”

Jay leans back further against the convenience store sign, his expression heavy with something close to regret. “When things fell apart, we were all with him at his new university. We were stuck there—trapped with him. And Jungwon...” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think he blames himself for that. Like it was his fault we were there instead of safe at home with our families when it all started.”

You’re reminded of your first real conversation with Jungwon, the way he spoke about the group as if their survival was entirely his responsibility. He hadn’t said it outright, but now, hearing it from Jay, it all makes sense. The guilt he carries, the sleepless nights, the endless drive to keep moving forward—it’s all because of them. Because of what he believes he owes them.

“He really thinks it’s his fault?” you murmur, half to yourself.

Jay nods, his gaze distant. “Yeah. But it’s not. We wanted to be there. We wanted to stay. Hell, we probably made it harder for him by refusing to leave. And now, we’re his reason to keep going.” He lets out a quiet laugh, but it’s hollow, lacking any real humour.

You don’t say anything, letting Jay continue. You can tell he’s speaking from a place that’s deeper than his usual wit, pulling from a well of memories he rarely lets anyone see.

“Somewhere along the way, we just… started relying on him,” Jay says. “On his reassurance, his direction. It wasn’t even intentional. It just… happened. Even someone like me, who hates showing weakness—I faltered. When it happened. When she died.” His voice cracks slightly, and he swallows hard before continuing. “And I would go to him, night after night, just so I can fall asleep. Because his presence brought me that comfort. That feeling that everything might be okay, even when I knew it wouldn’t be.”

Jay’s gaze flicks to you, his expression distant, as though he’s caught between the past and the present. “He does it because it’s in his nature. He feels like he has to carry us, all of us, because we’re still here. That’s just who he is. He’ll carry the world on his shoulders if it means we can breathe a little easier. But it made me realise… Jungwon probably gets scared too. He probably has countless sleepless nights, only he has nobody to lean on.”

You stare at Jay, his words settling over you like a weight you’re not sure you’re ready to bear. The breeze brushes past, carrying with it the faint scent of morning dew, but even that isn’t enough to distract you from the raw honesty in his voice.

You’re quiet for a moment, processing his words. Then Jay’s voice softens even more, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Well, until you came along.”

That catches you off guard. “Me?” you echo, frowning slightly. “What are you talking about?”

Jay tilts his head, his expression somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “You’re really going to pretend you don’t see it? The way he looks at you. The way he listens when you speak, even when you’re arguing. Especially when you’re arguing.”

You do. You do see it. Only you didn't think it was that significant for someone else to notice it too.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter, but the heat creeping up your neck betrays you.

Jay raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Come on. You’re not that dense. The guy practically lights up when you’re around. Even when you’re pissing him off.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the words catch in your throat. “He doesn’t need me,” you say finally, your voice quieter now. “He’s strong enough on his own. He always has been.”

Jay lets out a low, disbelieving laugh. “That’s the thing. He doesn’t need you to carry him, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need you. You’re not taking away his strength; you’re giving him a reason to keep using it.”

“Don’t underestimate the kind of relief you bring him,” Jay says firmly. “He’s been carrying all of us for so long, I don’t think he realised how much he needed someone to push back. To challenge him. To make him feel like he doesn’t have to carry it all on his own.”

You glance at Jay, his expression serious now, his usual smirk replaced with something softer. “Why are you telling me this?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Because someone has to,” he replies simply. “And because I know you care about him, even if you’re too stubborn to admit it.”

The silence that follows feels heavier than before, but this time, it’s not uncomfortable. It settles between you like a fragile truce, delicate but unbroken. Which is surprising, considering you’re having a heart-to-heart with Jay, of all people.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, half-expecting some sarcastic remark or a biting joke to cut through the moment. But he doesn’t say anything. Instead, his gaze fixes on the horizon. His profile, usually so sharp and full of defiance, seems softer now, like the weight of the conversation has smoothed out his edges.

“You know,” you start, breaking the silence, “you remind me of someone from the community building.”

Jay glances at you, curious. He notices your attempt to change the topic but he doesn't call you out on it. “Yeah? I bet they were a real charmer.”

You snort, shaking your head. “No, he was an idiot. But it’s something about the way neither of you know how to sugarcoat your words. That brutal honesty, whether anyone’s ready for it or not.”

Jay chuckles, the sound low and surprisingly genuine. “Well, I hope he’s thriving and doesn’t have a gaping hole in his side.”

“Yeah, well… he was a real troublemaker,” you say, your tone growing more reflective. “Got into all sorts of shit before everything fell apart. He was one of those kids the adults would always shake their heads at. A ‘bad influence,’ they’d say. But I went on a few supply runs with him, so I got to know him better. Yeah, he was reckless, stubborn, and constantly looking for trouble, but he was a nice guy deep down. Helped me out of a few tight spots.”

“He had a little sister. Around four years old when it started,” you continue, your voice lowering. “She was everything to him. No matter how much of a mess he was, he took care of her like his life depended on it. You could see it in the way he looked at her, the way he’d always make sure she had enough food or that she wasn’t scared.”

You pause, the memory sharp and painful. Jay’s quiet, sensing that there’s more to the story. His gaze sharpens, but he doesn’t interrupt, letting you take your time.

“One day, there was this fight. Between him and an older man in the building. It got… bad. Heated. I don’t even know what it was about anymore—something stupid, probably. Everyone was watching, caught up in the chaos, and I guess no one noticed his sister trying to stop them. She ran in, got caught in the middle.” Your voice falters, and you swallow hard before continuing. “She got pushed. Fell against the edge of a table. Her skull… cracked open.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. The weight of the memory presses down on you, and you can feel Jay’s gaze on you, quiet and steady.

“At first, he was devastated,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Grief just… swallowed him whole. But then, something shifted. His entire demeanour changed. He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He just… got up, grabbed the man who’d pushed her, and dragged him outside. Fed him to the dead. No hesitation. After that, he left. Never saw him again.”

Jay exhales slowly, leaning forward slightly. “What’s the moral of the story?” he asks, his voice careful, like he’s testing the waters.

“I guess…” you hesitate, trying to put your thoughts into words. “I guess I’m afraid of becoming like him. Detached. Insane. Letting grief consume me to the point where I’m not even me anymore. I still remember his eyes that day, when he dragged that man outside. It was like… everything human about him was gone. And I don’t want that to happen to me.”

Jay watches you closely, his expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause, he asks the question you’ve been dreading. “Is that why you left? Because you were scared to face what you’d lose?”

You flinch, the truth hitting you like a slap to the face. “Yeah,” you admit, your voice trembling.

“Do you think he made it?” he asks suddenly, his gaze still fixed you.

You blink, caught off guard by the question. It’s not one you’ve ever let yourself think about, not in detail. “I don’t know,” you admit, your voice hesitant. “I think about it sometimes. Whether he found somewhere safe, whether he made it out of the city alive... but I guess I’ll never know.”

“Do you think you would’ve done the same? If it had been you?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy with implication. You hesitate, but only for a moment. Because deep down, you already know the answer.

“Yes,” you say quietly, the weight of the admission settling deep in your chest. Your fingers curl into your palms, your throat tightening.

“I think I would’ve done the same thing. And that’s what makes it worse.”

Jay nods slowly, his expression unreadable. His gaze lingers on you, as if weighing something in his mind.

“There are some things in the universe that are just out of our control,” he says, staring up at the sky like the answers might be written in the clouds. “Like the weather, for example, or who your parents are. And when things go wrong, it’s easy to say, ‘It was out of my hands,’ or ‘There’s nothing I could’ve done about it.’”

Jay’s voice is steady, measured, but there’s something raw underneath it, something that makes you listen even though you don’t want to. He glances at you then, his expression unreadable. “But when you do have control over something—when you actually could have done something, but you choose not to—and then you lose control? That’s worse. That’s so much worse.”

Your fingers curl into your palms, nails biting into skin, but you don’t stop him.

“Because this time, you actually had a hand in it,” Jay continues, his voice quieter now. “Not doing anything about it, knowing what you could’ve done to prevent it—that thought consumes you. It haunts you in your sleep, over and over again. And I think, deep down, you already know this.” He lets out a soft breath, shaking his head slightly. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have come back.”

“Human emotions are fickle. And more often than not, we’re driven by the negative ones,” Jay muses. “Anger, fear, guilt, regret, grief. I mean, it’s hard not to be when you’re forced into a world where the undead is constantly trying to eat you.” He huffs a quiet, humourless laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“But the one thing stronger than all of those emotions? Hope.”

He says it so simply, like it’s a fact, like it’s something undeniable. Like he knows you've been grappling with this dilemma.

You want to deny. You really really want to.

“It’s a funny thing, hope,” Jay says, looking back at you now. “You can’t survive without it—not really. It’s the one thing that keeps people moving forward, that makes them cling to life even when it feels impossible. In the apocalypse, you can never have too much hope. Because it’s all we have left.”

His gaze sharpens, like he’s making sure you’re listening.

“That includes each other.”

The lump in your throat grows tighter.

“We’re hope for one another,” Jay says, his voice unwavering. “You’re hope for us. And we damn well need to be hope for you.”

You let out a shaky breath, turning your head away. You stare down at your scraped hands as Jay’s words settle deep into your bones, into every part of yourself you’ve spent so long trying to shut off. You hate hope. You fear it.

Jay leans back against the sign, watching you carefully. He doesn’t press, doesn’t rush you. He just lets you sit with your thoughts, lets you process.

Eventually, you find your voice, though it comes out quieter than you expect. “But you only feel those negative emotions when you hope. Hope sucks the life out of people. Hope gives people false reassurance. People lose all sense of logic just to hold onto hope and yet, it's hope that makes the pain so much more excruciating when it's ripped away from you. You’re only disappointed because you hope. Too much hope is dangerous.” You don't even realise you've been raising your voice until you're done.

Jay huffs out a small, humourless laugh, shaking his head. “It’s a paradox, isn’t it? This fragile, beautiful thing that’s supposed to keep us alive is also the thing that can destroy us.” His voice is steady, thoughtful. “Hope is the spark that ignites negative emotions—but it twists them into something else. Something with purpose.

“Anger, fuelled by hope, becomes determination. Fear, tied to hope, becomes caution. Guilt and regret, tethered to hope, becomes redemption. Grief, woven into hope, becomes strength.”

You flinch at that, but Jay doesn’t let up. “Without hope, those emotions are just weights dragging you down, holding you back. But with it, they’re a reason to fight. A reason to survive.”

“Hope is what gives meaning to every choice, every sacrifice. It’s what makes us human.”

You stare at him, your throat tightening. The words claw at something deep in you, something you’ve spent so long trying to bury.

“And that’s the cruel irony of it all,” Jay continues, his voice quieter now. “Because hope is also the thing that hurts the most. The thing that leaves you raw, vulnerable to disappointment and despair when it’s inevitably taken away. But even knowing that, we can’t let it go. Because without hope, what’s left?”

His gaze flickers to you then, sharp and knowing. “Not you,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “And definitely not me.”

Jay’s words settle into you like a slow, creeping ache—one you can’t ignore, no matter how much you want to. They seep into the cracks, the ones you’ve spent so long trying to patch over, the ones you told yourself didn’t exist.

And for the first time in a conversation with Jay, you have no response.

You know he’s right. But it hurts—because hope is also the reason you’re here. The reason you turned back. The reason you’re sitting on this rooftop, trying to make sense of the war that rages inside you.

Hope, in the apocalypse, is both a necessity and a curse—and that contradiction is what makes it so powerful.

If you hadn't seen what you saw, you would have been long gone by now. You would’ve walked away with the comfortable lie that they’d be fine, that they’d beat the odds like they always do, that their naive faith in safety would somehow be rewarded.

But you know the truth now. And the truth doesn’t allow you the luxury of ignorance. Because they’re not okay. They won’t be okay.

Not unless you do something.

Leaving now—knowing what’s coming—wouldn’t just make you a coward. It would make you complicit in their deaths. It would mean standing by while the world tears them apart, pretending it isn’t your problem.

And you know yourself well enough to understand exactly how that would end. A lifetime of guilt. A lifetime of knowing you could have done something but chose not to. That guilt would fester inside you, wear you down, strip you bare until there’s nothing left of you that’s worth saving. Until the world finally wins.

And either way—whether you leave or stay—you’re not going to come out of this intact. You’re already too deep, too tangled in it all.

So you choose the path that has even the smallest, most fragile hope of something good coming out of it.

In the end, you chose hope.

And hope guided you back to them.

The silence between you and Jay stretches for another half-hour, comfortable in a way that doesn’t demand words. There’s no need to fill the space with forced conversation, no pressure to dissect the weight of everything you’ve just talked about. Just the two of you, sitting side by side, watching the horizon as if it holds the answers neither of you have.

Occasionally, your gaze drifts downward, taking in the organised chaos of the camp below. The others move with purpose, their figures threading seamlessly through the makeshift fortifications, pulling them together, binding them to one another. Binding you to them.

Your eyes find Jungwon without meaning to. He’s hunched over a roughly drawn map with Heeseung, tracing escape routes with a furrowed brow. His lips are pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight, his entire body braced as if the sheer weight of their survival rests on his shoulders alone. Heeseung says something, pointing at a different spot on the map, and Jungwon nods, his fingers tightening around the paper.

You wonder what he’s thinking. If he truly believes they have a chance, or if he’s just convincing himself to. Because no matter how much you try to push it away, the doubt creeps in before you can stop it. It slithers through the cracks in your resolve, wrapping around your thoughts like a noose.

The horde is too big.

There’s no way this place will hold against it.

Even if you get past the first wave, they’ll surround the camp before you even get the chance to turn around and leave.

You press your lips together, gripping the edge of the roof so tightly that your knuckles turn white. The old wood groans under the pressure, but the sound is drowned out by the weight pressing down on your chest.

It’s a losing battle.

You know it. They must know it too.

But then, you look closer. The exhaustion on their faces is unmistakable. The shadows under their eyes, the weariness in their shoulders, the way Sunghoon drags a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as if trying to breathe the tension out of his body.

They don’t fully believe this will work. Not really.

But they’re trying anyway.

Because what else is there to do? Give up? Lay down and wait to be torn apart? No. That’s not who they are.

And despite the gnawing dread in your stomach, you realise—it’s not who you are either.

Just then, panicked voices rise from directly beneath you, coming from a blind spot you can’t see. Your body tenses instinctively as your ears strain to make sense of the commotion.

Jay stiffens beside you, his head snapping toward the sound. You exchange a knowing look, silent but immediate in your understanding—something’s wrong.

You focus, trying to visualise the situation in your head, piecing together what you can hear against what you can’t see. The sharp edges of alarm in the voices. The sound of someone struggling. A threat, spoken with dangerous intent.

Your eyes flick to Jungwon. His expression is tight, unreadable at first—until you notice the tinge of worry, the fear etched just beneath the surface as his gaze locks onto the entrance of the convenience store.

You’re already counting heads.

Jungwon. Heeseung. Jake. Sunghoon. Ni-ki. Jay, beside you.

Your stomach twists.

Where’s Sunoo?

Before you can say anything, a voice cuts through the tense silence. A voice you don't recognise.

“I know there’s two more,” the stranger calls out, their tone sharp with authority. “You’d better show yourselves before I do something to this boy.”

The world around you stills.

Your breath catches.

Sunoo.

You and Jay exchange another glance, this time urgent, alarm bells ringing in both of your heads. Without hesitation, you inch closer to the edge, careful not to make a sound as you peer over.

Your worst fears are confirmed.

Sunoo stands frozen in the doorway of the convenience store, his hands raised slightly, his posture rigid with fear. His chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths, his eyes darting toward Jungwon—toward all of them—searching for an escape that doesn’t exist.

Behind him, partially obscured by the pillars, you catch a glimpse of someone else—an outsider. A woman, dressed in ragged clothing with a cloak draped over her frame. Yet, despite her tattered appearance, her stance radiates a quiet, dangerous confidence that sends every instinct in your body on high alert. With one hand, she presses a pistol firmly against the back of Sunoo’s head, keeping him locked in place.

She’s inside the rest stop. How?

Then it hits you.

She’s been here. Probably ever since you arrived. Hiding. Watching. Acting as a spy for your attackers.

Jungwon’s expression remains unreadable, but you see the tension in his shoulders, the slight tremor in his fingers. He takes a slow step forward, his hands raised in a non-threatening gesture. His voice is calm, measured.

“You’re outnumbered. Are you sure you want to do this?” He tilts his head slightly, eyes locked onto hers. “Let him go, and we can talk.”

The woman doesn’t even spare him a glance.

“I said show yourself,” she orders, her voice sharp, unwavering. “You have ten seconds.”

And then she starts counting.

"Ten."

Your gaze flicks to Jay.

What should we do?

"Nine."

Jay’s jaw tightens.

Let’s wait it out.

"Eight."

Your stomach knots.

And what if she shoots him?

"Seven."

Jay exhales sharply, weighing the risk.

I don’t think she will. She’s outnumbered.

"Six."

Your fingers twitch at your sides.

She’s bluffing.

"Five. I’m really going to do it."

Your breath catches.

She’s not bluffing.

"Four."

Jay hesitates.

She has nothing to lose.

"Three—"

“Alright, we’re coming out.”

The words leave your lips before you fully process them. Your arms lift above your head, palms open, your body moving before your mind can tell you to stop. Slowly, carefully, you begin your descent from the roof.

Jungwon’s eyes flicker to you the moment your feet touch the ground, but he doesn’t say anything. His jaw tightens, his fingers twitch slightly at his side. You know he doesn’t like this, but what other choice do you have? You had seconds to decide—risk Sunoo’s life, or give her what she wants.

Your boots hit the pavement, dust kicking up beneath you as you step forward, keeping your hands where she can see them. Jay lands behind you, slower, deliberate. You sense the stiffness in his movements, the way his breathing subtly shifts as he fights to keep himself from wincing. He’s trying not to show it, but he’s still weak.

She can’t know that.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” the woman sneers, swaying the pistol trained on Sunoo. He flinches but doesn’t make a sound, though you can see the tension in his frame, the fear flickering in his eyes. He’s trying to be brave. You need to be braver.

You and Jay stop a few paces away, keeping the distance just wide enough to not seem like a threat. Jungwon, Heeseung, and the others remain still—coiled like springs, waiting for the right moment. Looking for an opening. But you know there might not be one.

A chill creeps down your spine, slithering like ice through your veins, settling deep in your bones. You swallow hard, forcing air into your lungs. Stay calm. Stay in control.

The air around you feels thick, suffocating in its stillness. Each breath is laced with tension, heavy with unspoken words, unspoken fears. Your fingers twitch at your sides, hovering near your weapon, but you don’t dare move—not yet. One wrong twitch, one flinch in the wrong direction, and the woman’s finger might tighten around the trigger.

Then, as if the universe is offering you a cruel favour, a faint breeze stirs the stagnant air, cutting through the oppressive heat and unsettling the dust beneath your feet. The edges of the woman’s tattered cloak flutter with the movement, lifting for the briefest moment.

But it’s enough.

Your breath catches and your gaze snaps to the sight beneath the ragged material, to the place where her left forearm should be.

A stump.

Jagged, uneven, the skin around it healed but rough—evidence of a wound that wasn’t treated with care. A makeshift bandage barely holds in place, frayed from time and neglect.

Your mind races, the implications hitting you like a blow to the chest.

She’s injured. She’s weaker than she wants you to believe.

The realisation strikes you hard, but before you can fully register how to use it against her, a voice cuts through the tension.

“Hey, I know you.”

It’s Jake.

His tone isn’t hesitant, but certain—sharp enough to make the woman’s smirk falter ever so slightly.

“You do now?” The woman regains her composure quickly, her smirk returning as she idly plays with the safety of her pistol, flicking it on and off, the quiet click-click-click filling the charged silence.

Jake doesn’t flinch. “Lieutenant Kim Minseol. Ammunition Command. You’re part of The Future.”

His words send a ripple of confusion through the group.

Jungwon stiffens beside you, his gaze sharpening as he scrutinises the woman up and down, searching for recognition in her face. The others exchange uneasy glances, but Jake keeps his eyes locked on her.

“I remember you,” he continues, voice controlled but unwavering. “A few weeks before our escape, you came into the treatment facility with a fresh stump on your left arm. It was because of your absence that we were able to sneak into the supply depot.”

For a brief moment, something flickers in her expression. A shadow of something sinister, something ugly. Then she lets out a hollow, bitter laugh.

“What a good memory you have there, Doctor Sim.” The mockery drips from her words, but beneath it, there’s a tightness—like the words taste sour in her mouth.

Jake doesn’t react, his expression carefully guarded.

And then her smirk disappears altogether.

“But you’re wrong about the first part,” she says, her voice dropping lower, losing its feigned amusement. “I was part of The Future. Until they expelled me. Said resources were running low. But of course, that’s because someone helped themselves to six months' worth of supplies.” Her gaze sweeps over all of you, sharp and knowing.

A chill settles over the group.

“It’s not our fault,” Heeseung says evenly, though there’s a tightness in his jaw, a flicker of tension beneath his composed exterior. His gaze shifts—almost unconsciously—to her left arm, lingering for just a second too long. “They would’ve expelled you anyway. For your… unfortunate disability.”

Her head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing like a predator sizing up its prey.

“Someone of my rank would still be valuable enough to keep around, even with my unfortunate disability,” she counters, her tone dripping with cold certainty.

The click of a pistol’s safety disengaging slices through the silence. Sunoo flinches, his breath catching as the muzzle digs harder against his skull.

“You think I’m lying?” Her voice sharpens like a blade, each syllable cutting through the air with precision. “Then what about the dozens of able-bodied men and women they cast out with me?” Her eyes sweep over the group, daring anyone to challenge her, to deny the truth she’s laying before them.

“What excuse do they have?”

No one answers.

“How did you end up here?” you ask, grasping for something, anything to keep the upper hand.

The woman lets out a scoff. “What? Didn’t think a lady with a stump could survive this long?” she sneers. “I was military for a reason, you know. And lucky for the group of us that got expelled, we ran into A.” Her smirk widens, something cruel glinting in her eyes. “Who just so happened to have a long-standing unresolved affair with one… of… you.”

Her gaze sweeps the group deliberately, before landing on Jay.

It lingers.

Your breath stills.

Is she talking about him? About the man Jay went after?

Your head snaps to Jay instinctively, and sure enough, you see it—the slight stiffening of his shoulders, the sharp clench of his jaw. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, but that’s all the confirmation you need.

You keep your voice even, biting back the unease bubbling in your gut. “Did A suggest you lot dress up as freaks too?” you taunt, eyeing the grotesque remnants of the dead clinging to her clothes.

Her smirk doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens.

“Call it whatever you want,” she purrs, rolling her shoulders back, “but it’s kept us alive.” There’s something almost reverent in the way she says it. “It’s what got us this sanctuary of a rest stop.”

Sanctuary. The word makes your stomach churn.

The woman gestures around like she’s unveiling some grand conquest, her voice thick with smug satisfaction. “The Future didn’t see what was coming when we rolled over this place. They never even put up a fight.” She shakes her head, laughing—mocking. “That’s how confident they were in this place. That sure of their survival.”

She spreads her arms wide, as if to drive the point home. “And just like that, they left all this behind! For us, of course.” Her eyes gleams with something almost predatory, as she levels her gaze at you. “Not you.”

She’s getting caught up in her own villain monologue. She’s getting cocky.

“‘The Future are monsters.’” She spits the words out like they taste bitter on her tongue. “It’s easy to just say that, isn’t it?” She lets out a mocking laugh, one filled with more exhaustion than humour.

“Have you ever considered that some of us were just doing what we were told? That we were just trying to survive?”

Silence.

Then, her smirk fades, replaced with something colder.

“Bet you didn’t think stealing wouldn’t have any implications on the rest of us, did you?” Her grip on the pistol tightens, her knuckles turning white.

“Did you?” she repeats, quieter this time, but the threat behind it is unmistakable.

The weight of her words settles over the group like a thick fog, suffocating in its quiet accusation.

She’s right.

They had never stopped to think about what had happened to the people they left behind. The ones who weren’t part of The Future’s elite, the ones who had simply been following orders. The ones who weren’t cruel enough, strong enough, useful enough to be worth keeping around.

And when they took those six months of supplies, when they ran, they might not have pulled the trigger on those people themselves—

But they might as well have.

It’s a sickening realisation.

The Future is a tyrant military organisation. That much is true. But tyrants don’t survive without followers, without structure, without soldiers willing to do anything to keep their people alive.

Isn’t that exactly what they’ve been doing?

Taking what they can. Keeping their own alive, even if it means condemning someone else.

The guilt twists in your stomach like a knife. You feel it rippling through the others too. She leans in ever so slightly, her lips curling into something almost gentle—but the pistol pressing into Sunoo’s skull tells a different story.

“You see it now, don’t you?” she murmurs, tilting her head. “The hypocrisy. The way you tell yourselves you’re different.”

“You’re no different from The Future.”

“And now you’re back,” she continues, voice like poisoned honey. “Trying to steal something that isn’t yours, again.”

The shift in the air is almost tangible. It’s subtle, like a silent crack forming in a foundation that had once seemed unbreakable—but it’s there.

You see it in the way Jake’s shoulders slump just slightly, in the way Sunghoon’s lips press into a thin line, in the way Heeseung’s gaze flickers to the ground like he can’t quite meet anyone’s eyes, in the way Ni-ki’s jaw is clenched so tight it looks like it might shatter, in the way Jay’s hands twitch at his sides, in the way Sunoo disassociates even with a gun pointed at his head, and among them is Jungwon’s gaze—still sharp and unreadable.

It’s setting in—the weight of her words, the seed of doubt she’s planted.

Because she’s not just threatening them. She’s challenging everything they’ve told themselves to keep going.

The belief that they’re different.

That they’re good.

That, somehow, their survival is more justified than anyone else’s.

But survival is never clean, is it? And now that she has said it, now that she’s painted that picture in their minds, you can see them starting to crumble.

These people—your people—their sole reason for fighting is the belief that they are not monsters. That they are not like The Future, or A, or the ones who take and take and take without looking back.

But now, faced with the consequences of their own actions, you watch that belief fracture.

They’re breaking.

She sees it.

And she revels in it.

This has been her goal all along—to make them doubt themselves. Because a group that doubts itself is a group that falls apart from the inside.

You need to stop this. Now.

“Then let’s talk about what is yours, Lieutenant,” you say, keeping your voice steady, sharp. “Tell me—what exactly did you earn?”

Her smirk falters, just barely. But you catch it.

“What?”

“You and the others,” you press, eyes locked onto hers. “Did you build this place? Did you earn the supplies you’re hoarding? Did you put in the work to secure it?”

Her lips part slightly, like she’s about to say something, but you don’t give her the chance.

“No,” you answer for her. “You stole it. Just like The Future stole from the people before them. Just like we stole to survive.”

Her fingers twitch.

Good.

“You think you’re better than us?” you continue, pressing the words forward like a knife slipping between ribs. “You took this place the same way we would’ve if we’d gotten here first. Yet, you’re walking around acting like it's your birthright.”

Her expression darkens, her grip on the pistol tightening, but you don’t miss the way her jaw clenches.

A flicker of something shifts through the group.

They exchange glances, the tension easing just slightly, as if your words—blunt and unforgiving—have cracked through the air of helplessness surrounding them. Jungwon’s stare flickers between you and the woman, the gears in his head turning, assessing, waiting for her next move.

The silence that follows is thick, heavy with unspoken truths and fractured justifications.

Then, she speaks.

“We did steal,” she admits, her voice low, sharp, controlled.

Her head tilts, dark eyes locking onto yours, something almost amused flickering in them despite the rage simmering beneath her skin.

“But the difference between us—” she leans in slightly, voice dipping into something razor-thin, something meant to cut, “—is that you’re parading around, pretending you have some kind of moral high ground.”

And this time, it’s your turn to flinch. It takes everything in you to keep your face blank, to not let her see the way her accusation burrows under your skin like a splinter.

Because she’s right. They all know it.

Survival was never about who deserved to live. It was about taking. About seizing what you could before someone else did. About carving out a space in a world that no longer cared who was good, who was bad, who had once been kind.

Because kindness doesn’t keep you alive. Compassion doesn’t put food in your hands or a weapon in your grip. Morality doesn’t stop the teeth that tear through flesh or the hands that pull the trigger.

And if you’re all the same—if you’re all monsters—then what’s left?

There’s only one answer.

Whoever wins.

The only law that exists now is power.

Not justice. Not fairness. Not mercy.

Just power.

And the only ones who get to live in this world are the ones strong enough to take it for themselves.

Survival of the fittest.

That’s what the world was before, and it’s what the world is now. Only now, the stakes are higher. Much higher.

Because before, losing meant failure.

Now? It means death.

And if you hesitate, if you second-guess, if you let yourself be weighed down by the ghost of a world that no longer exists—

You’ll lose.

And the world won’t mourn you. It won’t stop. It won’t care. It will keep turning, indifferent to the bodies left behind, to the names that fade into nothing.

Because nothing from before matters anymore.

Not the rules. Not the morals. Not the person you used to be. You can no longer afford to hold on to the past.

Because the past won’t save you.

Only the future will.

And the only way to have a future—is to take it.

"You think you’ll make it out of here alive if you pull that trigger?” you challenge her, forcing your voice to remain calm, steady. She tilts her head, lips curling into something almost amused as she meets your eyes.

“You should’ve left when you had the chance,” she says, completely disregarding your threat. The blood in your veins turns cold.

“But who knows? Maybe A will let some of you go. Like what we did with The Future,” she continues, leaning in slightly, as if daring you to flinch. “Let them scurry back to HQ like little mice. So they know to never come back here again.”

Her grin widens, twisting into something cruel. “And now that you’re here, fallen right into our trap, you’ll soon be one of us!” She laughs, the sound sharp and jagged, like glass shattering in the quiet.

Never come back here again…

Soon be one of us…?

The words settle like a stone in your chest. And then, like a curtain being pulled back, you see it—the bigger picture.

She’s laughing. She thinks she’s won. But she doesn't realise what she's just given away.

If A and his people wanted you dead, they wouldn’t have resorted to games. They wouldn’t have wasted time luring you into an ambush or toying with you—not with all these guns and ammos at their disposal. No, they would’ve wiped you out back at that forest clearing when they had the chance.

They haven’t. They insist on bringing the dead down on you—because they have an ulterior motive.

They don’t want you dead. They want you alive.

Why?

Because only when you’re alive—when you’re standing, breathing, fighting—can you turn. Turn into the very army of the dead they control. Become one of them.

That’s why they let The Future walk away. Not out of mercy. Not because they couldn’t fight them. But because they didn’t need to. The Future was never the target—you were. They wanted you to lead the others right back here. They’ve been waiting for this moment.

And The Future? The Future won’t come back. Not for revenge. Not for a counterattack. They cut their losses and retreated—not because they were outnumbered, not because they were weak, but because they were unaware.

They didn’t understand what they were fighting. They couldn’t defend against something they had no clue how to fight. They knew they couldn’t stand against an enemy that moves undetected through hordes of the dead. Couldn’t win against an army that grows stronger with every person it kills.

So they ran.

But you? You don’t have to. Because you know exactly what’s coming.

And now, standing in the heart of what should have been your own grave, you see it—hope. This place isn’t just a temporary solution. It’s an opportunity.

If A and his people could take this place, then so can you. If they could push out The Future, then there’s a way to do the same to them. And if they could survive out there, using the dead as shields and weapons, then you can find a way to use it against them.

Your fingers tighten into fists.

If you secure this place, they’ll never have to run again.

Not from A. Not from The Future. Not from anyone.

You let out a slow breath, forcing your heartbeat to steady as you shift your stance, eyes locking onto hers.

She thinks she’s won. Thinks she’s backed you all into a corner. But she’s just handed you everything you needed to know.

You tilt your head slightly, allowing the barest hint of a smirk to tug at your lips. “What makes you so confident we can’t just take it from you?”

Her smirk holds firm, but you catch the slightest twitch in her expression—just for a second. “Oh?” she muses, arching a brow. “I’d love to see you try going up against military-trained personnel and a horde of zombies. It’ll be fun.”

You shrug, feigning indifference. “Who said anything about confrontation?” You let the words hang in the air, watching carefully as confusion flickers across her face. “If you lot figured out how to walk with the dead, why can’t we do the same?”

For the first time, her bravado falters. Her eyes widen ever so slightly, and there it is—realisation and doubt all at once. Almost like she had never thought about it. Which makes sense because you finding out about their mechanics, isn't part of their plan.

That hesitation—that moment of uncertainty—is all Sunoo needs.

He moves in a blur, striking before she even registers what’s happening. His fingers close around her wrist, twisting sharply as he wrenches the gun from her grip. It clatters to the floor with a thud, and in a single fluid motion, Sunoo has her pinned.

She lets out a sharp grunt, struggling against his hold, but she’s at a disadvantage—distracted, handicapped, unarmed.

And just like that, the tides turn. Sunghoon is on her in seconds, his knee pressing into her back as he yanks her arm behind her. The fight drains from her quickly, the weight of the situation finally sinking in.

You exhale, the adrenaline still buzzing beneath your skin, your mind racing through every possibility.

This place can be yours.

They don’t have to run anymore.

Hope is starting to take root.

“Fools. You think it’s easy? Walking among the dead?” she sneers, her voice laced with mockery despite the fact she’s sprawled face-down on the cold, hard floor. Sunghoon’s hands move swiftly over her, searching for any hidden weapons.

“It takes everything you are to walk with the dead.”

There’s something unsettling in the way she says it, something almost reverent. Like she’s speaking of a religion rather than survival.

Sunoo scoffs, standing over her with her pistol now in his hands. He checks the magazine, clicks the safety on and off before shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, keep talking, lady. It’s not getting you anywhere.”

But she just smirks. That same infuriating smirk that hasn’t left her face since the moment she was caught. She’s lying completely still now, unnaturally calm as Sunghoon and Heeseung haul her up onto a chair. She doesn’t resist—not even when they start binding her arms—or whatever's left of it—tightly behind her, securing the coarse rope around her torso and the back of the chair. If anything, she lets them.

"I've really underestimated you, Y/N." Her voice drips with amusement, her lips curling into something eerily close to admiration, but there’s something sharper beneath it—something darker. "You’re not just similar—you’re just like us. Conniving. Merciless. Dead."

She giggles then, a sound too light, too mocking for the weight of her words, for the quiet horror settling deep in your chest. "You might not even need to wear their skin to walk with the dead."

A chill slithers down your spine, but you force yourself to hold her gaze, to not give her the satisfaction of seeing how deeply her words sink in. Heeseung pulls the final knot tight, the rough rope biting into her skin, binding her in place. Yet, she doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t struggle. She just leans back, head resting against the chair, exhaling like she’s settling in, like she’s making herself comfortable rather than sitting bound and at your mercy.

As if she’s the one in control.

"But don’t say I didn’t warn you," she murmurs, her voice almost singsong, a taunting lilt woven through her words. They linger in the space between you, curling like smoke, seeping under your skin. The room feels too quiet now, as if the weight of what she just said has stolen all the air from it.

She tilts her head slightly, her eyes gleaming—not with anger, not with fear, but with something worse. Something that almost looks like pity.

"You’ll understand what I mean soon."

The smirk widens. It stretches across her face, slow and deliberate. You stare at it for too long—long enough for Ni-ki to shove a loose piece of cloth into her mouth, silencing whatever cryptic words she might have let slip next.

But her eyes remain fixed on you, unwavering. Cold. Calculating.

You can’t look away.

Something about the way she’s staring at you feels wrong. Like she’s seeing straight through you, past the layers you’ve built, past the walls you’ve tried to keep up. Like she’s already figured you out before you’ve even figured out yourself. Like she knows exactly how this will play out, and you don’t.

In that sense, you’re already losing. Not in the way you expected—not in battle, not in blood, not in death. But in yourself. Because you can feel it, can sense it creeping in at the edges of your mind, curling into your thoughts, whispering where doubt used to be.

You’ve already begun losing yourself.

It’s only when someone calls you over that you manage to tear your gaze away, the spell breaking.

“What the fuck happened, Sunoo? Where did she come from?” Heeseung demands the second they’re out of earshot, his voice low but urgent.

Sunoo, however, huffs, dramatically rubbing at his wrist as if he’s the real victim here. “Geez, I’m fine, thanks for asking,” he grumbles.

Heeseung rolls his eyes. “Sunoo.”

“I was in the basement,” Sunoo starts, crossing his arms, “looking for anything we could use to fortify the barricades. Found this stack of those things—the masks—hidden away in one of the boxes shoved in the corner. Thought, great, more nightmare fuel. And then—bam! She jumped me out of fucking nowhere. How the fuck was I supposed to know she was there?”

His frustration is evident, his gestures exaggerated as he recounts the moment. “If I had known, her one-armed bitchass wouldn’t have even been able to pull that gun on me like that. Ugh.”

The irritation in his voice doesn’t quite mask the underlying unease. She had been down there the whole time—hidden, watching, waiting. Maybe that’s why you couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling of being watched.

And yet, you left them here. With her.

A chill runs down your spine. The weight of realisation presses against your ribs, suffocating, threatening to pull you under. But before your mind can spiral further, you hear it—your name.

Spoken by the very voice you’ve been yearning to hear call out your name since you left.

“Y/N.”

Jungwon.

“Are you okay?”

Your breath catches as you turn to face him. His expression is unreadable at first, but his eyes—his eyes betray him. There’s worry there, concern woven into the fabric of his gaze, despite everything. Despite the fight. Despite the fact that you left. You walked away. And yet, here he is, standing before you, asking if you’re okay.

He still cares.

You don’t trust your voice. You’re afraid it’ll betray you, that it’ll crack under the sheer force of everything you’re feeling. That if you try to speak, all that will come out will be fragments of whimpers, of apologies left unsaid.

So instead, you nod. A small, barely perceptible movement. The best you can offer.

Jungwon watches you for a moment, searching. Then, after what feels like an eternity, he nods back. A silent exchange. An understanding.

“Y/N… did you really mean that?” Ni-ki’s voice cuts through the thick tension, pulling your attention away from Jungwon. You turn to him, barely registering the weight of his question. Your mind is still foggy, reeling from everything.

“You think we can walk with the dead?” Ni-ki presses, his gaze unwavering.

“I—I don’t know.” The words feel hollow in your mouth, the uncertainty hanging in the air like a guillotine. Your eyes drop to the ground, unable to meet his stare. “I’m sorry, I just—I always say shit, but half the time, I don’t even know if it’ll work.”

A beat of silence. Then, you swallow hard, forcing yourself to push through the self-doubt. “But… I have seen them do it. They blend in with just a mask over their heads. It can work.”

“But once they get inside the walls, it’s going to be chaos. It’ll be dark. We’ll probably lose sight of one another. You won’t even know if the zombie in front of you is actually dead or one of them.”

“Wait. Once they get inside?” Heeseung’s voice is sharp, cutting through the moment like a blade. His eyes narrow, scanning your face. “You’re saying we let them in?”

Ni-ki exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head as if trying to process it all.

You inhale deeply, forcing yourself to meet their gazes. “You and I both know the barricades won’t last,” you say, steadying your voice. “Against a normal horde, maybe. But they will be walking among them. Herding them. Pushing them against the gates. Even if they can’t break through the main entrance, they’ll find another way in.”

The unspoken horror settles over the group and you see the fear flicker across their faces.

“But if we leave the gate open,” you continue, your voice quieter now, more deliberate, “they’ll walk in on their own. And we can blend right in.”

“Okay, but then what?” Jake asks, his voice cautious, calculating. “What do we do after that?”

“We take them out.” You don’t hesitate this time. You don’t waver. You meet his gaze head-on. “From within.”

A thick silence follows your words. You can feel it—the doubt, the fear, the pure insanity of what you’re proposing.

“Fight?” Sunghoon is the first to break the silence, his voice incredulous. “Surrounded by the dead? You must be insane.” He lets out a bitter scoff, shaking his head in disbelief. “The moment we make a single sound that doesn’t match the dead, we’re finished. You know that.”

You exhale, willing yourself to stay patient. “No,” you say firmly. “Not fight. Just—sneak up on them. Get close. A small cut, enough to draw blood. That’s all we need. The scent will do the rest.”

They stare at you.

Realisation dawns.

It’s not about fighting. It’s not about going up against them in a losing battle. It’s about turning their own strategy against them. The horde is their weapon. But it can be yours too.

Heeseung’s throat bobs as he swallows. “You mean…” His voice trails off, understanding sinking in.

You nod. “We let the horde do it’s job.”

The plan is reckless. Insane. Dangerous. But it’s the only shot you have.

And if you’re being honest—it’s a solid plan. But you’re not sure if it’s a plan you’re proud to have come up with. You should be. A plan like this—calculated, ruthless, effective—should bring you some sense of relief. Some assurance that you can outthink them, that you can survive this.

It makes sense. It’s logical. It’s exactly the kind of plan The Future would execute without hesitation if they had known what was coming for them. And that’s what unsettles you the most.

Jungwon hasn’t spoken. He’s been listening, watching, absorbing every word you’ve said. When you glance at him, he’s already looking at you—his expression unreadable, his gaze sharp and searching, as if trying to pick apart what’s going on inside your head.

You’re dragged back to your conversation with Jay on the rooftop. The way he told you—so plainly, so matter-of-factly—that Jungwon relies on you more than he lets on. That you bring him comfort in ways you never realised.

Then your mind goes back further. To the conversation with Jungwon yesterday. The way he told you that he felt a sense of reprieve when you came along. That you were his moral compass.

The weight of that knowledge settles in your chest, and then, just as quickly, it twists into guilt. It crashes over you like a tsunami.

You wonder if he still feels that way about you.

“Sounds like a plan.” Jay’s voice cuts through the silence like a blade, slicing through the tension that had been suffocating the group. Everyone turns to him, eyes wide, like he’s just said something insane.

You’re staring at him too.

“Why are y’all looking at me like that? I’m not the one that came up with this insanity.” His lips twitch with the ghost of a smirk, but the humour doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Then, as if on cue, they all turn to you. Then back to Jay as he continues, “But it’s a plan that could work,”

“Of course you think that,” Jake snaps, his frustration bubbling over. “You’re always about killing people. I mean, look what got us into this shit in the first place.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and you know he doesn’t mean it—not fully. It’s the fear talking. The frustration. The sheer helplessness of the situation that’s clouding his judgement. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

For a moment, you expect Jay to fight back. To argue. To defend himself.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he giggles. It’s a quiet, breathy thing at first—then it morphs into something sharper, something bitter, something unhinged. And it unnerves you.

“You’re right,” Jay says, still grinning, his voice eerily calm. “If I could go back to that night when I went after him, I’d have made sure I watched him die before I left.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Then, you feel it—the weight of it pressing down on everyone’s shoulders. No one dares to speak, as if acknowledging it would make them sinners.

And the worst part?

You had said something along those lines to Jay, back at the field. You told him if you were in his shoes, you’d have done worse. But back then it was a figure of speech, a way to make a point. You hadn’t really thought about it, hadn’t truly placed yourself in his shoes, in the heat of that moment.

But now?

Now, you know.

You would have done the same.

And hearing Jay say that—hearing him put words to the rage, to the vengeance clawing its way up your throat—it brings you a twisted sense of relief. A reassurance that you’re not the only person losing yourself in this fucked-up world.

And maybe that’s why you don’t flinch. Maybe that’s why, instead of recoiling from his words, you find yourself gripping onto them like an anchor, like something grounding you in the mess of it all.

Sunoo clears his throat, shifting awkwardly, his fingers tightening around the pistol he’d confiscated from the woman. “Alright, well. That’s… dark.” He tries to break the tension with forced levity, but no one laughs.

No one even breathes.

Jake rubs his face with both hands before exhaling sharply, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear his thoughts, like if he could just reset for a second, maybe this whole situation would make more sense. Ni-ki shifts uncomfortably beside him, his fingers twitching at his sides. His gaze flickers toward Jungwon, waiting—hoping—for him to say something. Anything.

But Jungwon is quiet.

He’s still watching you, his expression unreadable. There’s no anger in his eyes, no judgement, not even disappointment. Just thought.

And that’s almost worse.

Because you know that look. It’s the same one he gets when he’s met with an epiphany. When something suddenly clicks into place in his mind, when a realisation takes hold and refuses to let go.

He’s thinking.

Not just about the plan. Not just about them.

He’s trying to make sense of you. Trying to piece together something about you that he hadn’t considered before—

No.

Something about himself. Something about his own moral dilemma. Something he’s been trying to lock away, bury deep beneath all the responsibilities, all the weight on his shoulders.

Jungwon blinks once, his gaze hardening, focus snapping back to the present.

“If we’re doing this, we can’t leave any room for error.” Jungwon’s voice slices through the silence, steady but weighted. It’s the first thing he’s said in minutes, and yet it carries the kind of finality that makes your stomach twist.

He’s still looking at you, but it’s different now. It’s like he’s seeing you for the first time—not just as another survivor, not just as someone he needs to protect, but as something else. Something more dangerous.

Something like him.

And for the first time, you see it too.

You’ve cracked something in him. You’ve forced him to acknowledge something he hadn’t wanted to. You’ve opened Pandora’s box.

He knows it. You know it.

But neither of you say it.

“We can’t leave any room for error,” Jungwon repeats, his voice firm, sharp with an edge that slices through the tension like a blade. “We do this clean. Precise. No heroics. No last-minute changes. We stick to the plan, and we survive.”

The shift is immediate. The air changes. Everyone straightens, pulling themselves together, waiting for instruction. No one argues. Not even Sunghoon, who had been the first to call you insane. Because there’s no alternative. No second option. It’s this, or death.

Jungwon’s eyes sweep across the group, calculating, weighing every person’s strengths and weaknesses in the space of a single breath. “We’ll move in groups. When the dead come through, we stay in pairs. No one moves alone. We cover for each other, watch each other’s backs.”

His gaze lands on Jay. “You’re still injured. One wrong move and your stitches will come apart. Not to mention you have the biggest target on your back. So, you stay on the roof.”

Jay’s mouth opens, already ready to protest, but Jungwon cuts him off with a look. “We’ll cut the access off, so nothing can get to you. You’ll have the best vantage point—watch for gaps, any tight spots, and make noise to draw attention elsewhere if things start getting too close.”

Jay exhales sharply, jaw tightening, but he nods. He knows better than to argue.

Jungwon turns to the rest of the group, his expression unreadable. “Like Y/N said, it’s going to be dark. We won’t be able to see clearly, but neither will they. Remember, you just need to draw blood. The dead will do the rest.”

Jungwon’s gaze sweeps across them, sharp, calculating. His hands are loose at his sides, but there’s tension in his stance.

“And they don’t know that we’re on to them,” he continues. His voice is even, but there’s something colder beneath it now—something sharp-edged and deliberate. “We use that to our advantage. Move slow, stay quiet. Don’t rush. If you panic, you die.”

The words settle in like a final nail sealing a coffin.

A heavy silence settles over the group, thick and oppressive, pressing into your lungs like a vice. The weight of the plan is suffocating in its reality. The risk, the blood that will spill before the night is over.

This is it.

There’s no turning back. No room for hesitation. No time to process the sheer insanity of what you’re about to do. Your hands feel too light, your heartbeat too loud, hammering against your ribs like it’s trying to escape.

You picture the bodies—your people, their people, the dead in between—limbs tangled, faces unrecognisable beneath the blood and decay.

What if you fail? What if you hesitate at the wrong moment? What if someone doesn’t make it? What if you don’t make it? Would it matter? Would it change anything? Would the world even notice if one more person disappeared?

You inhale sharply, trying to ground yourself, but the air feels thin, slipping through your fingers like sand. You don’t realise you’re gripping the hem of your jacket too tightly until your knuckles ache.

Move. Breathe. Don’t think.

Because thinking means fear, and fear means weakness, and weakness means death.

Your mind spirals again. It’s been doing that a lot—a relentless, asphyxiating current dragging you under. And just as it’s about to bury you, a palm presses against the small of your back. Warm. Grounding. Your breath hitches at the unexpected touch.

"Y/N, let’s talk."

Jungwon’s voice is quiet but firm, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside you.

He doesn’t wait for a response, simply leading you away, up to the rooftop, where the two of you are left standing under the weight of everything unsaid. You face him, but suddenly, all the words you’ve been rehearsing, all the explanations and apologies you’ve run through in your head over and over, disappear. The moment you look at him—at the quiet intensity in his gaze, the weight in his shoulders—you’re speechless.

Jungwon opens his mouth first. "I—"

But you don’t let him finish. The words burst out of you before you can stop them, raw and desperate. "I’m sorry." Your voice wavers, thick with emotion. "I’m sorry I left you. I know now that I shouldn’t have. God, I was so stupid."

The words come faster now, tumbling over themselves. "I know you said before that you don’t hate me, but you must hate me now—after everything. After I left you. I left you to die." Your breath shudders, a sob catching in your throat. The tears you’ve been holding back finally spill over, burning hot against your skin. "I’m so sorry, Jungwon. I—"

He exhales sharply, shaking his head as if exasperated. "God, you never let me speak, do you?"

You blink through your tears, caught off guard. "What?"

Jungwon watches you for a moment before his expression softens, something almost amused ghosting across his face. "I told you before, I don’t hate you." His voice is steady, deliberate. "Nothing in this world will ever make me hate you."

You struggle to believe it, your chest tightening as you shake your head. "But I saw it." Your voice is barely a whisper. "That look on your face, when I suggested this insane of an idea."

You swallow, trying to steady yourself. "I thought I told you I didn’t want you to think. To second-guess what you’ve always believed in just to weigh me in."

Jungwon sighs, rubbing a hand over his face before lowering it again. "Well, it can’t be helped," he murmurs. "You’re someone that makes me think. A lot."

His words make something crack inside you, splintering under the weight of your guilt. "I’m sorry." Your voice is smaller this time. "I’m sorry I brought out the worst in you. All I did was shatter your resolve."

Your gaze drops, unable to bear looking at him any longer. "And them? Have you seen the way they look at me? They look at me like I’m a monster."

Jungwon tilts his head slightly. "No," he counters. "Have you seen the way they look at you?"

His response catches you off guard. You open your mouth to argue, to insist that you’ve seen their fear, their hesitation. But something about his tone makes you stop. He gestures for you to look, to truly look.

And so you do.

Your eyes drift down to the group below.

Fear, dread, terror—it’s all there, woven into their expressions, etched into their postures, marinating in the thin air. It clings to them like a suffocating fog, thick and unrelenting. Your stomach churns at the sight of it.

But then, as you really take them in, you notice something else. You see it in the tight-set jaws, the clenched fists, the flickering light behind their eyes. You see it as clear as day—something beneath the fear, the dread, the sheer, gut-wrenching terror.

Determination.

Resolve.

Hope—

"Hope." Jungwon’s voice cuts through the moment, soft but certain.

The word reverberates through you, lodging itself deep in your chest. He says it as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking. As if he sees the moment you realise what you’ve done.

"And you gave that to them."

His words knock the breath from your lungs.

Hope. The very thing you ran from. The thing you tried to abandon. The thing you convinced yourself was a lie, a cruel trick played by the universe.

And yet, here it is. Staring back at you in the eyes of the people you are trying to save.

Jungwon studies your face, watching as the realisation settles into you. Then, almost casually, he asks, "Has anyone told you what division I was in back when we were still in The Future?"

You blink, thrown off by the sudden change in topic. "No," you admit.

He exhales, his gaze flickering to the horizon before meeting yours again. "Tactical Functions."

The words hang heavy in the air between you. You wait for him to elaborate.

"I was one of the people who decided who got to stay and who was expelled. I played a part designing the tactics and strategies The Future used against the communities around them. All hell could break loose, and I would still be prioritised to stay. Because they needed people like me."

Your blood runs cold.

Jungwon’s voice remains even, but there’s something detached in it now. "You can’t bring the worst out of me, Y/N. I’m already him. And every night, I would see their faces in my sleep. In the trees. In the breeze." He swallows, his throat bobbing. "What’s worse is the only reason I even suggested we leave in the first place was because the committee brought up the discussion to expel Jay for insubordination."

Your breath hitches. "Jay?"

Jungwon lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "Yeah. The man just couldn’t sit still without stirring some kind of shit. And they saw it. Saw how he could be a problem to the system. So, I orchestrated the entire escape. I left those people to reap the consequences of my actions. And I’d only done it because of Jay. If it wasn't for him, I would've sucked it up and continued doing whatever it took for us to survive.”

A weight settles in your chest, heavy and unrelenting.

He turns to you fully now, his eyes unwavering. "So no, I’m not going to sit here and let you talk about yourself like that."

It's a shocking revelation. Your mind reels, trying to reconcile the Jungwon standing before you with the boy who once stood on the watchtower, his voice laced with pure, unfiltered hatred.

You still remember that night vividly—the way his face twisted with something raw and wounded when he first told you about The Future. The way his voice dripped with venom as he spoke of them as something worse than the dead. Back then, you thought it was just anger, just the words of someone who had been wronged, betrayed, and left to fend for himself.

But now, the truth wraps around the two of you in a slow, suffocating chokehold.

He wasn’t just talking about them.

He was talking about himself.

It’s only now that you realise—when he cursed The Future, when he spat their name like it was poison, it wasn’t just about what they had done to others. It was about what they had turned him into. What they had forced him to become.

Jungwon looks at you, waiting for a response. But what can you even say? That it’s not his fault? That he was just doing what he had to do to survive? You already know those words will mean nothing to him.

"I—I didn’t know." Your voice is barely above a whisper when you say.

"Now you do."

Jungwon tilts his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "And knowing what you know, does that change how you see me?"

Your response is immediate. "God, no. Never."

A flicker of something—relief, maybe—passes through his eyes. He nods, as if confirming something to himself.

"Precisely. And that's why you don't have to worry about how I see you.”

A humourless laugh escapes him, but it lacks warmth. "I was crazy to think I could be even a fraction of a good person. Maybe my obsession with holding onto my humanity was just deluded because I had already lost it a long time ago."

His voice drops to something quieter, almost contemplative. "And hearing you and Jay say that? It made me feel… normal. Which, in hindsight, fucking sucks."

A faint, bitter smile tugs at his lips. "But it’s oddly liberating."

All this time, you had convinced yourself that you were a burden to him, that your presence chipped away at his resolve, that you were the thing dragging him into the dark. You thought you were making him worse—forcing him to question himself, to second-guess the beliefs he had once stood so firmly upon.

But standing here, you realise the truth is something entirely different.

You weren’t breaking him.

You were keeping him together.

Jungwon was relying on you in ways you hadn’t even considered—not just for your insight, not just for your ability to challenge him, but for something far more simple. Something far more human.

You made him feel normal.

In a world that demanded ruthlessness, in a life that had forced him to carry responsibilities far heavier than any human being should bear, you were the thing that reminded him he was still just a person. Not just a leader. Not just a tactician. Not just the one keeping them all alive.

Just Jungwon.

And maybe you needed him for the same reasons.

Maybe the two of you had been holding onto each other without even realising it, tethering yourselves to something real in a world that had long since lost its meaning.

Tears spill down your cheeks before your brain even registers them. They come silently, effortlessly, like they belong there—as if your body has been holding onto them, waiting for this moment to finally let go. You don’t wipe them away. You just let them fall, streaking warmth down your cold, dirt-streaked skin.

It’s a bittersweet moment, one that catches you off guard with how deeply it settles into your chest. And you realise, standing here in the quiet, in the wreckage of everything you once thought you believed in—how truly fucked up the two of you are.

But it’s not the kind of fucked up that makes you recoil. It’s the kind that makes you stop and think.

Because if you had truly lost your humanity, would you be standing here now? Would you be looking at Jungwon, voice trembling, hands shaking, with tears running down your face? Would he be standing here, looking at you with something equally raw and conflicted in his expression?

No. You’d be long gone. And they’d all be dead.

But you’re here. You came back. And it’s because you have your humanity that you did.

It’s because Jungwon has his humanity that he’s still here, still standing, still trying. Still fighting to be something more than the sum of his past.

Yes, you’re fucked up. You’d cross lines. You’d do the unimaginable. You’d become a version of yourself you never thought possible if it meant keeping the people you care about alive.

But if that’s what it means to survive in this world, if that’s what it takes to hold onto even the smallest fraction of something real—then maybe it’s not such a bad thing.

Maybe it means you’re still human after all.

And in that sense, you’re fucked up in the most beautiful way the world has left to offer.

Your eyes flicker to his hands, catching the way his fingers twitch at his sides, hesitant, uncertain. He’s deciding whether to reach for you—whether to wipe your tears away or let them fall.

It reminds you of this morning. The way he had extended his hands towards you, offering comfort, only for you to step away. You remember the flicker of hurt in his eyes when it happened

This time, you won’t step away.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you move, reaching out and grabbing his hands. Jungwon flinches at the sudden contact, startled, his breath hitching ever so slightly. His fingers twitch beneath yours, as if caught off guard by your warmth. For a second, he just looks at you, wide-eyed, unreadable, but you don’t let him pull away.

Gently, deliberately, you guide his hand to your face, pressing his palm against your tear-streaked cheek.

His expression shifts. The surprise fades, softening into something else—something quieter, something careful. His thumb brushes against your skin, tentative at first, then firmer, wiping away the tears that refuse to stop falling.

“Y/N…” your name comes out tender. So achingly tender that it makes your throat tighten, your chest ache.

His touch is careful, almost reverent, as if he’s afraid that if he presses too hard, you’ll shatter. But you won’t. Not here, not now. You lean into his palm, closing your eyes for just a moment, letting yourself soak in the warmth, the steadiness of him.

Jungwon exhales, his breath shaky, as though he’s only just realised how much he wanted to touch you. His hands are calloused but warm, grounding, steady. His fingers move instinctively, tracing the curve of your cheek, brushing the dampness away with an intimacy that makes your stomach twist.

Then, without thinking, you move closer.

Your hands leave his, trailing up to his wrists, then his arms, gripping onto him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth. Maybe he is. Your breath stutters as you take another step, closing the space between you.

Jungwon freezes, his fingers going still against your cheek. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself back, waiting, unsure.

So you make the choice for him.

You fall into him.

His arms come up instantly, as if on instinct, wrapping around you the moment your body collides with his. His grip is firm, solid, like he’s been waiting for this just as much as you have. His breath catches against your temple, his body warm and steady as he pulls you in, pressing you close.

And you let him.

You let yourself melt into his embrace, burying your face into the crook of his neck, the scent of him—faint traces of sweat, earth, and something inherently Jungwon—flooding your senses. His heartbeat is strong beneath your palms, his chest rising and falling with each breath, grounding you in a way you hadn’t realised you needed.

His arms tighten around you, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other splayed across your back, holding you together as if you might slip away if he lets go.

Neither of you speak. There’s nothing that needs to be said.

This is enough.

This moment, this embrace, this quiet understanding between the two of you.

Jungwon exhales, the tension in his body easing as he presses his forehead against the side of your head. You feel the way his fingers curl slightly against your back, as if anchoring himself to you, as if you’re the only thing keeping him from falling apart too.

His breath is warm against your temple, steady and grounding. You can feel the weight of his past pressing between you, the guilt he carries like a second skin, the ghosts of decisions he can never undo.

You wonder if he can feel it—the weight you carry pressed between you, the invisible burdens you’ve never spoken aloud, the guilt of saving yourself when the community building fell, the regret of walking away from him when he needed you most, the haunting thought that maybe, just maybe, you were always destined to be alone.

The ghosts of your past intertwine with his, shadows merging, regrets bleeding into one another. He’s carried his burdens alone for so long, just as you’ve carried yours. And maybe neither of you are saints—maybe you’ve both done unspeakable things, crossed lines that can never be uncrossed.

But here, now, in this moment, none of that matters.

Because, here, now, in this moment, that weight is shared.

And somehow, it feels lighter.

So you stay like this, wrapped up in each other, holding onto something fragile, something unspoken. Neither of you dare to move, as if the slightest shift might shatter whatever this is, whatever red strings of fate have bound you together in this cruel, unforgiving world.

part 4 - blood | masterlist | part 5 - dusk

♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

notes from nat: this part was supposed to be wayyyyyy longer but i've been nerfed by the block limit (y'all can thank tumblr for that). so what was originally suppose to be 6 parts, i will have to extend into 7 because i doubt i can squeeze everything into one post. from this part onwards, there will be no update schedule. i appreciate your understanding on this as i'm writing on my own free time outside of my 9-5. i'm really sorry for the disappointment because i know how eager some of y'all are to read this and i also want y'all to get these chapters asap!! T.T

taglist open. 1/2 @sungbyhoon @theothernads @kyshhhhhh @jiryunn @strxwbloody @jaklvbub @rikikiynikilcykiki @jakesimfromstatefarm @rikiiisoob @doublebunv @thinkinboutbin @eunandonly @wilonevys @sugarikiz

non-grey/underlined = cannot tag

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greyminyoon1 · 5 months ago

Text

why... ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

breaking up with your boyfriend means losing a lover but what happens when your boyfriend was also your best friend, meaning you lost both and now have to face him for a popular youtube show

park sunghoon x reader

genre: angst, heartbreak, exes reunited, exes to ..?

warnings: profanity, sad shit, miscommunication, 18+, not proofread LOL

masterlist - word count: 4671

when your ex-boyfriend reached out to you to be a part of a youtube video your initial reaction was “what is he talking about?” but as you read more about what the video is about and after watching some clips, you ended up agreeing. you weren’t necessarily excited to do it but you didn’t have anything better to do for that weekend anyway.

sunghoon on the other hand, was very excited. he always called you his “soulmate” or “the one that got away” so in a lot of ways, to him this was the perfect opportunity to check if the spark was still there.

the two of you used to be best friends before lovers. you had met during freshman orientation for university and for some reason, sunghoon stuck on to you like his life depended on it; he followed you around like a lost puppy and although he didn’t know you and you didn’t know him, he felt comfortable around you enough to let you guide him around your enormous university as if it also wasn’t your first day too. you both were inseparable ever since. sunghoon hadn’t given you a straight answer aside from. “i don’t know, you looked nice.” whenever you would ask him why he clung onto you that day and quite frankly, you were grateful that he did. you would go on to become best friends for another year and a half before the two of you would realize your feelings for each other.

sunghoon would take you out on a date one winter night where the two of you would go ice skating or more so, sunghoon would ice skate and you would try your best to stay balanced on your two feet.

but he was right by your side throughout the whole night and by the end of it, he was your boyfriend and you were his girlfriend. he was by your side every day until graduation when your relationship met its untimely end. you had always had a love for helping others so studying medicine was something you dove into right from the beginning. your father had fallen ill at some point when you were young and after losing him, you promised yourself you would be a part of the life changing phenomenom surrounding the cure for several diseases.

when you had gotten the call that you had gotten accepted to further your studies after graduation to do research and to acquire your M.D that would later lead to your residency, you jumped at the chance and said yes without thinking twice.

you hadn’t even considered the idea that this opportunity was in a whole different country, meaning you’d have to leave everything and everyone you knew behind. your family and friends, and your boyfriend who was also your best friend, sunghoon. reminiscing on your relationship was something you hadn’t done in a long time considering you were so busy with work and research that you barely even had time for your own life.

but you found yourself thinking about those memories from so long ago as you pulled into the parking lot of the studio the youtube video was recording in. you hadn’t seen sunghoon in for a whole year since your breakup and you could only think about what his reasoning was for this meeting and for it to be something that would be broadcasted and watched by thousands of people on the internet. you had to push past your nerves and tell yourself that everything would be fine, that you’re just meeting with your old best friend who just happens to also be your ex.

you had the opportunity to come home because after a long and busy year, your team had made enough progress that allowed you some downtime; so you decided to fly back home to see your family and sunghoon just happened to know you’d be in town so you could do the recording and more importantly, see him. a nice lady greeted you as you entered the building and gave you the rundown of how filming would go, she explained that you’d ask your ex questions and vice versa and to try to keep it as cordial as possible if there was a possibility it would escalate.

she guided you to your own dressing room where she’d call you once the current ex-couple was done filming. you thanked for her kindness and she tells you to help yourself to the several snacks and refreshments set on the coffee table in the middle of the room. you didn’t know what to expect and the longer you waited for filming to start, the more your mind ran wild with questions.

does sunghoon hate you?

did he invite you here to humiliate you on camera?

do you still love sunghoon?

does he still love you?

so many things were running through your mind but you weren’t going to let it cause you to spiral. as you waited for your turn to film, you decided that doing some breathing exercises would help soothe your worries; so you slide off your shoes and sit with your legs crossed in the middle of the room before closing your eyes and focusing on steadying your breathing.

your breathing was no longer sporradic and a sense of calm wafted throughout the room as you took the time to zone out all of the noise even if it was just the sound of the air conditioning and the occasionally muffled voices of those outside the room. “yn, we’re ready for you.” the lady who you met earlier says as she pokes her head into your room. you slowly open your eyes and think about her words. “we’re ready for you.”

ready. you smiled at her and gave her a small nod before standing up and putting your shoes back on. they were ready but you weren’t entirely sure that you were; and there was much time to turn back now as you exit the dressing room and are instructed to wait behind a curtain as someone who worked for the production team introduced the concept of the video for your episode.

here goes nothing…

the room pauses for a moment and one of the production assistants gestures for you to walk onto the set, pointing at the small marking on the ground for where you need to stand and introduce yourself before taking a seat on the chair on your left.

you thanked him before walking over to where you needed to stand and smiling at the camera, trying your best to not sound or look nervous as your eyes scanned all of the cameras and crew in front of you.

“hi, i’m yn and today i’ll be doing an interview with my ex.” you said softly before taking your seat.

soon after, you see a figure emerge from the other side of the room and at first his face is covered in the harsh shadows caused by the studio lights but as he gets closer you see the familiar face of your best friend and ex-boyfriend, sunghoon.

he’s just as handsome as ever wearing a simple striped shirt in thick black rimmed glasses. you could’ve sworn your heart skipped a beat when the light hit his face because seeing him after a whole year, he’s only gotten more handsome. his arms were more toned, face sharper but still had that soft and warm smile you loved so much, and he had this confident air around him. not the type that came off as arrogant or egotistical, but more so like he was comfortable and happy. he was radiating a type of energy that you hadn’t seen before and you weren’t sure if it was because he was doing so much more after your breakup or if the idea of seeing you and being around you again made him this way.

“hello, i’m sunghoon and today i’ll be doing an interview with my ex.” he says with that smile, god that damn smile. his smile put you in such a trance that you got lost in the way his dimple would appear, how bright his smile seemed, and how crinkled his eyes would get. his smile that you’ve missed so much. sunghoon takes a seat across from you but not before initiating a hug, to which you were pleasantly surprised by. you quickly stood up to hug him and once again the warm feeling you got whenever he was around returned. he softly rubbed your back just like he did when you were together and it brings you back to when the two of you were bright eyed 18 year olds navigating university for the first time.

“you look good” he says and it causes heat to rush to your cheeks as you take in his compliment. you return one of the same and he smiles with a nod as the two of you take your respective seats. the tension isn’t awkward in the slightest, or at least you don’t think it is, as you wait for the next instructions from the producer.

“alright, go ahead and briefly catch up and we’ll throw in the first question after a moment.” he explains and you both nod at him.

“how are you?” you asked and he gives you a short answer of how he’s been doing okay, could be better, excited to do the video; nothing substantial but also not nothing?

you go on to say that you’ve been pretty busy with life and were surprised that he reached out to do the video, telling him you were reluctant first but eventually agreed because you just happened to fly back home for a little while and had the time to do so.

“okay, first question: how long did you guys date?” the producer asks and you look over at one another before answering simultaneously; “four years” and your voices blending in unison causes the two of you to laugh. it was just like old times when your friends would say that the two of you were hanging around each other too often that you guys have begun to either finish each other’s sentences or say the same things at the same time.

what was your first date?

sunghoon was going to answer but he notices that you’re about to speak so he gestures for you to keep going, “we went to an ice rink during christmas break and i was shit at ice skating but he was the best teacher ever and was there by me the whole time making sure i was okay and when i shed a few tears because i was so bad he was so quick to console me and help me off the ice so we could get something warm to drink and grab dinner.” you answered.

sunghoon smiled at you endearingly the whole time, you hadn’t noticed at first because you were talking to the camera to the side and once you had glanced over at him, he suddenly sits up straight and quickly wipes the grin off of his face. you blush at his actions, finding it cute that he still had the habit of trying to hide whenever he was admiring you even when the two of you were dating. like he was too shy to get caught staring and admiring your beauty.

“yup, she was bad at ice skating and still is i presume because i’d ask her to go ice skating every year on our anniversary and she’d just look at me with puppy eyes like she was begging not to go even if i was just teasing her.” he chuckled and dropped your head in hands in embarrassment because it was true.

“hey.. it’s scary! i don’t know how anyone can do it, being unbalanced is so scary it feels like i'm constantly fighting the fall that is eventually going to happen.” you retort with a pout and there it is again, the smile that creeps onto sunghoon’s lips whenever he’s watching you as if you were the only person in the room… and right now; you were.

who said i love you first?

when the question leaves the producers lips, you and sunghoon mimic each other without any verbal response but a gesture. both of your fingers point towards him and the identical motion causes the two of you to laugh once again. it was like you were both falling into your usual behavior, like no time has passed and you were still the two young freshmen who found comfort and love within the other.

“i said it before i could even ask her on our first day. i think i realized that i loved her when she’d wake up extra early to wake me up for classes even if she barely slept. i’m a really heavy sleeper so i usually sleep through my alarms, especially for morning classes, but she’d always come knocking on my apartment door to wake me up before my alarm could because she knew i’d just sleep through it.

i mean- i loved her before that but i think it was at that moment i realized that she was someone i loved in a way i’ve never loved someone else before.”

sunghoon’s story almost brings tears to your eyes because you hadn’t known it was that moment that he started to develop feelings for you. you started doing that halfway through freshman year but he didn’t ask you out until the winter of your second year in university.

“yeah, he said i love you to me that morning because i even brought him breakfast and coffee and at first i thought it was just him showing his gratitude but now i guess it was his first time saying i love you- which i didn’t know by the way because you didn’t ask me out until like a whole year later.” you teased and now it was sunghoon’s turn to hide his face in his hands shyly.

“in my defense, i was afraid it would ruin our friendship but i’m glad you still said yes to me when i asked you out, it was the scariest day of my life.” he said and you furrowed your eyebrow at his confession.

“really? scarier than when we were waiting for our biology lab reports back from professor kim?” you asked and he nods, “way scarier than that, i couldn’t imagine ever losing you so i was so scared that if i asked you, you’d reject me and that was that…” he says, trailing off at the end as he realizes how sad it sounded. your eyes softened at his words and you always knew sunghoon to be softer and gentle, but knowing that he had this inner conflict with asking you out or not because he was afraid of losing you really hurt; because in the end you lost each other.

you cleared your throat at the awkward silence and sunghoon looks away like he’s confessed something he shouldn’t have told you. it’s not that you didn’t know he felt this way because you’ve always kind of knew that losing one another was a fear the two of you had but you never knew how much it affected him.

what do you think was the cause of your breakup?

“i can answer that..” you begin to say as you look directly at the camera, trying your best to ignore sunghoon’s piercing gaze on your face.

sunghoon would call you the one to get away because he always felt like he let you get away. when you first broke up he would constantly hit you up, trying to fix your relationship but you were pretty set in stone on your decision. looking back at it now, breakups aren’t generally mutual but you didn’t really give sunghoon the time to process. ultimately just telling him that your relationship couldn’t go on any further.

“i got accepted to do research and continue my studies for my M.D. and work towards my residency and unfortunately it was in a whole other country. i accepted it without even thinking about how it would affect my relationships and i know it may have seemed selfish but it was opportunity i couldn’t pass up because i didn’t think it would come around a second time.” you looked at sunghoon as you spoke and his eyes were glued to the ground.

“this was during graduation, i literally got the call a day after graduation and it took me several days to tell sunghoon but the longer i waited it just ate me from the inside out.

i didn’t know how to tell him and it just came out one day and yeah…

we went through several scenarios of how we could make it work but to me everything felt so uncertain except for the decision that we landed on. i know it wasn’t ideal but i would be gone for a long time and i wasn’t sure how long distance would work so i suggested for us to break up.” you said with a sniffle, noticing that you haven’t had the chance to fully unpack that moment with sunghoon until now.

“i just wish we tried harder… i didn’t want to let you go; i still don’t.” sunghoon adds and you look up at him with tears brimming in your eyes. “i’ve always called you the one that got away because i did let you away. i should’ve fought harder so that you’d consider trying other options aside from ending what we had but i respected your decision even if i didn’t want that for us.” the room is silent after sunghoon’s statement and you try to look around, eyes landing on anything in the room just so you didn’t have to look at sunghoon who you knew was staring directly at you.

what is something you wished you could say to your ex that you didn’t have the chance to?

you finally look at sunghoon and he mimics your expression. one of hope that shadows the anguish and despair that he hides deep below inside of himself.

“do you want to go first?” you ask and he nods, sitting up and sniffling a bit before speaking.

“um, there’s a lot i wish i could tell you to be honest. i wanna tell you about all of the stuff i’ve done in the last year, all of my accomplishments, milestones, and successes that i wish you were there for but i think i finally want to tell you the one thing you’ve always asked me.

when we first met, it was during freshman orientation and although we didn’t know each other, i clung onto you and stuck by your side the whole day and you let me. which was very kind because normally someone would get weirded out by that but you didn’t.

you often ask me why i did that and i’d always tell you it was because you seemed nice and friendly, which is true, but the real answer was because you were the only person in that gigantic building hall that helped me. it was so crowded in that hall and some guys had shoved me causing me to drop the several pamphlets and packets the people were handing out and the several people who either looked at me and continued walking by or simply walked over me as i picked up my things, you were the only one to help me.

so, yeah; i guess it was because you were kind to me but it was for the most part because you made me feel cared for; even with that small gesture. it was the precedent of how i’d see you for the rest of my life. the kind, caring, and generous girl i fell in love with.

i mean, you’ve told people that we broke up because you wanted to pursue your studies abroad but i love to tell people that we broke up because you chose to focus on the kindness in your heart to help those who are sick.

she’s studying to become a doctor and dedicating countless hours to research so they can come up with a cure for various illnesses that have taken the lives of many. that’s why i never got angry or upset when she wanted to breakup; because i know it was bigger than that. she didn’t want to breakup because she hated me or was tired of me… we broke up because she had to choose the kindness in her heart to help thousands of people instead of harvesting the love we had for one another.

which i can never be mad at.”

the tears in your eyes have started to fall across your cheek and when sunghoon finally catches your gaze, he’s instantly standing up to reach over and wipe your tears away. gently cupping your face and wiping the tears with his thumb much like he did when you two broke up and as he sent you off at the airport.

it was a bit ironic that sunghoon was comforting you in this time because in a lot of ways, he should be the one hurting. he was the one who had to receive the shit end of the stick in your relationship but every time, he chose compassion and his love for you instead of the anger or negative emotion that someone else would’ve felt towards you.

you melt into his hand and you’re wrapping your arms around him before you could even think and thankfully; the familiar feeling of sunghoon’s strong arms wrap around you. the most comforting and warm place you’ve ever been, one that you’ve missed for a whole year.

the two of you stay in that position for a while and once you’ve stopped crying, he lets you go so you could go back to your seats and continue the interview.

this episode of the youtube series would definitely be a tearjerker just from that single moment.

“i think something i’ve always wanted to tell hoon is that i’m sorry.” you begin and sunghoon is shaking his head to tell you that you have nothing to be sorry for, but you did.

“no, i am very sorry. you said it best i chose to pursue my studies so i can help people but you’re the most important person in my life and i know it hurt you to see me not fight harder for our relationship when you tried so hard to come up with solutions and i just seemed to deny them all.

i’m sorry that i made it seem like i chose my career and my studies over you and it hurts even more to know that you’ve supported me throughout all of it and it turned out to be the cause of our breakup. i’m the cause of our breakup- you’re not..- but i am..” sunghoon interrupts to reassure you but you persist, wanting to get your point across.

“i’m okay with holding that burden because i made that decision to accept the research abroad and i made the decision to breakup with you even if you didn’t want to and i made the decision to stop talking to you once i was gone because it would only make things harder.

so… i’m sorry that i made you feel like you were just a second option that didn’t surmount the other and i’m sorry for giving you the love you poured into me.”

tears are pouring down your face again and although your vision is slightly blurred from the tears, you could tell that sunghoon was also crying. the producers let the two of you console each other for a few moments before having to continue the interview. they hand you both several napkins to wipe away your tears and the staff watch as you two wipe the tears away off of each other’s face; much like a couple would do. as if the two of you hadn’t even broken up in the first place with how connected and bonded the two of you were.

do you regret breaking up?

and as soon as the question leaves the producer’s lips, you’re both nodding instantly. which was a pleasant surprise to you both as sunghoon had expected you to say no because you were so determined to break up and how you wanted to focus on your studies. to you it was a surprise because you never expected sunghoon to want to get back together with how dismissive you were of his feelings when it came to what you were prioritizing in your life.

if you could, would you get back together?

the producers point first at sunghoon to which he nods with a small yes and when the producer points to you, you do the same.

“thank you both for being here today-” the producer is interrupted with a pause as he bids farewell and thanks the both of you for attending and participating in the video.

“can you believe that was two years ago…” you ask as you look up at sunghoon who’s eyes are still glued onto the computer screen. you had paused the video the two of you did two years ago for a youtube show that interviewed exes and you were so grateful that you said yes to sunghoon when he asked you to be on the show because it brought the two of you back together.

“i know.. time flies when you’re with the one you love, huh?” he says teasingly and you rolls your eyes at him, slapping his chest playfully.

“thank you for taking me back..” he says and you furrow your brows at him.

“i should be the one saying that, i can’t believe i almost said no to the show… can you imagine? then we wouldn’t have gotten back together.” you said and sunghoon brushes it off. “please, i’d find a way to get back to you in any lifetime. you’re the one that got away but that doesn’t mean that i can’t ever get you back… and i did.” he says, pressing a gentle kiss onto your forehead.

sunghoon presses play to continue the video of the two of you. the interview that changed the both of your lives and brought the love of his life back to him.

after the interview was over, it was fairly late so he asked if you wanted to grab dinner and the rest was history. in the short 4 hours that you two were together for the video and the dinner; your love for each other was reignited. like it was simply dormant inside of you and you realized that sunghoon was your soulmate. he waited patiently, supported you from afar, and admired you throughout all of it and still loved you.

your love was merely dormant but sunghoon’s was always alive. like his love for you was a lit candle and he used the fire he had to relight the wick of your candle, burning your love brightly; sharing the same flame that would burn forever for each other.

you had gotten back together after the interview and have now been dating for another two years on top of the previous four from university. the one year break that was referred to as a “temporary pause” as sunghoon likes to call it was simply just so you two could find each other again.

because if you love someone you have to let them go but if they come back; then it’s fate.

and that’s what the two of you were. it was fate that you two met during freshman orientation, it was fate that you two got together despite the fears of losing each other in the process, and it was fate that you still returned to sunghoon even after a whole year of being away.

but this time, neither of you would be losing the other.

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greyminyoon1 · 5 months ago

Text

SMOKE SCREENS & CIGARETTES — part one

#1 - The Two Worlds

Lee Heeseung is always known as the quiet boy in class. Although his popularity in school would suggest otherwise, he is never viewed as the rebellious or partying type. In fact, he is the kind of student who reminds the teacher about pending assignments just as the lesson is about to conclude. Simply put, Lee Heeseung fits the stereotype of a nerd—at least, that's the version of him you are accustomed to.

So, when you unexpectedly encounter him at a club in another city during your summer break, his hair, now sporting green highlights, is slicked back instead of covering his eyes as it typically does on campus. He has multiple metal studs hanging from his earlobe, but above all, he seems to be thoroughly enjoying himself, dancing, drinking, and smoking without inhibition. Needless to say, you are taken aback.

While it's not uncommon for an overage university student to be partying during their vacation, this is Lee Heeseung we're talking about. The last thing you'd expect is to see him in Club Dark Moon, one hand holding a glass of some intoxicating liquid, and the other wrapped around the waist of a girl who appears to be of similar age to yourself.

This is the same Lee Heeseung who never knows when to take a hint in class, always finding an opportunity to correct the teacher. The Lee Heeseung who never fails to maintain perfect posture throughout 3-hour long lectures. The Lee Heeseung who becomes unresponsive and distant when the conversation veers away from academic topics. The Lee Heeseung who secretly envies you because you embody everything he isn't.

Now, in the flesh, is The Lee Heeseung embodying everything you thought he wasn't.

You are popular yourself, considering your extroverted and altruistic nature; you are popular because you know how to party. Lee Heeseung is popular because he is a quiet and smart kid yet has a mysterious aura that makes him so god damn attractive. The two of you are complete polar opposites, each other's antonyms, and while possessing many contradictory qualities, you are actually similar to one another in many ways that don't meet the eye.

You frequently attend the weekly Friday night parties hosted by the university fraternities. And with each step you take, you effortlessly command the attention of every person present, your magnetic presence impossible to ignore. Everybody yearns to be in your orbit; guys want you, while girls admire your confidence and charisma, secretly wishing to be you. Your friends eagerly drag you to every party down the block, basking in the reflected glow of being associated with The Y/L/N Y/N—a name synonymous with popularity and social prowess.

Despite the overwhelming amount of attention you receive throughout your undergraduate career, a persistent sense of unease gnaws at you as you find yourself grappling with a profound sense of disconnection. While externally you seamlessly blend into the pulsating dynamic of university life, internally, you’re like a solitary figure navigating a sea of expectations and obligations. You fit in, but at the same time, you don’t.

You always think that maybe you're just stressed out with assignment deadlines. Well, clearly, since you’re partying when you should be working on the next paragraph of your final year thesis. If only the answer were as simple as that.

No, you're not stressed. You just simply do not belong to the party life. However, as the nights blur into days and the days into weeks, you begin to feel the weight of societal expectations pressing down on you, particularly the burden of being labelled as the "popular kid." And popular kids always arrive fashionably late to every party. Popular kids are the lives of the party. Popular kids are party animals.

By the time you noticed your desolation, you're already too far gone, you've convinced yourself that this is your life and all you have to do is suck it up. This label of being the “popular kid” becomes both a mantle of honour and a burden to bear, as you struggle within the confines of a stereotype that fails to encapsulate the complexity of your identity.

You're constantly trying to squeeze yourself into the mould of expectations that your peers have so delicately carved out for you, that you often find yourself questioning the authenticity of your existence, wondering if the façade of popularity is worth sacrificing yourself. Your true self.

And that's being the ambitious and studious girl you always were and still are. You would rather stay at home and finish writing your 100-page psychological analysis on 'Social Cognition and Perception', or finish reading the third volume of the 'Persuasion, Propaganda, and Marketing' trilogy. Hell, you would even rather do a mountain of chores than attend another frat party.

Though you long to share your intellectual passions with your friends, you hesitate, aware that their interests lie elsewhere. They’re in it for the social society life, effortlessly navigating sorority events and basking in the glow of admiration that comes with being in your inner social circle. Yet, beneath their carefree façade, they remain oblivious to the dedication and diligence required to maintain your impeccable grades. Only assuming that you’re a natural-born beauty and brains.

It’s your last break before your final semester and you are thrilled as you eagerly plan your to-do list over the summer break. Maybe learn to play the guitar, go on a hike, or finally start reading that fiction book you had put off for months. You envision checking it all off before the final semester begins. However, your plans are unexpectedly put on hold when your friends suggest a pre-graduation chalet trip to a province northeast of Seoul.

This trip marks your first time travelling outside of the city, and it's with your adventurous, somewhat reckless friends. The decision is made hastily, with everything arranged at the eleventh hour. Your friends unanimously agree to simply "go with the flow," as Yunjin puts it.

Unfortunately for you, your meticulous personality type craves structure and detailed planning, and you are only able to feel at ease if you have an itinerary to follow.

Hence, it’s not a surprise that you were apprehensive about embarking on this trip. You even considered skipping the excursion altogether. Except that wouldn't be fitting for a popular kid, would it? Popular kids should be laid-back and adaptable, they should be going with the flow too, they do not need people telling them what to do should listen and act on what people expect of them.

"Y/N! We're leaving in 5 minutes, will you be ready soon?" Chaewon barges into your room in the Airbnb that the four of you share. Despite your reluctance, you plaster on your flawless façade and smile. "Yes, yes, I'm ready. So impatient as always," you half-jokingly roll your eyes, relieved that Chaewon doesn't catch the genuine hesitation in your tone.

It’s not that you dislike your friends or anything; in fact, you're grateful that they're the most genuine people you've met at university. Unlike most students who sacrifice their integrity to gain favour, your friends are refreshingly candid about their opinions of you. While you and Chaewon didn't hit it off at first, now you're practically two peas in a pod. Yet, it doesn't change the fact that you've become a puppet catering to your friends' partying whims.

As you gaze into the mirror, you confront a version of yourself that you yourself could barely recognise. The person you once were—vibrant, authentic, and unapologetically yourself—has become obscured beneath layers of societal expectations and peer pressure. Still, it wouldn’t be the first time choosing to pretend the girl in the mirror is you, because what’s another day of grinding up your confidence and making it a meal that would last you an hour at best?

So, you do what you do best—picking out the skimpiest dress you own, spraying on your most testosterone-provoking perfume, and drawing a cat-eye sharp enough to kill anyone who dares to meet your gaze.

You settle into the passenger seat of the taxi while your three friends squeeze into the back. Your first destination is Club Dark Moon, one of the province's most popular and bustling nightclubs. The bouncer checks your IDs and ushers you inside, the scene unfolding just as you anticipated for a Friday night.

The dance floor is packed, with male and female dancers taking their positions on mini-stages scattered around the room. The air is thick with the scent of alcohol mixed with hours of piled-up perspiration, nearly causing you to visibly gag. Nevertheless, you force a smile despite the prospect of being pressed up against complete strangers, moving to the beat in a tango of privacy invasion.

"Hey! You guys made it!" Jay calls out from the private booth you reserved earlier in the week. Despite the night still being relatively young, the table is already littered with empty bottles of cheap alcohol, the kind that debt-induced university students can afford. Almost immediately, Yunjin prances over to the booth and squeezes herself between Jay and Sunghoon, swiftly downing a glass of whatever leftover alcohol was in it before you even reach them.

"PSA: I will not be the one babysitting her and dragging her vomit-covered body back to the Airbnb later tonight," Sakura declares, promptly supported by Chaewon, leaving you designated as tonight's caretaker.

"Hey," you greet the two boys, though your attention remains fixed on Yunjin, who just finished another drink. Sunghoon appears to notice your distressed complexion, grasping your wrist and gently turning you to face him. "You look like you need to unwind tonight. Don't worry, we'll take care of her," he reassures you, his tone of voice having some sort of soothing effect on you.

Honestly, you'd be perfectly content not drinking much tonight anyway, but dealing with a drunken Yunjin is... a whole other challenge. Grateful, you offer Sunghoon a smile and a pat on the back before heading to the dance floor to do what you do best—put on a show.

It doesn't take long before you find yourself on one of the mini-stages, the effects of a few drinks starting to kick in just as expected. The strap of your black mini-dress slips off your shoulder, and the hem rides up your thigh, possibly revealing whatever’s underneath to the crowd. Once again, you're the centre of attention, and you're used to it. The predatory stares you receive start to feel unsettling, but what can you do? You were made for this exact moment.

Sakura joins you on stage, and together, you put on an electrifying performance, dancing against each other, feeling the heat of her body pressed against yours. At one point, she even buries her face in the crook of your neck, pretending to plant kisses on your shoulder. It’s not long before you notice your vision slowly becoming hazy from the combination of body heat and the alcohol being pushed on you by your friends.

You're aware that you've crossed the boundary between sober to tipsy, and continuing at this pace will likely leave you nursing a migraine on the floor of your Airbnb tomorrow morning. You’re also aware that another glass of alcohol would only blur your senses further, and you're about to call it quits when you catch sight of a familiar face dancing across the club.

"Is that Lee Heeseung?" you mutter to yourself, Sakura noticing your distraction. "Hey, you okay? We can take a breather if you're not feeling well," she whispers just loud enough for you to hear, receiving a reassuring nod from you. She then proceeds to take your hand as you carefully manoeuvre your way downstage, your gaze still fixed on the figure you assume is Heeseung.

"Y/N! You killed it up there!" Jay's voice booms across the club, announcing it to literally every single soul in the goddamn club. Before you know it, they're chanting your name, urging you to return to the stage as if you were some caged animal in a zoo performing tricks and stunts for onlookers.

Heeseung seems to catch wind of the commotion, his ears perking up at the familiar name. He turns around, locking eyes with you, his expression betraying a hint of surprise, as if he's been caught red-handed, doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

"Lee Heeseung?" you mouth his name, and that's his signal to make a swift exit. He hands his cup to the girl he was grinding onto moments ago and practically bolts through the emergency exit. By now, the cheers from the crowd around you have faded into the background. Excusing yourself, you navigate through the crowd until you reach the other side of the emergency exit, where you come face to face with none other than Lee Heeseung himself.

"Who the fuck are you?" you gawk, taking in his unusual attire as you scan him from head to toe. His eyes, now visible without glasses, appear larger than you remembered. His hair is styled back with faded green streaks in them, and gosh is that a tattoo on his chest? Who the hell is this guy?

"You already know, so why ask?" he retorts, raising his eyebrows, wrinkles creasing on his exposed forehead. "Wow, that's a record for the most words you've ever spoken to me," you quip sarcastically, realising perhaps it wasn't the best idea as he responds with a deadpan expression.

"So... you're into the party scene, huh?" you awkwardly probe, feeling thrown off by this unexpected version of Lee Heeseung standing before you.

"That's none of your business," he replies curtly. What you don't know is that the Heeseung standing in front of you is the real Heeseung, a side he's managed to conceal for most of his university career, until now, when you've downright busted him.

"What are you doing around here?" you awkwardly attempt at conversation, receiving minimal response from him. "My grandparents live nearby. I'm visiting for the break," you nod at his response, trying to come up with something to say to keep the conversation going, but to no avail. All you can do is stand there, fidgeting with the hem of your dress, when Heeseung pulls out a cigarette from his jeans pocket and offers it to you, which you decline.

He then proceeds to light it between his lips. You watch in genuine surprise, your eyebrows raising slightly at the sight of him smoking. It's unexpected, especially considering Heeseung's role as a student ambassador, a proclaimed role model for freshmen and prospective students.

The very same influential figure stands before you, with a cigarette between his teeth. You're taken aback, your mind trying to reconcile this new information as it's a stark contrast to the persona you've always known him to portray.

"You... smoke?" you ask, unable to hide your astonishment.

"Casual smoker. It's not that big of a deal," he shrugs, his tone nonchalant as he exhales a puff of smoke into the hot summer air.

"Yeah, not when you literally rebutted how people who resort to nicotine were just, verbatim, 'losers who are unable to get their lives together, so they look for an alternative to escape from reality,'" you quote him from a discussion your class had a couple of months ago during your psychology lecture on the topic of 'coping mechanisms.'

"Never said I wasn't one of them," he shrugs, turning to look at you. His doe eyes seem to be trying to send you a telepathic message, and you find yourself captivated by their intensity. You're struck by a mixture of surprise and intrigue, wondering what led him to this moment of contradiction. You simply nod in response, not because you don't have anything to say, as a matter of fact your mind is racing, but because his intimidating yet attractive demeanour has rendered you completely speechless.

It's no secret that Lee Heeseung is good-looking, but the scene in front of you suggests he's more than just good-looking. He's hot as fuck, and you can't deny the allure of his rebellious aura. His presence exudes an undeniable magnetism, and you can't help but feel a flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

"Look, you're obviously not getting the memo," he says, taking the cigarette between his fingers. "Can we pretend we never saw each other? You go back to doing whatever you do, and I'll go back to doing mine. Deal?"

You stare at him, uncertain of his intentions. Sure, you could keep a secret or two, and you're confident you would have kept quiet about what you saw even without him asking. But the urgency in his tone makes you wonder: What is Lee Heeseung really hiding? The request feels more like a demand, and you can't shake the feeling that there's more to this encounter than meets the eye.

"Yeah, sure, I can keep it on a hush-hush, but I'm just asking out of curiosity..." you start cautiously, not wanting to push his boundaries. You only finish your sentence when you hear him sigh as if he already knows what you're about to ask.

"Why don't you go around school looking like this more often? I'm pretty sure you'd be way more popular if you didn't have your hair covering your eyes. Your eyes are really pretty, by the way, though I'm sure you've heard that like a thousand times before," you start rambling before you realise it. Heeseung just stares at you, his head tilted to one side, looking stunned, amused even. You can't help but feel a mix of embarrassment and frustration at your own inability to keep your curiosity in check.

"I have a reason for it, though I don't really feel like telling you," he says, taking another puff of the cigarette. This time, he blows the smoke out in your face, adding a touch of defiance to his response. The mainstream smoke formed a screen almost intentionally between you and him, a subtle barrier signalling that the two of you are from different worlds, enjoying different luxuries. You nod, taking the hint that he doesn't want you pushing any further than you already have.

"Well, if you're ever out and about again, you know who to call," you say, trying to inject a note of lightness into the atmosphere. Heeseung raises his brow, unsure of what you're implying.

"They don't call me the party queen for no reason," you wink, turning your back towards him, ready to stroll back into the club—back into your world.

As if the universe is toying with you, you start running into Heeseung more frequently than you would prefer at school. You saw him around campus before your little encounter over the summer break, but you never recall being so hyper-aware of his presence until now. Every time you catch sight of him, your heart skips a beat, and a rush of mixed emotions—curiosity, anxiety, even a bit of excitement—floods over you.

It's not that you're avoiding him; you just can't look at him the same way. The fact that you're hiding a life-changing secret (to him at least) makes you extremely cautious walking around campus. You feel a strange sense of responsibility, almost protectiveness, and it weighs heavily on your mind. You can't help but tense up whenever his name comes up in conversations with your friends, afraid that someone might notice your unease and start asking questions you aren't prepared to answer.

"You know if you keep acting so strange whenever we so much as breathe the same air, your friends are gonna start asking questions," Heeseung says, creeping up behind you while you're searching for research materials for your thesis in the library.

"Holy fuck! You scared the shit out of me. Please don't do that again," you whisper-shout, trying to keep your volume down as you notice students around shooting you annoyed gazes, disturbed by your sudden shriek. "What are you doing here?"

"The library is a property of Decelis University, and I'm a student. What do you think?" he responds with a smirk, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. His casual demeanour only adds to your flustered state. You can't help but feel irritated at his nonchalance but also admiration for the way he carries himself so effortlessly.

"Do you always have to answer in such an arrogant manner?" you ask, and he chuckles. It's the first time you've heard him laugh, and you find yourself oddly captivated by his straight, pearly white teeth. Once again, you catch yourself noticing another feature of his that you never really paid attention to in the past.

"Besides, where else would you find a nerd? The llibrary is basically my second home," he adds with a smug look on his face. Oh, how you wish you could rip that expression off his face. You mumble softly, but just loud enough for him to hear, "You're intolerable," before turning your attention back to the rows of books in front of you.

"Seriously though, you have to stop being so awkward," Heeseung teases, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"I am not awkward," you retort, rolling your eyes and continuing to scan the shelves for any knowledgeable book titles so you can get out of there and away from him as soon as possible. The proximity to him is unnerving, making your heart race in a way that frustrates you.

"You so are!" Heeseung ruffles your hair almost as if it’s the most natural reaction for him. His touch is surprisingly gentle, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

"I don't recall us being that close..." you comment, trying to straighten out the hair he had so rudely messed up. Your fingers tremble slightly as you fix your hair, the unexpected intimacy of the gesture lingering.

"Ouch, I guess it was all one-sided all along," Heeseung says, clutching his chest as if he’s been shot. His dramatic antics are so out of character for the reserved student ambassador you thought you knew, and you can't help but let out a small giggle at how goofy he looks.

You never imagined that Lee Heeseung, known to be overzealous, would be standing in front of you right now, showing this playful and relaxed side of himself that he had bottled up for so long. It's a side of him that only you have the privilege to witness, and it makes you question everything you thought you knew about him.

You wonder what other facets of his character he’s hiding and why he’s chosen to reveal this side to you now. All because you know his little alter ego? Unlikely—you’ve already assured him you wouldn’t tell. Because he wants to uncover a secret of yours so that he'd have something against you too? Probably.

The thought makes your stomach twist. Is he trying to level the playing field, to make sure you both have something to lose? The idea unsettles you, but you can't deny the intrigue it stirs. What would he want to know about you? And more importantly, what are you willing to reveal?

You shake your head slightly, trying to clear your thoughts. The library’s quiet atmosphere suddenly feels charged with unspoken tension. You glance at Heeseung, who’s watching you with a knowing look, a slight smirk still playing on his lips. There’s a challenge in his eyes, a silent dare that both excites and unnerves you.

As much as you want to find your books and leave, a part of you wants to stay and uncover more about the enigmatic Heeseung. His duality is captivating, and you feel a pull towards him, an urge to understand the layers beneath his composed exterior. Your mind races with questions, but for now, you allow yourself to enjoy this rare, unguarded moment with him, feeling a bond forming that you never anticipated.

"Well," you finally say, breaking the silence, "if you’re going to keep surprising me like this, I guess I’ll have to get used to it."

Heeseung chuckles softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "I guess you will. And who knows, maybe you’ll surprise me too."

"What are you doing here on a Friday afternoon anyway? Don't you have another party to go to or something?" Heeseung asks, scanning the stack of books on the cart you’ve picked out during your short conversation.

"I do actually, thought I could have a little me time before I get back to it," you reply without much thought. But Heeseung, being... well, Heeseung, immediately analyses your seemingly meaningless words.

"I'd assume you'd be a slave to fame at this point. Never knew the Y/L/N Y/N would appreciate some quiet time," he intentionally probes, hoping to get some sort of reaction out of you. As always, he hits the mark.

"There's a lot about me that you don't know, so don't assume shit about anything," you snap back, surprised by the aggression in your own voice. Before you can apologise, Heeseung does.

"Sorry, that was senseless of me."

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lashed out at you like that. It's just... y'know, the popular girl gets tired and weighed down by all the attention too," you smile at him, but it doesn’t reach your eyes, and Heeseung notices.

"Anyway, I gotta go sort these out," you say, referring to the stack of books. "I'll see you in class." You’re already moving away before Heeseung has the chance to say anything. He only manages to mumble a quiet, "Bye," but he doubts you heard him.

You did.

In class, all you can think about is how, despite the lecture hall being ridiculously spacious, Heeseung still chooses to sit in the seat right in front of you, forcing you to stare at the back of his head throughout the entire lesson. You notice he no longer has the green highlights in his hair and wonder when he dyed it back. You also thought that after the encounter the both of you had in the school library yesterday, he'd be avoiding you too.

So, why did he choose to sit here, right in front of you? Is it a coincidence, or is he trying to send a message? The questions swirl in your mind, each one more unsettling than the last. You try to shake them off, but they cling to you like the smoke from his cigarette.

This class isn’t even compulsory. You signed up for an additional course on music production after developing a minor interest in DJ-ing, thanks to your extensive partying experience. Mostly, though, you took it for the extra credit and the convenient timing—Saturday evenings—giving you a perfect excuse to skip clubbing with your friends.

You were shocked to see Heeseung on the first day of class, especially since you had no idea about his interest in music production. That was before you discovered he was a beast on the dance floor. Now that you know about his little side hustle, it all starts to make more sense.

The professor’s voice drones on, but your mind is elsewhere. You steal glances at Heeseung, who seems completely absorbed in taking notes. You find yourself analysing every detail of his appearance and behaviour. The way his shoulders move as he writes, the occasional tilt of his head, even the subtle way he shifts in his seat.

You remember the way he looked at you in the library, the way he made you feel both exposed and connected. His presence is distracting, making it hard to focus on anything but the mystery he represents. You force yourself to pay attention to the lecture, scribbling down notes and trying to absorb the material. But your thoughts keep drifting back to Heeseung and the strange dynamic that’s developing between you two.

"Alright class, as we approach your final semester at Decelis, the faculty has been observing your work thus far and has paired you up for a final-year project," the professor announces, prompting a chorus of groans, sighs, and a few enthusiastic cheers from the lecture hall. You mentally curse yourself for not reading up on the coursework before applying; you're already overwhelmed with your thesis, and now you have another project to juggle.

"Settle down. Although the result of your work will not directly affect your GPA, you must actually submit this project to pass the course. Any poor quality or late submissions can and will be reflected on your student record," the professor continues, causing another wave of mixed emotions to ripple through the room.

"Now, don't be so discouraged; at least you'll be working in pairs!" The professor tries to lighten the mood, but it doesn't help much since the students aren't even allowed to choose their own partners. "We have paired you up with partners who either have similar working styles or share the same music taste. Hence, we will not be entertaining any requests to switch partners."

"Gosh, it keeps getting worse," the girl beside you mutters, and you silently snicker at her remark. Just when you think it couldn't get any worse, you're blindsided by the professor's announcement of your partner: Lee Heeseung.

Heeseung turns around in his seat, his usual smirk firmly in place. "Looks like we're stuck with each other," he says, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You force a smile. "Yeah, lucky me."

You’re not particularly thrilled about this pairing because working with Heeseung means constantly being schooled and corrected. The worst part is, you probably can’t even refute him because, although he says it in the worst way possible, he’s never wrong.

On the other hand, you are interested to see how he'd tackle a music production project. You know he is more of a textbook learner, so when yours and Heeseung's names slip out of the professor's mouth in the same sentence, you are curious—excited even—to witness another side of Lee Heeseung that he's never shown to anyone.

Part of you even hopes you'd be paired up with him because you want to talk to him privately without students walking past and giving the two of you weird or judgmental looks. Of course, they would stare; you belong in completely different pigeonholes.

After the lesson is dismissed, you take the chance to talk to him. "Heeseung, hey!" you greet him as he stands up from his seat, packing his bag. To your relief, he doesn't seem to be upset with you about what happened yesterday in the library.

"Y/N!" He is about to give you a playful dab but then realises it probably isn't a good idea with the lecture hall still filled with students. However, you think it is because of what you said about not being "that close," and for a second, you feel a sense of guilt wash over you.

"I was thinking we should get this project started so we can get it over and done with. You cool with that?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," he smiles, and you can't help but scream internally. It's such a shame that no one else can see this smile of his.

"What about my place?" Heeseung suggests innocently, but your mind takes it out of proportion with your unnecessary imagination that you know would be better for both you and him to keep to yourself. A slight blush creeps up your cheeks, and you pray to God that Heeseung doesn't notice it.

He does but chooses not to pick on you about it, mainly because he feels his own cheeks heating up too. "Yeah sure, tomorrow okay for you?" he nods, and you reach your hand out to him. He tilts his head to the side, weighing his options before deciding to take it.

You laugh out loud at how cute he looks in the moment. "I was asking for your phone so I could give you my number, but this works too," you tease him, and he quickly pulls his hand back, jokingly pouting, which you find to be adorable.

Heeseung hands you his phone, and you enter your number. "There you go," you say, handing it back to him.

"See you tomorrow then," you say, giving him a small wave as you turn to leave.

When Heeseung texts you his home address, you can't help but feel a twinge of intimidation. You recognise the street name as one where high-status families reside in their luxurious landed properties.

You are further proven right when you alight from the taxi that manoeuvred through the neighbourhood with great difficulty to a meticulously maintained garden surrounding a grand, modern mansion. The sheer size of the property is daunting, and don’t even get you started on the rows of luxury cars parked outside. Your nerves tighten as you approach the front door, feeling like you’re about to step into a different universe.

Despite knowing you shouldn't be prejudiced—after all, you're a victim of it yourself—the thought of potentially running into his parents, siblings, or even distinguished guests scares you shitless. The last thing you want is to embarrass yourself in front of rich, snobby, and arrogant boomers.

However, you know better than to let that fear deter you from your original goal: completing this godforsaken project. Before you know it, you're ringing the doorbell to his private estate, which is oddly isolated from the rest of the neighbourhood. The gates open, and you step through—into his world.

#2 - The Parallel

Lee Heeseung is the eldest son of the Lee Group, South Korea's largest and most successful healthcare conglomerate. His father, Lee Daeseong, owns Seoul National Hospital and oversees a vast network of clinics, pharmacies, and even veterinary practices. The Lee family boasts a lineage of healthcare professionals, including renowned doctors, surgeons, psychologists, veterinarians, dentists, and pioneering lab researchers.

They aren’t just limited to healthcare either; the family also controls one of the country’s biggest and most luxurious department stores. This revelation surprises you, given that Heeseung never gave off any impression of being well-off, let alone being the eldest son of one of Korea’s richest and most influential families.

You stare in awe as you stroll along the ridiculously long hallway leading to the main living room. The walls are adorned with certificates, trophies, and commemorative pictures showcasing his family's impressive lineage. With each step, you feel smaller and more intimidated, overwhelmed by the weight of their achievements. If your impression of Heeseung hasn’t shifted by now, this discovery definitely did, but you try your best not to let your nervousness show.

You consider the possible reasons why Heeseung has chosen to hide such a significant part of his life behind closed doors. Maybe he was forced to keep it a secret? That seems plausible as you imagine yourself in his shoes—dealing with strangers sucking up to you, not because they wanted to be friends, but because they wanted a taste of old money and power.

As you painstakingly reach the end of the highly esteemed yet spacious foyer, you emerge into a lavishly furnished living area with high ceilings and large windows that let in an abundance of natural light. It exudes typical rich family vibes: unnecessarily large chandeliers, sofas upholstered in the finest fabrics that stretch for what seems like miles, a TV almost the size of your bed back home mounted on the wall, and a grand piano that likely hasn't been touched in ages, standing elegantly in the corner.

The air is perfumed with a subtle, expensive fragrance, and everything gleams with a polished sheen, making you acutely aware of the disparity between this world and your own. You can't help but feel a little out of place.

A friendly old lady approaches you, her steps soft and practised, offering to take your coat and presenting you with comfortable house slippers to switch out your dirty Air Forces for. "Thank you," you say, bowing slightly, feeling a pang of awkwardness in this palace-like setting. You guess she is well into her 70s, her demeanour warm and welcoming yet impeccably professional.

"The young master is upstairs in his room, the last door in the corridor to the right. Be careful not to make too much noise when you pass by the other rooms; Mr. Lee is resting," she advises, prompting you up the huge flight of stairs leading to the second floor. You gulp at her warning, knowing well that the "Mr. Lee" she refers to is Heeseung's father.

As you ascend the stairs, the opulence of the house continues to impress and intimidate you. Each step you take echoes lightly, the staircase grand and sweeping, lined with a plush carpet that feels luxurious under your feet. The walls are adorned with intricate woodwork and expensive art pieces that seem to whisper stories of the family's history and prestige. Finally, you reach the corridor and make your way to the last door on the right, careful to tread lightly as you pass by the other rooms. Your heart races, not just from the physical exertion but from the anticipation of seeing Heeseung in this new light.

You knock softly on the door, your knuckles barely making a sound on the polished wood. The door opens almost immediately, and Heeseung stands there, a welcoming yet slightly embarrassed smile on his face.

"Hey, you made it." Heeseung greets you, stepping aside to allow you into his room before closing the door behind him. "You sleep here?" you ask, scrutinising your surroundings and taking in the spaciousness of his room. "It's the size of my apartment," you add, fawning in awe.

Heeseung shrugs, seemingly indifferent. "It's alright, I guess? I'm not really home most of the time anyway."

"Oh? Then what made you suggest doing it here?" you inquire, genuinely curious.

"I have a producing studio," he replies nonchalantly as if it's the most normal thing ever to have a fully equipped studio in your house. Given the size of his mansion, you're not entirely surprised. Who knows what other unconventional amenities this dreamhouse has to offer? You nod slowly, still adjusting to the opulent environment.

For a guy, his room is remarkably well-kept and smells surprisingly pleasant. The colour scheme is rather mundane—neutral tones of grey and white, with minimal decorations. It doesn't seem to match the character of Heeseung you've come to know. It feels almost impersonal, more like a pre-decorated hotel room than a college student’s sanctuary.

He gestures for you to take a seat on his bed, and you do so awkwardly. You catch him stealing a glance at your exposed legs, making you wonder if wearing shorts and a t-shirt was the right choice, especially since his room is absolutely freezing. "I can lend you some clothes if it makes you more comfortable," he offers, and your ears perk up at the suggestion. You immediately accept.

He returns a few minutes later with a pair of joggers and a hoodie. You throw them over your clothes, and it’s needless to say they are way too big for you. You secure the waistband as tight as you can to keep the joggers from slipping down your hips. The sleeves of his hoodie run all the way past your fingers, enveloping you in the familiar scent that comes along with it—a mixture of fresh morning dew and a hint of teakwood. You revel in the natural yet exotic scent he emanates, a fragrance that even the richest-smelling flowers would stand second to. It feels almost... homely, unlike everything else in this mansion.

"Thanks," you say, adjusting the oversized hoodie. Heeseung gives you a small smile, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than usual.

"No problem," he replies, his voice softer now. He moves to his desk, cluttered with music equipment and notes.

"Oh right, I really wanted to ask you something," you say, catching Heeseung's attention as he looks up. "I never really pegged you as the musical type, at least not until, you know," you trail off, and he raises an eyebrow, prompting you to continue, "When did it... start?"

"You mean the part where I'm actually a self-absorbed womaniser and also an alcoholic raging reveller?" he quips, a teasing glint in his eye.

"You said it, not me," you respond, trying to keep the mood light.

"Why do you want to know?" he asks, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

"I mean, if anyone else was in my shoes, knowing what I know, they'd be curious too," you explain. He purses his lips, nodding in agreement with your point.

"Well, I can't tell you when it started because, as far as I know, I've always been like this: partying, drinking, sex. It's fun," he shrugs nonchalantly.

"Right... and I can't get over the fact that those words just came out of your mouth. Pardon me, it's going to take a while for me to adjust to this," you say, flailing your arms to emphasise your point.

"All good, it's a first for me too. I don't think anyone knows about it, except you," he admits.

"So like... you're living your Hannah Montana dreams or what?" you joke. He scoffs, rolling his eyes, and you laugh, feeling proud of your joke.

"Why don't you want people to know?" you ask, your curiosity piqued.

"Because I can't have my father knowing," he shrugs almost emotionlessly. "Typical crazy rich Asian parents whose entire reason to have kids is so they can impose whatever corrupt business they run onto you when they so unwillingly die someday."

"Sounds like shit," you sympathise.

"You have no idea how shit it really feels: having to hide, lie, and endure the harsh reality that I'll never be able to break free from the grasp of my birth giver. Not everybody gets the freedom to enjoy doing what they want like you do," he says, his voice tinged with bitterness.

You inhale sharply, realising you've touched a sensitive topic. However, you can't help but see yourself in him. "You'd be surprised to know that I actually do."

"How so? You literally have everything: you're pretty, you have good grades, you're popular, you can do whatever the fuck you want, and nobody is going to question you," he retorts. It hits you that even Lee Heeseung can't tell apart your egos. You must have put up a hell of a show to convince someone as sceptical as him.

"You think I'm pretty? I'm honoured, sir," you joke, not wanting to escalate the tension that was so evidently present in the room. Luckily for you, swerving topics is a long-honed skill of yours, having been in similar situations with your friends. Heeseung takes the hint and lets it slide.

Heeseung can't help but notice that he somehow always manages to put his guard down whenever you're around. It's unusual, more like a once-in-a-lifetime situation for him to accidentally lash out and even trauma dump on somebody. He wonders how you could have that type of effect on him when he barely even knows you.

"Enough moping around, let's get started!" you clap, breaking the awkward silence that has enveloped the room. Heeseung hurriedly agrees, and the two of you set off on your own research for ideas and inspiration.

As you scroll through a myriad of pop songs on the web, all of which somehow sound the same, you hear a faint humming despite your headphones pressing firmly around your ears. The sound is angelic, a stark contrast to the not-so-angelic person emitting it, that you think you must be hearing things. "You sing?" you ask, intrigued.

"Sorry, I didn't notice I was humming out loud," Heeseung responds, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Nah, you're good. What song were you humming? It's got a catchy melody," you say, slowly taking off your headphones. He awkwardly chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks at you, almost embarrassed.

"It's actually a song I've been working on. It's nothing much, though. I was just humming it subconsciously," he admits.

"It's really good," you’re generous with your praise, not able to get the melody out of your head. He turns to look at you, clearly unconvinced. "I mean it." For a few seconds, you and Heeseung just stare at each other, neither willing to look away first.

Your heartbeat speeds up, and you feel heat rushing to your cheeks, tinting them with a shade of pink. The room feels charged with an energy you can’t quite place. You look so divine sitting on his bed and praising his voice that Heeseung feels like he could tell you anything in the world, and you would still be sitting there, listening attentively to him.

"Thanks," he says, looking away shyly, now hyper-aware of your soft gaze on him. An epiphany strikes you as you realise that this is the inspiration you've been looking for, so you waste no time suggesting it to him.

"Actually, why don't we just produce it into an actual song? I think it'll turn out well."

"You think so? Won't it be too... I don't know, ballad-ish?" His interest is piqued when he sits upright after all this time.

"Who said we have to stick to making boring pop music?" you say, placing your hands on your hips in a jokingly menacing way. He laughs, the sound warming you.

"I'm fine with it, if you are," he says, looking expectantly at you. You nod and a huge smile creeps onto his face. You wonder if this is really the same Heeseung you met in that shady alley the day you discovered his alter ego. Because all you see in front of you is an overly excited boy, whose passion for music outweighs any nerdy stereotype or frat boy persona you once held against him.

At that moment, a saying from your psychology professor comes to mind:

"If you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change."

Was it just you, or does Heeseung remind you a lot of, well... you?

As you and Heeseung toil away on the song for hours, the room gradually darkens with the fading light outside. With a sigh of frustration, you crumple yet another failed attempt at lyrics, tossing it aside. Draft after draft, the words blur together, leaving you more lost with each attempt compared to the last.

"If I write the word 'love' one more time, I might actually lose it," you grumble, running your hands through your hair and leaning back against the headboard, eyes closed. Heeseung, noticing your weariness, suggests calling it a day. Both of you have been so immersed in your work that time has slipped away unnoticed.

"I'll finish writing this verse, and then I'll leave," you declare, sitting up straight and stretching your arms and fingers as if you’re preparing for war. Rightfully so as it’s a mental battle at this point.

Unbeknownst to you, Heeseung has been watching you intently for a while now, his gaze filled with a mix of admiration and intrigue. Seeing you draped in his oversized hoodie, diligently working on a song that on paper, wouldn’t even benefit you the slightest, captivates him.

Today, Heeseung is the one who gets a glimpse of a different side of you—one that isn’t defined by alcohol-fueled escapades on the dance floor. He finds it admirable how you remain dedicated to your studies despite your popularity. He knows you’re genuinely passionate about pursuing psychology; he sees it in your active participation in class, although it's often misconstrued by others as seeking attention or being humorous, the intention isn’t lost on him.

Today's experience solidifies for him that you're more than just a pretty face, and witnessing your dedication cements his respect for you. Watching you research and write for hours shows him that you truly enjoy learning. How does he know? Because he's much like you, albeit in a different field. While you delve into the study of the human mind and behaviour, Heeseung pours his heart and soul into music—the one thing that keeps him grounded at home, if it can even be called that.

"I've heard so many sappy and depressing ballads, I’m convinced I might end up depressed myself," you confess, crumpling yet another sheet of paper in frustration as you catch Heeseung’s gaze. Heeseung, recalling a past conversation, approaches you with a proposition.

"You know… about that offer you made me that day, is it still on the table?” He stands up, making his way over to you on the bed. You tilt your head, not quite sure what he’s referring to.

“Offer?”

“The one about being called the party queen for a reason?" He prompts, extending his hand out to you. You’re surprised, not expecting him to remember your words that were carelessly spilt from your mouth that day. You didn’t even think he’d take it seriously.

"But it's a Sunday night, and we have class tomorrow."

"So what?"

"Well, shouldn't we be getting some rest?"

"Come on, Y/N, it'll be a nice break from all this. Maybe we'll even find some inspiration," Heeseung persuades, knowing you've entertained the idea yourself. After all, you’ve been drowning yourself in sappy romantic ballads the past three hours or so, that you actually yearn for the club music you despised so much. “Don’t tell me you’re going back on your words now?” Heeseung provokes you, and just like the people pleaser you are, you sigh and agree.

Heeseung suggests a discreet club not far from his home, and as you step inside, the air buzzes with an electric energy. It’s immediately clear to you that this is no ordinary club, and the probability of running into a familiar face is slim, almost close to zero. The most obvious telltale being the aura of sophistication exuded by the clientele, dressed in boujee and classy bejewelled statements that speak of wealth and privilege rather than cheap mini dresses or skirts. If you felt out of place in your casual t-shirt and denim shorts, it's because you are.

"Mr. Lee, I didn't know you'd be coming tonight," the bartender addresses Heeseung, clearly recognising him. You assume he must be a regular for the bartender to call him "Mr. Lee."

"It was on short notice. Don't tell my father though," Heeseung’s playful wink is met with a knowing smile from the bartender, their interaction hinting at a shared history or inside joke.

"So, what? Your family owns clubs now?"

"Not exactly, but I'd like to think we almost run this place. The hospital employees frequent this joint so much that it's become a bit of a Lee thing," Heeseung explains kindly, his tone tinged with a hint of pride. "It's also the only entertainment establishment I’m allowed in without being questioned by my father. If I'm going to be seen partying, it might as well be with the elites, am I right?" He shrugs.

As Heeseung's words sink in, you nod slowly, still processing the layers of his rich boy persona. The revelation adds another dimension to your understanding of his world and the complexities of his affluent background, where even leisure activities come with the weight of familial expectations and scrutiny.

Without warning, he pulls you onto the dance floor, and you can't help but remember the day you first spotted him in the crowd. You recall the look on his face when he locked eyes with you and how attractive he seemed that night. Although he still strikes you today, it's not as remarkable as he appeared the last time you saw him in this setting.

Considering that both of you practically rushed out of his mansion, he's only thrown on a plain top and a black leather jacket. His tousled hair is subtly parted down the middle, exposing his doe eyes that you've grown to appreciate. As you watch him move to the music, a pang of self-consciousness washes over you, thinking if you had something nicer to wear, you’d be turning heads by now.

"Okay, party queen, show me what you got!" Heeseung hollers, his hand firmly clasping yours as he twirls you around the dance floor with practised ease. You can't help but let out a delighted laugh, your heart quickening with the thrill of the moment. "Are you sure? I'm not easy to handle," you tease, raising an eyebrow in a playful challenge.

Undeterred by your jest, Heeseung pulls you closer by the waist. The warmth of his touch on your sides sends a shiver down your spine as you find yourself drawn into him.

Refusing to let him take control of the situation, you play tricks of your own as you throw your arms over his shoulders, drawing yourselves closer as the music pulses around you.

To your surprise, Heeseung doesn't even flinch. Instead, he envelops you in his arms, his hands now resting comfortably on the small of your back. As you gaze up at him, you catch a smirk playing on his lips. Clearly, he's no stranger to your dance floor prowess, and anyone who knows you knows that you can make any guy fold in an instant just by looking into their eyes for a little over three seconds. Well, three seconds pass and Heeseung’s gaze is still locked on yours with an undeniable spark of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"You're enjoying this more than I expected," you tease, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"I literally have the esteemed party queen right in front of me, who wouldn't?" Heeseung's response is met with a roll of your eyes, though you can’t deny the flutter of excitement in your chest at his words.

"You're annoyingly flattering, you know that?" Your voice raised slightly above the music as you playfully jab his chest. He reacts with exaggerated surprise, bumping into a nearby patron who shoots you both a disdainful look, their gaze staying on you a second longer, undoubtedly judging your attire.

Ignoring the snide glance, you and Heeseung share a knowing look before bursting into laughter. "Seems she's allergic to your impressive choice of clothing," Heeseung quips, earning an unimpressed scoff from you.

"Please, if you had given me a heads up, I'd probably be the best dressed in this shithole," you retort with a mock huff, crossing your arms in front of you. Heeseung can't help but find your playful indignation utterly endearing, though he's careful not to let it show.

As you stand there, feigning annoyance but unable to conceal the playful glint in your eye, Heeseung feels a surge of affection wash over him. Despite the glamorous setting of the club and the pretentious glances from some of the other patrons, he finds himself drawn to you—an average college girl in a place clearly out of her league, sticking out like a sore thumb among the elites.

Suppressing a smile, he reaches out to gently nudge your arm, his touch light and reassuring. "Come on now, you’ll be turning heads dressed up or not," he says softly, his words sincere. In that moment, amidst the pulsating music and the dimly lit dance floor, he realises just how much he enjoys your company, your playful banter, and your unapologetic presence by his side.

The night was still relatively young, at least in your vocabulary, and just when you thought you had seen every side of this man, he managed to surprise you yet again. He dominates the dance floor with such confidence that you can't help but feel a twinge of competitiveness, sensing your throne as the party queen being challenged. Yet, there's something undeniably endearing about the sight of him, his smile radiant as he sings and dances with indifference to the music.

However, your admiration falters and you assume your eyes are deceiving you when you catch him dancing up against multiple girls, his eyes clouded with lust as he checks them out. From the intense intimacy you shared in his room earlier, dancing the night away was the last thing you expected. Yet, here you are, caught in the whirlwind of the moment.

As you sway to the music, you feel a presence coming up behind you, a young man presumably in his late twenties. You didn’t reject his advances so he takes it as a positive sign to move closer with each step. Turning around, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, swaying your hips in sync with his. His response is palpable, and you revel in the power you hold over him, whispering sweet nothings into his neck as he shivers under your breath.

You chuckle subtly to yourself as you look up from the man, locking gazes with a pair of eyes you know all too well. Meanwhile, Heeseung, wrapped in the arms of another girl, stares intensely over her shoulder at your interaction with the stranger. For a fleeting moment, he imagines himself holding you, corrupting you in ways only he knows how. Sensing your gaze, he quickly diverts his attention, forcefully grabbing the jaw of the girl in front of him, kissing down her neck with a calculated intensity that surprises even you.

Shocked by his sudden display, you feel a surge of heat coursing through your body. Refusing to attribute it to him, you take matters into your own hands. You start sucking on the skin of the guy in front of you, tasting the salty remains of his perspiration that makes you cringe a little as you feel him melt into your arms. Oh, the power you have over men.

All the while, your eyes remain locked with Heeseung's, a silent challenge passing between you. In that moment, he realises the depth of the connection between you, a connection that transcends mere attraction and borders on something far more dangerous. And as he watches the scene unfold, a sense of déjà vu washes over him.

You remind him of someone, someone he knows all too well—an uncanny resemblance to… himself.

Heeseung and you stumble out of the club sometime after midnight, giggling and visibly intoxicated as you lean on each other for support. He stands there, slightly swaying, with his leather jacket slung over his shoulder, a goofy smile plastered on his face. In this moment, he seems carefree and boyish, a stark contrast to the different facets of his personality you've come to know. Heeseung is a man of many faces, and you have had the honour of witnessing them all... well, almost all.

You gaze at him endearingly, reflecting on how your relationship with Heeseung has changed so drastically in just a matter of weeks. The two of you barely knew each other before; you were practically strangers with only a superficial understanding of one another. Come to think of it, you don't even know his favorite colour. However, the connection between you feels like you've known him for a lifetime, and you're sure Heeseung feels the same way.

As you stand there, the world spinning slightly from the alcohol, you reflect on how Heeseung has become a cornerstone of your life. There's a comfort in his presence that allows you to be vulnerable, showing him sides of yourself you wouldn't normally reveal to anyone else. He, in turn, seems to trust you implicitly with his deepest, darkest secrets (literally).

Not wanting this magical moment to end, you discreetly pull out your phone. You aim the camera at Heeseung, capturing him in all his glory—his tousled hair, his bright eyes, the unguarded joy on his face. The click of the camera shutter is soft, almost imperceptible, but the image it captures is one you know you'll treasure forever.

You are so caught up in angling your phone so the street lamp highlights his features perfectly that you don't even notice when Heeseung turns his attention to you. His smile softens as he watches you, a tender look in his eyes that catches you off guard when you finally glance up.

Snap.

"You know I'm right here in the flesh, right? Why look through a picture when you can experience the real thing?" Heeseung smirks, his eyes twinkling with mischief as you fumble with your phone, quickly hiding it behind your back. His chuckle makes your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"Come on, I'll take you home," he says, already starting to walk away before you have a chance to protest.

"You don't really have to," you say nervously, catching up to him. He looks down at you, his warm smile making your heart skip a beat.

"It's the least I can do after dragging you out here with me. Besides, it's getting late," he replies, his voice gentle and reassuring. You fiddle with your fingernails and nod in defeat, grateful but slightly flustered.

The walk home is quiet, but it's a comforting silence, filled with unspoken words of affirmation and the soft hum of the city at night. Your outfit isn't exactly ideal for the chilly fall weather, and you mentally face-palm when you realise you left your coat at Heeseung's place. The cold seeps in, making you shiver beneath the featureless grey clouds that blanket the streets of Seoul.

Suddenly, you feel a rough, heavy material fall over your shoulders, wrapping you in warmth. Heeseung has placed his leather jacket on you after noticing your visible shivering. "Idiot, you should've worn something warmer," he scolds lightly, his concern evident in his eyes.

You chuckle, feeling a surge of gratitude and a warm blush spreading across your cheeks. "I didn't think it'd be this cold already. Also, I didn't exactly plan to stay out this long," you retort playfully, shooting him a mock glare. He smiles sheepishly, his own cheeks tinged with a faint pink.

As you continue walking, you find yourself sneaking glances at Heeseung, marveling at how quickly he has become such an important part of your life. The leather jacket smells like him, a comforting mix of cologne, cigarettes and something uniquely Heeseung. It feels like a protective embrace, and you can't help but feel a little giddy.

In what seems like no time, you find yourself standing in front of your apartment building. Heeseung glances around, surprised at how quickly the walk seemed to pass. It felt like thirty minutes, yet somehow it seems like barely half that. You reluctantly hand his jacket back, feeling the warmth linger on your skin. "Thank you," you say, genuinely grateful and a bit sad to see the night end.

"Anytime," he replies with a soft smile, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. You bid him goodbye and head into the building, feeling his eyes on you until you enter the lift.

Heeseung puts on his leather jacket, now imbued with hints of your perfume. The scent lingers, a comforting reminder of the night. As he walks back home through the bustling streets, his mind is filled with the events of the evening, a smile playing on his lips. The city lights blur around him, and he can't help but feel that tonight was the start of something truly special.

Just as you had thought, clubbing the night before a school day probably wasn't the smartest idea, but if you were being honest with yourself, you had no regrets. After that night, you felt a noticeable shift in your relationship with Heeseung, and it was definitely a positive one. So many things were left unsaid, but there was no need for words; you both just knew.

It didn't come as much of a surprise when you and Heeseung stopped avoiding each other on campus. In fact, the two of you were practically inseparable, spending every possible moment together. Some might even think you were dating. That wouldn't sound so bad, except for the fact that your reputations were complete opposites—the party girl and the goody-two-shoes show-off? Unfortunately, you weren't the only one who thought it was an odd pairing.

"Y/N, what's up with you and the smart aleck?" Yunjin asks as she sits down across from you, joining Sakura and Chaewon in their persistent quest to dig up whatever you might be hiding about Heeseung.

"First off, his name is Heeseung," you sigh, shifting over to make room for Sunghoon, who sits next to you. "And there's absolutely nothing going on."

"Mhm..." Yunjin props her chin on her fingers, clearly not convinced by your half-hearted answer.

"Look, we're just working together on a project and got to know each other. He's actually a decent person, so there's no need for me to push him away. There's nothing more to it," you explain, trying to sound casual.

Sakura squints her eyes, staring intently into your soul like the lie detector she is. You realise you're holding your breath, feeling an unexpected wave of nervousness. Why are you so anxious? It's not like you're lying. When Sakura finally smiles, you silently release a breath of relief, thankful that her smile seems to have debunked the suspicions of the other girls.

"Okay, okay, we'll drop it... for now," Chaewon says, grinning mischievously.

"Speak of the devil," Yunjin says, pointing. You follow her gaze and, lo and behold, there’s Lee Heeseung with his attention on you and your group of friends. You smile and wave, which he gladly acknowledges, waving back and reminding you of your appointment later to continue working on the song you had to abruptly pause the other day.

As you watch him walk over to his own group of friends not too far away, you can hear his sweet laughter over the noise of the bustling cafeteria. Your body is at the table, reacting to your friends' conversations, but your soul is patently somewhere else, drawn to Heeseung.

"To be honest, he's actually not bad looking," Yunjin says, shrugging her shoulders and bringing up Heeseung again, which catches your attention. "If only he wasn't so annoyingly unlikeable. There's only so far a pretty face can get you." Your friends nod along with Yunjin's statement, and you suck in a quick breath, trying to hide your frustration. It affects you how your friends think of Heeseung, but you feel helpless to change their minds. After all, you've told them he's nothing more than a mere friend.

"Now that guy beside him," Yunjin nods towards the younger-looking boy beside Heeseung, "he could hit me up anytime." You roll your eyes at her usual flirty antics; she never fails to check out any decent-looking guy within her preying vision.

"I believe his name is Jake," Sunghoon pipes up, surprising you since he usually never joins in on your girly talks.

"Jake Sim? As in the famously smart junior from the faculty of health sciences?" Chaewon asks, and Yunjin seems intrigued.

"Yeah, you heard about him, Chaewon?"

"Of course, everyone from HS has heard his name before. He's famous for being the guy who tried to resurrect a rat during his dissection practicum, though it didn't exactly work out," Chaewon explains. You, being from the same faculty, struggle to recall ever hearing about this 'Jake.'

"He WHAT?" Yunjin bursts out laughing as Chaewon shrugs her shoulders. "Honestly, I don't even know. What I do know is, he's a total softie and extremely humble, unlike his best friend."

"I'm glad you and Lee Heeseung aren't what I thought you guys were. It'd be detrimental to your reputation if you were ever involved with him in that way,"

"Thanks for the concern, Yunjin, but I can take care of myself," you reply, standing up with your tray of almost untouched food. You excuse yourself, saying you don't have much of an appetite. Thankfully, your friends don't think much of it. Sunghoon, however, catches the tension lifting your shoulders and can't help but feel like you're hiding more than you let on—maybe even facts that you yourself aren't fully aware of.

As you walk away, you steal one last glance at Heeseung. He's engrossed in conversation with his friends, but for a brief moment, he looks up and your eyes meet. There's a spark of something unspoken, something that makes your heart race and your mind whirl with possibilities.

A week has passed since that weirdly infuriating conversation with your friends, and during this time, you've done a lot of thinking... like a lot. It bothers you how much their words about Heeseung affected you more than you'd like to admit. It's true that your relationship with him has changed in ways you never expected, but he was nothing more than a friend—friends who share life-changing secrets, but still, just friends.

I mean, you were just looking out for a good friend, right? It was out of your guilty conscience that you couldn't sit there and listen to your friends talk smack about someone they clearly didn't know two shits about. Your friendship with Heeseung has advanced to something more than just surface-level "heys" and "how's your day?" So, clearly, your friends were wrong for judging him based on stereotypes and rumours... right?

You find yourself running away from the answer you so desperately seek, but all you can think about is—do Heeseung's friends talk about you that way too? Do they see you as an attention-seeking whore, a chronic people-pleaser, a clubbing maniac with an alcohol addiction? If they do, does he defend you like you did for him?

The answer would be ‘yes’, because Heeseung had just as much of a week as you did, with his friends constantly asking about you. Each time, he gave them the same exact answer: "We're just working on a project together." It disturbed him how even people he barely knew felt compelled to ask about you, some going as far as inquiring if you were any good in bed. It saddens him that this is the impression people have of you when he knows you are so much more than just the girl who parties a lot. He wonders if you are aware of the things people say about you, and all he can hope for is that you stay blissfully ignorant of it.

You've been avoiding your friends since that day in the cafeteria, not because of what they said, but because of how you reacted. The intensity of your feelings scared you, and you dread being put in that same predicament again if they inevitably bring up Heeseung.

Your friends didn't sense anything off about your behaviour that day, and you don't blame them. After all, you've been hiding your true feelings from day one; you're far from an open book, and your friends know about as much about you as the strangers you walk past every single day.

However, a week of avoiding your friends did made them question if something went wrong, especially since you were so active around Heeseung but shied away whenever one of them approached you. Their concern grew, but it didn't last long when you showed up at the weekly frat party, best dressed as always.

You couldn't let this setback ruin the reputation you had worked so hard to build and keep, so you decided to suck it up, put on the sluttiest mini dress you owned, and went to work.

The party is in full swing when you arrive, the bass from the speakers vibrating through your body. You make an entrance, turning heads as you stride confidently through the throngs of partygoers. Your friends spot you almost immediately, their expressions a mix of relief and curiosity.

"Y/N! There you are! We were starting to worry," Yunjin calls out, waving you over.

You flash a dazzling smile, pushing away the nervous flutter in your stomach. "Hey, guys! Sorry, I've been a bit busy," you say, trying to keep your tone light and breezy.

Sakura raises an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "Busy with Heeseung, huh?"

You laugh it off, though the comment hits closer to home than you care to admit. "We've just been working on our project. Nothing more."

The conversation shifts as your friends drag you to the dance floor, the thumping music drowning out any further interrogation. You lose yourself in the rhythm, your body moving to the beat, the worries of the past week melting away under the flashing lights and the haze of alcohol. Yet, even as you dance, you can't help but scan the room for Heeseung even though you know he can never be caught dead at a frat party. It's just become a habit, this unconscious need to know where he is, what he's doing.

Heeseung isn’t any better, constantly refreshing his Instagram feed to catch the latest updates on what you were up to. It’s not difficult, considering you were everywhere on everyone’s stories. Heeseung scrolls through the endless array of posts, his smile tinged with an emotion he can't quite place. He watches you chugging a glass of beer in Sakura's story, admiring the way you dance on the floor in Jay's, and even feeling a tinge of jealousy at the closeness you had with guys other than himself. Despite the show of carefree revelry, he knows you'd rather be working late into the night on the song you two were supposed to be writing together.

“What a life you have, Y/N,” Heeseung mutters to himself, laying back on the fluffy comforter that still carries the faint scent of you from your last visit. He hasn’t changed it out, clinging to the lingering trace of your presence, finding an unexpected comfort in it. He wishes you were right there beside him.

He closes his eyes, picturing your laughter filling the room, the way your eyes light up when you're excited about something. He imagines you working together on the song, bouncing ideas off each other, and the comfortable silence that often falls between you when words aren’t necessary.

A sigh escapes his lips as he grapples with these feelings, pondering if you feel the same way, if you think about him when you're out with your friends or if he even crosses your mind at all. The thought of you being surrounded by other people, especially guys who don't understand you the way he does, makes him uneasy.

Unlike you, he was fully aware of the tension between you two, a tension that screamed "more than friends." Despite this awareness, he had no immediate plans to act on it. Then again, things don't always go according to plan, do they?

You cannot begin to explain how thankful you are for Heeseung's perfect excuse to bail you out of this messy alcoholic galore. "Chaewon! I have to go!" you shout over the music, pushing your way through the crowd to get to her. "What? Why? It's not even midnight yet!"

"Something went wrong with the project file I'm working on!" Chaewon pouts, clearly disappointed that you can't stay longer. "Can't you stay a little while longer? I think they're popping the expensive bottles soon!"

"I can't, I’ve spent way too much time on it to lose it now!" You feel a pang of guilt for having to come up with yet another lie. Every time you swear to yourself that you won't do it again, but it happens so often that it has just become second nature.

"Sorry!" you say, downing the last of your beer and setting the glass down on the counter beside Chaewon. "You're good, I guess it can't be helped! I'll let the rest know you had to leave earlier, don't worry about it!" You mentally thank the angel that is Kim Chaewon for not questioning you any further. You hurriedly gather your belongings and make your way out of the house.

You’ve walked the halls of Heeseung’s mansion and knocked on the door of his room more times than you could count on one hand. However, this time you’re standing at the head of his door not because you can't wait to bombard him with ideas and song lyrics for your project, but because he simply wanted to hang out—just the two of you, in his room.

"Hey, you made it," he greets, opening the door. That familiar musky scent washes over you, and you notice how he stands there silently, staring at you—or rather, what you’re wearing.

"I couldn't change on my way here," you blurt out. You didn't really have to, but you find the need to explain yourself to him. You feel so vulnerable under his gaze, and you’re not sure if it's the alcohol kicking in that makes your body heat up or the fact that Heeseung is blatantly checking you out. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to turn up in front of him, visibly tipsy and wearing the most inappropriate thing you own.

"Come in, I’ll grab something for you to change into," Heeseung says, stepping aside and gesturing for you to close the door after you. You stand awkwardly in the middle of his room, waiting for him to return. In this short time frame, you can feel yourself sobering up in the quietness of his space. You wish you had drunk a bit more so you wouldn't be so hyper-aware of the tension that has conveniently presented itself within these walls.

After what feels like hours, Heeseung returns with a newly-washed hoodie. You recognise it as the one he always lends you when you come over. The hoodie is as much yours as it is his at this point.

"Why are you just standing there like that? It’s not like it’s your first time here anyway," Heeseung says, throwing himself onto the bed and gesturing for you to sit beside him.

You pull the hoodie over your head, feeling the soft fabric envelop you in its familiar warmth. The scent of Heeseung clings to it, making you feel a strange mix of comfort and nervousness. You awkwardly shift next to him, the bed dipping under your combined weight as he chuckles softly, amused at how differently you’re acting in front of him.

You mentally thank Heeseung for his insanely perfect proportions that his hoodie covered all the way down to your thighs, especially as you feel your dress riding up your hips when you sit down.

"Seemed like you were having a lot of fun. Didn't really expect you to actually show up," Heeseung says, grabbing the mid-sized soft toy sitting at the edge of his bed and placing it on your lap.

Chuckling, you play with the ears of the teddy bear. "You know damn well I’d rather be working on that song with you. Though we’re not actually doing anything right now..." Heeseung laughs, clearly satisfied that he knows you so well. It makes him feel special.

"Don’t get so cocky now," you smirk, looking at him.

"You think I don’t know you missed me so much you took the opportunity to invite me over even though you knew I was out?" You raise an eyebrow, intentionally teasing him. It has become a running joke between the two of you that Heeseung has some sort of infatuation towards you. He texts you over every little thing, and you, being embarrassingly awkward and heavily influenced by your flirtatious lifestyle, make a joke out of it.

Heeseung doesn’t deny it, though. Maybe he really does feel some sort of attraction toward you, one that’s more than merely sexual.

"What were you doing before I came over?" you ask, your curiosity piqued as you play with the teddy bear, moving its limbs in circular motions like a mini b-boy dance routine.

"Thinking," Heeseung replies, staring at you absentmindedly.

"About?"

"You," he says simply.

You turn to face him, a little too quickly for your liking. You don't want to seem shocked or flustered, so you keep your composure. Snickering, you try to play it off as a harmless tease. "Your awful attempts at seduction won't work on me, Heeseung."

"I didn't say it would be easy," he shrugs, casually picking a piece of lint off the sleeve of your—well, technically his—hoodie.

"You're such a flirt. How do the people around you not notice that trait of yours?"

"I'm a pretty convincing actor if I do say so myself," he says, dramatically brushing his fingers through his hair. "Better than you even."

"Puh-lease, even Angelina Jolie has nothing on me," you retort, joining in the act by dramatically flipping your hair in his direction, inadvertently smacking him in the face.

"Why are you here again?"

"Shut up, don’t act like you weren’t the one begging me to come over."

"Ha! You wish you had that power over me," you say, not realising how close you've gotten to Heeseung during your playful banter. He stares directly into your eyes, and you're not sure if he's being dense or just incredibly bold, but he shows no intention of breaking the eye contact. You lose the unintended battle when the intensity becomes too much as you fold and look away first.

"You're unbearable," you mutter, returning to fiddling with the teddy bear now sprawled gracelessly on your lap.

"I know," Heeseung replies, a smirk playing on his lips. “But you're right. I did want you here. It’s just… nice having you around, and not having the silence in this house deafen me once in a while.”

His honesty takes you by surprise, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. "Well, I’m here now," you say softly, meeting his gaze.

“Okay, but you were the one who willingly showed up at my doorstep, so who's the one begging?”

“And you're back to being annoying,” you roll your eyes in mockery.

Heeseung laughs, the sound light and genuine. "Can't help it. It’s part of my charm."

"How does Jake even tolerate you?" you ask, carelessly name-dropping the Jake that you and your friends talked about the other day—the Jake he has never once mentioned to you. You mentally curse yourself the moment you realise your slip-up.

"Oh? How do you know Jake?"

"Everyone from HS knows him. He's pretty popular, didn’t you know?" You try to play it cool, channelling your inner Angelina Jolie, but your calm demeanour always seems to crumble around Heeseung. Unlike everyone else, Heeseung can read you like a book.

"Mhm..." He raises his eyebrows, smirking, and you know you've been caught. "To be fair, it wasn't me, more like Yunjin and Chaewon," you say, mentally apologising to your friends for throwing them under the bus. The last thing you want is for Lee Heeseung to think that you’re interested in him.

"Sure it was," he says with a benevolent smile, letting you off the hook.

"So, what kind of person is Jake?" you ask, trying to shift the conversation and cover your slip-up, after all you're a professional topic changer (or so you think). Heeseung doesn't tease you, sensing your semi-embarrassment at having exposed yourself for talking about him when he isn’t around.

"He's basically like the little brother I never had," Heeseung says, and you notice the corners of his lips lift as he talks about Jake. There's a softness in his expression that you hadn't seen before, a genuine affection that seems to light up his face. "He's had my back ever since middle school."

"The two of you must be very close then?" you prompt, curious about the depth of their relationship.

"Yeah... I mean, we do fight here and there, but it was never that serious. That was our friendship: equal parts irritation and cooperation," he trails off, a fondness in his eyes as he speaks. The way he talks about Jake, with such nostalgia and warmth, makes you realise how precious their friendship is to him. You can't help but feel a pang of jealousy, wishing you had someone who spoke about you with the same reverence.

"Which is why it would absolutely break my heart if he finds out I've been lying to him this entire time," he adds, his smile turning tender yet strained.

"You've never told him?" you ask, not wanting to be that person but realising you both are doing the exact same thing to the people you care about. Were you really such horrible people? Is it so wrong to be someone that you're clearly not?

"I couldn't bear to," Heeseung's usual imperious tone vanishes, replaced with a melancholic hint as if he’s on the brink of breaking down. "He looks up to me not just as someone older than him; he told me I was his role model." The tension in his voice is palpable, and you can see the conflict in his eyes. Heeseung's usually confident demeanour falter, revealing a vulnerability that catches you off guard. He’s always been the one with the answers, the one in control, and seeing him like this stirs something deep within you.

His voice wavers, and you feel the weight of his words. "Now what kind of person would I be if I told him that his role model is actually a delinquent who smokes and drinks his life away, on top of that doing everything behind his parents' backs?" Heeseung shifts his gaze from his fingernails toward you, but this time you don’t look away—you can’t. The Lee Heeseung you knew was confident, arrogant, and sometimes a total douchebag, so to see him so helpless, with pain so evidently present in his speech, completely breaks your heart.

You feel an overwhelming sense of empathy, realising that Heeseung, like you, is struggling with his own contradictions and fears. The façade he maintains is just as fragile as yours, and for the first time, you see him not as the perfect student or the flawless person but as someone who is deeply flawed and painfully human.

"Heeseung," you say softly, your voice trembling with emotion. "You’re not a bad person. We all have things we regret, things we’re not proud of. But those don’t define who we are entirely. Jake looks up to you because he sees something good in you, something worth admiring. Maybe it’s time you start seeing that in yourself too."

Heeseung's eyes soften, and you can see the conflict in them. He wants to believe you, to find solace in your words, but the weight of his guilt and shame holds him back. "It's hard," he admits. "Living up to everyone's expectations. Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning."

You want him to know he isn't alone, that you relate to him, and that it's okay not to be okay. You try to convey this through your eyes, but this time, he’s the one who looks away first.

"Why do you think I attend all these parties?" you ask, your words heavy with emotion, urging Heeseung to look up at you. "Because you're stressed out about school and it's your stress reliever, isn't it?"

"That's where you're wrong, Heeseung," you reply, noticing the little arch forming on his eyebrows. You let out a giggle. "I club because that's what people expect me to do." You look solemnly at the teddy bear in your arms, as if speaking to it could somehow bring you comfort.

"Expect you to do...?"

"Because the popular girl is supposed to be fun and carefree, the life of every party. She's not supposed to be talking to self-absorbed smart alecs," you turn toward him as you finish your sentence, "because I'm that popular girl."

"Y'know, if my mom and dad saw me in this dress in some shady club downtown, they'd pack me up in a box and ship me off to North Korea," you joke lightly, not wanting the mood to spoil any more than it already has. "And honestly, I think my source of stress actually comes from me clubbing." You shrug it off, making it seem like no big deal. After all, you’re used to pretending to be somebody you’re not.

Heeseung, however, stares at you wistfully, his lips parted in surprise. This entire time he thought clubbing was something you enjoyed, a way to reduce your stress. He believed that the times you'd refuse to party were because you were caught up with submissions or exams. Your words strike him deeply, and it hurts him to think that you have to hear and endure the shit that comes out of people’s mouths about you that isn’t really… well, you.

"Your friends know about it?" Heeseung asks cautiously, aware of how close you and your friends are. He’s taken aback when you shamefully shake your head, your gaze fixed on the bear in your lap.

"Just like you, I couldn't bear to tell them. They'd be disappointed. Chaewon especially would beat herself up for not noticing," your voice is barely above a whisper, but in the silence of his room, it’s all he can hear. He feels the weight of your confession, the awkwardness overflowing the edges of the room. Not wanting to push it any further, you put on the smile you’ve perfected over the years.

Heeseung's expression softens, understanding dawning in his eyes. He reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "But you’re so much more than that," he says quietly. "You don’t have to be what everyone expects. You can just be you."

"I'm not trying to get your attention or sound pitiful. I just want you to know that you're not alone in this, Heeseung. I know how it feels to be helpless, thinking that the only way around it is to make up more lies to cover up the ones you've already told," you say, your gaze locking firmly onto his. Neither of you is willing to look away.

“We all feel like that at times. But you have people who care about you, who see the real you, even when you can’t see it yourself. And Jake—if he truly admires you, he’ll understand. He’ll still look up to you, maybe even more so for your honesty.” Heeseung nods slowly, absorbing your words. The vulnerability in his eyes makes your heart ache, and you wish you could take away his pain. “And it doesn't have to be now or tomorrow that we come clean about it. Hell, it might never even happen. So, don't blame yourself for it. If you do, you have to blame me too..."

You notice his face inching closer with every word that escapes your now quivering lips. You’re not sure whether he’s doing it intentionally or if he’s so deep in thought that he doesn’t realise your noses are touching, your lips just inches apart.

"Y-you don't have to tell Jake about it if you don't want to. I just wanted you to know that," your voice is breathless, probably inaudible if Heeseung wasn’t literally in your face. "So now that I know that you know that I know..." your train of thought derails with the distraction at hand. You bring your hand up to his chest in an attempt to wake him from whatever daze you think he’s in.

"I wouldn’t have to worry—"

He’s in no daze.

In the short one-and-a-half months that you’ve known this man, he’s reached into the deepest parts of your soul and connected them with his own, all before you even knew what his hands felt like. Despite what the majority say, despite everyone insisting that the two of you don’t belong together, you’re sitting here, body to body, chest to chest, hands in his, his hands on yours, and it feels so right.

So right that somehow, against all the wrongs you’ve been writing, you’re kissing him. You close your eyes, slowly drowning out the world around you; all the noise, the expectations, all the lies fade into white noise. In this moment, it’s just the two of you, raw and vulnerable.

You relish the familiar scent of teakwood and the fragrant floral scent of his laundry detergent. You also pick up the tangy smell of cigarettes lingering on his body, all of which drive you completely crazy.

The intensity of his kiss is indescribable, almost as if all the paths in the world have led to this very moment, and no matter how hard you or Heeseung try to stray away from it, you’ll always find your way back. He tugs on your arm, pulling you closer until you nearly fall onto his lap. He holds you so tightly, as if afraid you might run off. The sense of desperation he exudes is almost hungry, and you show him just how hungry you are for him too.

His arms slide around your waist, pulling you even closer. You swing your legs over him so that you are now straddling him, your arms running up his chest and around the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair. Your lips move in unison, in a rhythmic silence that only the two of you can hear, speaking a language that only your souls understand.

There is a connection between you two that is so strong and priceless that the universe refuses to keep you apart. Heeseung moves back from your lips, but only far enough to catch a glimpse of your eyes, which remind him of the glow-in-the-dark stars plastered on the ceiling of his room in an unfathomable mural.

"You're so beautiful," he breathes out, his voice barely above a whisper. Your eyes flicker between his darkened gaze and his lips, now swollen from your bites. To Heeseung, describing you as beautiful feels like an understatement. Everything about you is so foreign to him, yet so familiar. Maybe it’s the stories you’ve shared, the hurt, the longing for freedom that instigates that sense of familiarity.

He presses his lips back onto yours, attempting to tip your head back. You gasp as you feel him trailing feather-light kisses down your neck and onto your collarbone. The sensation is so new and out of this world that it sends shivers down your spine. You cup your hands around his face, pushing him away gently so that he is face-to-face with you again. Your eyes meet, and it's as if your souls catch on fire. With your heart pounding wildly, you’re sure Heeseung can hear it. Your suspicions are confirmed when he flashes you a teasing smirk.

"Excited now, aren't we, Y/N?" The tips of your ears heat up, and you can only imagine how red they must be. You push your finger into the centre of his forehead, trying to break his piercing gaze and give yourself a moment to regain composure.

"Don't act like you didn't enjoy it yourself," you say, puffing up your cheeks in embarrassment. He shrugs, pulling you into one last embrace before lifting you gently off his lap and setting you back onto the duvet beside him.

"I'll go wash up and then take you home. Wait here, yeah?" He caresses your cheek, and you nod, watching as he stands up and heads towards the bathroom. You lie back, still feeling the warmth of his touch and the intensity of the moment lingering in the air.

You curl up in the comfort of his blankets, replaying the scene that had just taken place over and over again in your head. It only just occurs to you that you and Lee Heeseung had just made out. You place a hand on your chest, feeling the abnormal pattern of your heartbeat and the churning sensation in your stomach; it’s as if a whole zoo has been released inside you.

Exactly like how curiosity killed the cat, you dig relentlessly into the mystery that is Lee Heeseung. You notice that your heart is expanding uncontrollably as you get to know him better. It’s true that you’ve always desired a man to regard you as if you were a miracle, but what you hadn’t anticipated was that you would someday come across a man who actually do.

You smile softly, feeling a sense of connection with him that goes beyond the superficial. In this moment, you realise that despite the façades and the lies, you both are just trying to navigate through life, searching for acceptance and understanding. And maybe, just maybe, you can find that in each other.

Bringing the collar of his hoodie up to your nose, you inhale the comforting scent of Heeseung. You’re so occupied and distracted by everything that has happened tonight that it doesn’t even occur to you how physically and mentally exhausted you are. Without any care in the world, you unconsciously fall into a deep slumber, a subtle smile plastered on your lips as you grip tightly onto the sleeves of his hoodie.

On the other hand, washing up is just an excuse for Heeseung to escape the uninvited sexual tension that arose while you were making out. He closes his eyes, and all he can hear are the words of disappointment his father had said to him before. It scares him. Heeseung leans against the door of his bathroom, hands on his chest, feeling the irregular rhythm of his heartbeat.

He’s attracted to you, sure, but falling in love? It’s out of the question.

He takes a deep breath before confidently opening the door, his expression stoic. However, it’s later proved that he’s indeed a bad actor when his eyes soften and a smile unconsciously creeps up his lips as he watches you sleep so carelessly on his bed.

Heeseung sits down gently at the corner of his bed, the fondness in his smile never fading as he listens to the quiet breathing coming from your lips that were so desperately on his just a few minutes ago. He softly brushes a strand of hair aside and tucks it behind your ear, and only then does he notice just how long your eyelashes are.

He scrutinises your face, taking in every little feature he hadn’t noticed before, like the mole hidden right under your lip or the faded scar just above your eyebrow. He traces his finger along your jawline but snaps himself out of it when he realises how close he is to your face.

Sighing, Heeseung brushes a hand through his hair as he considers what he should do with you. Not wanting to wake you up, he tucks you in by throwing a blanket over you and slides onto the other side of his bed, making sure he isn’t too close to you. He lies on his side, staring at you, with millions of thoughts running through his mind. Only after what feels like hours does he slowly feel sleep catching up to him, not able to hear the sound of a car backing into the front porch of his property.

You awaken from your slumber to the blinding sunlight penetrating your eyelids. You lay on your back, unmoving for a while, staring at the ceiling covered in stars and down at the surroundings until you recognise that this isn’t your room.

You snap your head to the left and almost scream when you see the sleeping figure of Lee Heeseung, his face only inches away from you. His hand is draped around your waist, and his lips are slightly parted—those lips. That’s right, the same lips that were on your very own the night before. You can barely catch yourself staring compellingly at him when you see his lips move.

"Good morning, sunshine," your eyes flicker up to his, finding them open and staring right back at you. A teasing expression creeps up on his face, and you gulp, knowing damn well that he has caught you in your little act. Something about Heeseung seems different this morning—perhaps it's his demeanour. He does seem more confident for some reason. So, why does he suddenly seem more attractive to you?

You shake your thoughts away as you turn your gaze back to the ceiling. "I thought you were going to take me home. What happened?"

"I was, until you decided to sleep like a roaring pig," he chuckles as he slowly sits up from his lying position. "It was impossible to wake you up." Heeseung teases as he tickles your feet, making you jerk them back, a pout forming on your lips.

"I do not snore," you jokingly sneer at him as you lightly kick him in his shin. Heeseung laughs as he gets off the bed, shivering as the cold air comes into contact with his exposed skin. His morning voice throws you off with how deep it is, and you shiver at the tone of his voice. Heeseung then throws on a hoodie and leaves the room without another word.

Is it just you, or is Heeseung pretending as if nothing happened between you two last night? You feel your heart drop in disappointment, but the feeling quickly subsides when Heeseung returns a few minutes later with clothes in his hand—women's clothes.

"These belong to my older sis. Pretty sure you're around the same size," he says, handing you a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. You return the gesture with a smile and slowly begin taking off the hoodie you’ve been wearing since last night. You instantly notice Heeseung turning shy, his gaze momentarily dipping down before he looks away, pointing at your legs as he does so.

You look down, petrified, realising how far up your dress has ridden, exposing your thighs entirely.

"Don't look!" you shriek as Heeseung nods and you quickly throw on the clothes he provided over your dress, pleased that they fit just slightly bigger than you.

"Okay, you can look now," your voice is small, clearly embarrassed, but you try to play it cool. Heeseung notices, but he doesn’t pick on you for it.

"Hey, look at that, it fits just right," he smiles with a hint of nostalgia, his eyes tracing over the familiar clothing on a body that’s not so familiar to him.

"I didn't know you had a sister," you say, carelessly folding his hoodie and placing it neatly on the corner of his bed.

"Yeah, I don't really talk about her that much," he shrugs, picking up his car keys from his bedside table, signaling that he's ready to go whenever you are.

You slowly descend the staircase leading down into the common room, afraid that someone might hear and realise a stranger is in their house. Out of the many times you have been over, you have luckily never run into anyone other than the friendly old lady who greeted you at the front door.

Trailing behind Heeseung, your eyes wander everywhere except where you are going. This explains why you don’t notice Heeseung stopping in his tracks, and you clumsily bump into him. "You can't just stop in the middle of the halls," you grumble, peeking out from behind his shoulders to give him a big scolding. However, your intended reprimand is cut short when you see the reason for his sudden halt: an older man who bears a striking resemblance to Heeseung.

"Lee Heeseung, where are you going?" the man’s voice carries an assertive tone, his haughty demeanour sending shivers down your spine. His mere presence changes the mood in the usually silent house. He looks over at you, scrutinising you from head to toe, and then scoffs, giving you a look of disapproval as if you were caught committing a crime. In that moment, you mentally thank Heeseung for offering you a change of clothes.

Heeseung must notice how uncomfortable you feel under the man’s gaze. He pulls you behind him and shoots the man a glare of his own. "I'm just stepping out for a moment," he says, his usual snarky tone replaced with a nervous one.

"It's been a while since you've had someone over, hasn't it? Why don't you invite your little friend here to stay for some breakfast?" the man suggests with a smile that hides a hint of sarcasm. Who the hell does he think he is to talk to Heeseung like that?

"That won't be necessary, Father," Heeseung replies firmly.

Well fuck, you think, your eyes widening momentarily before you manage to withdraw the confused expression from your face. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Lee," you greet with a bow, trying to sound as calm as possible despite your pounding heartbeat. He barely acknowledges you, responding with a dismissive blink.

"I insist," Mr. Lee speaks with authority, making it clear that this is not a suggestion but a command. Heeseung is about to refute when you quickly interject, "I would love to.

As you make the long journey through the halls to the kitchen, you walk beside Heeseung with your head hanging low. Suddenly, you feel a vibration coming from your back pocket.

He nudges you softly, and you smile. That smile alone reassures Heeseung that everything will be okay because you are right beside him. The simple gesture, so intimate and sincere, calms the turmoil within him.

You sit next to Heeseung at the table, with his father situated across from him. The atmosphere is suffocating, making you feel queasy despite the lavish breakfast spread before you. It’s not just the tension in the air; it’s something about Mr. Lee—something ominous despite his composed demeanour. His presence dominates the room, casting a shadow over the entire meal.

"Eat," Mr. Lee commands, and Heeseung immediately picks up his utensils, stuffing food into his mouth with a mechanical precision. Despite your lack of appetite, you follow suit and start eating, the food tasting like sawdust in your mouth. You try to focus on the act of eating, but the knot in your stomach tightens with every bite.

"I didn't manage to catch your name, girl," Mr. Lee says, his voice dripping with condescension. You look up at him, noticing how even the way he eats is posh and lavish. His every movement exudes an air of superiority, making you feel small and out of place.

"It's Y/L/N Y/N, sir," you respond, your voice barely above a whisper. You hope the trembling in your hands isn’t too obvious as you place your fork down.

"Y/N, don't mind me asking," he continues, taking an elegant bite of scrambled eggs, swallowing, and then wiping his mouth with a handkerchief that probably costs more than the dress you’re wearing underneath. The dress, now drenched in sweat, clings uncomfortably to your skin. "Are you and my son dating by any chance?"

You nearly spit out your coffee, choking on the hot liquid. You’ve just met the man, and he’s already interrogating you, his eyes piercing through your façade. You resist the urge to scoff in his face, reminding yourself that you’re here to keep Heeseung out of trouble, not get him into more. "Sir—"

"We're just friends," Heeseung cuts you off hastily, his voice carrying a slight edge of desperation. You snap your head to look at him, his face a mix of determination and anxiety. It’s not like he’s lying; he’s practically saying what you were planning to. But why do those words leave you feeling so hollow, so disappointed? You try to decipher the look in his eyes, wondering if he feels the same sting of regret.

Yeah, you guys are friends—close friends even! So close that they kiss, make out, and sleep together. The memory of his lips on yours, the way his hands held you so tightly, flashes in your mind. The intimacy of the previous night now feels like a distant dream, overshadowed by the cold reality of Mr. Lee’s scrutiny.

"R-right, we're just friends. There's nothing to worry about," you stutter, still unsure of what you feel at that moment.

"Good," Mr. Lee smiles in satisfaction, his gaze cutting through you. "So, what brings you over so early on a Saturday morning?" His words are a thinly veiled attempt to humiliate you further, but you swallow your pride and respond calmly.

"Did Heeseung not tell you? We’re working on a project together," you say, trying to sound casual.

"Oh? What project, if you do not mind me asking?" Mr. Lee's voice is smooth, but his eyes remain cold and calculating.

"It's for a research project for a psychology presentation," Heeseung interjects quickly, cutting you off before you can respond. “Not like you care what I do in school anyway…” Heeseung’s voice is bitter, and you get the memo that his father probably doesn't know about him taking extra classes on music production over the weekends.

Mr. Lee clears his throat pointedly, a psychological tactic to reassert his dominance. You notice how Heeseung flinches, a small, involuntary movement that breaks your heart. The poor boy is scared shitless, and it infuriates you to think about how much emotional abuse he must have endured to flinch over a mere cough.

"I take it that you're in the same classes as my son?"

"That's right, I'm a senior majoring in psychology."

"If you're ever in a pinch looking for a job after graduating, there's an attachment program in my hospital just for fresh graduates like you, with no experience and connections," Mr. Lee comments. You know the intentions behind his words are far from genuine as you see the distinct flicker of power play in his eyes. And despite the jab affecting you more than you expected, you resist the urge to lash out.

In fact, you laugh in the face of humiliation. You won't show this self-conceited, power-tripping asshole that his words offended you because that would just be giving him what he was looking for—submission to power.

Mr. Lee seems to find it amusing that you aren't shivering in his presence, and that irritates him. "Well, do enlighten me about this research my son was talking about, Y/N." His striking gaze feels like it’s shooting lasers through you, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't scared. For fuck’s sake, you literally just found out about this apparent research project you were supposedly working on, and he wants you to 'enlighten' him?

But come to think about it, It's okay to be scared. It just means you're about to do something really, really brave.

"I would be more than happy to. Our area of research focuses mainly on coercive human behaviours," you smile at him, noticing a slight twitch in his eyes.

"Oh, is that so? What have you learnt so far?" Mr. Lee raises his eyebrows, feigning interest.

"That being a control freak is a weakness, not a strength," you start, noticing his facial expression hardening. "A famous psychologist once said, 'If you can't allow others to shine, you're exhibiting signs of narcissism and showing a lack of self-confidence.'"

"I personally think it's just isolation through ego," you shrug, turning to look at Heeseung. His eyes, which lost their sparkle ever since his father showed up, look at you with so much fondness and admiration that you swear you see the entire galaxy in them.

"I think that's all the time I have for today. Excuse me, for I am a busy man," Mr. Lee stands up from his seat a little too aggressively, and for the first time since you met him, he falters.

"Thank you for the wonderful meal, Mr. Lee," you calmly stand from your seat, reaching out your hand to him. He reluctantly takes it in his own, forcing a smile that almost makes you burst out in laughter.

"Thank you for the wonderful company and insightful conversation, Y/N."

"The pleasure is all mine," you reply, maintaining your composure even as he exits the room.

#3 - The Paradox

You sprawl over in your own bed, tangling up in your blanket as you recall the events of that Saturday morning. You must've been crazy, drugged even, to have had that much courage to stand up to his father like that. You, who couldn't even say 'no' to your own friends, lost your temper over something like that? It must've been a fever dream.

Except it wasn't, and you lie there in disbelief, cursing yourself for making such a bold decision. Maybe Heeseung was right—you really were an idiot. You think back about what made you so angry and every conclusion leads to one thing (or person, actually): Lee Heeseung.

You can't bear to see him so helpless and afraid in front of someone who is supposed to be his father. Someone who literally gave life to him was making him feel like he couldn't even be safe at home. It angers you and, thus, scares you because you care about him more than you ever realised. Because caring about someone means being vulnerable, and you've never been good at that.

You tell yourself that it didn't have to be Heeseung—that for anybody else in that same predicament, you would have acted and felt the same. You convince yourself that what happened was your guilty conscience talking, your sense of justice prevailing, or literally anything that fits the narrative. You fail to consider that, hey, maybe you do have a soft spot for him.

Sure, you care about the boy since he is someone you can lean on and be yourself around. So why does every thought about him lead back to you on his lap, hands on his chest, and his lips on your own?

Your fingers absentmindedly reach up, landing on your lips as you fondle them. You notice how chapped they are and mentally cringe at the possibility that they were in this condition when you and Heeseung made out.

There it is again—the sound of your heartbeat pounding vigorously against your chest. It was just a kiss. You've had plenty of those, so why is it that when it comes to Heeseung, you can't seem to get rid of that churning feeling in your stomach?

That feeling scares you. So, you avoid him.

Heeseung has texted you multiple times over the past few days, asking if you wanted to come over to continue with your project. You've exhausted almost every excuse possible to avoid doing so. Partially because you don't want to risk running into his father again, but mainly because you're running away from your feelings—feelings that you are already subconsciously aware of, just buried deep within you.

Each excuse you send feels more feeble than the last. "Got a lot of homework." "Feeling under the weather." "Have to help Chaewon with something." You know Heeseung isn't buying it, but he doesn't push. Each time, he responds with understanding, though you can almost sense the disappointment in his texts.

Every time your phone buzzes with a new message from him, your heart skips a beat. You can’t help but read his messages over and over, your mind replaying the scene in his room. You remember how his eyes softened when he looked at you, how his touch sent shivers down your spine.

The more you think about it, the more you realise that avoiding him isn't going to make these feelings disappear. It's not going to make your heart stop racing or your stomach stop fluttering. You can't keep pretending that what happened didn't matter.

I made a little room in my heart. You, who I can't forget, is standing there. I open that door, so that your voice that I long for calls me...

"Y/L/N Y/N!" The familiar voice jolts you back to reality, followed by a series of knocks at your front door. You frown, not expecting any visitors on a weekday evening. As far as you know, only Chaewon, Yunjin, Sakura, and your parents know where you live.

Dragging your feet to the door, you check the mini tablet and see Lee Heeseung standing on the other side. What the fuck? It comes back to you that Heeseung has walked you home plenty of times, some days even to your front door after you insisted that he didn't need to.

You mentally panic as you scrutinise your appearance in the full-length mirror by the door, grimacing at your musty attire and the messy bun your hair is tied up in. You look... awake at best.

"Y/N? I swear to God I heard something." Heeseung's voice echoes through the intercom, and the panicky feeling settles in even more. You think to yourself that he came all the way here to see you; you can't possibly leave him stranded outside like that. After another knock on your door, you give in, unlocking it and coming face-to-face with the very man you've been avoiding all week.

"About time," Heeseung smirks, catching a view of you in all your glory. You roll your eyes and step aside to let him into your humble abode.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, trying to sound nonchalant.

"To see you," he shrugs, as you look away, blushing. Not that it mattered anyway, since Heeseung is concentrating on taking his shoes off carefully to avoid creasing them.

"We see each other in school. You didn't have to come all the way here," you say, eyebrows raised, still unsure of his true motives. It wasn't unusual for you and Heeseung to be together in an enclosed space, just the two of you, but something feels different than before. An atmosphere that only started presenting itself after your shared kiss the other day.

"Yeah, but not when you're literally avoiding me," he replies, squinting his eyes at you. You mentally face-palm, realising he already knew what you were doing.

"I was not!"

"Sure, princess, anything you say." Your heart skips a beat at his new nickname for you, and you almost overlook the slight hint of sarcasm in his voice. "Though I would believe otherwise when you literally looked at me and turned the other way that day in the cafeteria."

"I didn't even see you... besides, I was rushing off to run an errand somewhere," you lie, though your alibi isn't solid enough to justify it. "So, you do remember what happened." He leans in close to you with a cheeky smile that you hadn't realised you missed over the few days you hadn't seen him.

"Gosh, you're intolerable," you mutter, putting a reasonable distance between Heeseung and yourself as you brisk-walk timidly over to your sofa.

"I know, you've told me that twenty-three times now," he says, genuinely surprising you that he was even keeping count of the things you say to him. Heeseung thinks to himself if he was always this attentive to detail or if it was just because of you.

You sit down on the sofa, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, trying to steady your racing thoughts. Heeseung follows, sitting beside you, his presence both comforting and nerve-wracking.

"Though I'm really here to see you, I would also like to remind you that there's a project of some sort due in two weeks," Heeseung smirks, and you playfully roll your eyes.

"I would have you know that I did not forget, which is why I've been working on the melody in my own free time. In fact, I was even singing it right before you so abruptly barged into my apartment."

"Barged?" Heeseung scoffs, picking up a pillow and throwing it at you, purposely aiming higher so it'd fly over your head. You laugh, feeling a warm sensation spreading from your chest to the rest of your body.

"Okay, rockstar, then show me what you got." He passes you a half-filled water bottle, presumably for you to use as a microphone. Heeseung wants you to sing, right now, in front of him?

"Hell no."

"Oh, come on, you do know we have to actually record it, right? I'll hear you sing sooner or later," he tries to convince you. To be honest, you still aren't very confident. You aren't tone-deaf, thankfully, but definitely not the best singer out there. The only other person you've ever sung to was your grandmother, and that was when you were ten years old.

"Fine," you huff. "You're not allowed to laugh though."

Heeseung cackles and nods to reassure you, which doesn't really help, but it's the intention that counts. You close your eyes and begin singing the lyrics to one of the verses you wrote the other day.

In this unstable world, when there was no place to stand. It held me from somewhere, that invisible touch. Once again I want your warm embrace, I'll go and find you...

The words flow out, surprisingly smoothly, the melody carrying them effortlessly. You lose yourself in the song for a moment, forgetting Heeseung is even there.

Heeseung once again finds all his senses bewitched by you; his eyes wander over your features as you sing, his nose drowning in the homely scent of you, and his ears captivated by the melancholic tone in your voice. He hears you sing for the first time, and it's almost angelic. As you had said, you're not the best singer, but that distinct sharpness in your voice makes it impossible for Heeseung to get it off his mind.

Heeseung finds himself reaching his hand out to you, unable to resist your magnetic pull as he you finish off the next line.

Your warm breath, dazzling smile. When I close my eyes, I feel you, I believe you...

You feel a warm touch rest upon your cheeks, and instinctively lean into it, seeking the comforting warmth in the approaching winter. Your eyes flutter open, wincing at the sudden waves of bright light that blur your vision. Gradually, as your sight clears, it focuses on one person alone, eclipsing everything else around you. Before you sits a masterpiece, captivating your attention entirely.

Heeseung finds himself ensnared in the stars of your eyes, momentarily delirious as he glimpses a whole other galaxy within them—a black hole drawing him closer to you. Then, amidst the cosmic symphony, he hears it—the mingling of your heartbeat with his own. His heart, accustomed to beating for himself, now beats for someone else, and it only takes a mere millisecond for him to realise he has fallen in love with you.

It also takes a mere millisecond for the image of his father to intrude upon his thoughts.

Heeseung insisted on driving you back to your apartment that day, but you were adamant about him staying. You didn't want him to get into any more trouble because of you. However, it never occurred to you that he might just have wanted to leave with you just to escape his father's presence.

As you bid him goodbye and walked off his front porch, his father's voice echoed from behind Heeseung in a low whisper, "Cut off contact after this project of yours. Don't disappoint me, son."

Heeseung withdrew his hand from your face in a panic, and you, seeking the warmth you had just lost, leaned forward in a futile attempt to recapture it.

"Hey, what's wrong?" you ask, concern lacing your voice as you notice tears streaming down Heeseung's face. He frantically hides his face in the sleeves of his sweater, seemingly trying to shield his vulnerability from you as he does not want you worrying.

Rightfully so, because you are worried. The last thing you expect when Heeseung shows up at your doorstep is to see him cry. Hell, you didn’t even know he had the ability to shed tears. Part of you wonders if you're somehow the cause of his tears, stirring up feelings of guilt within you.

"Was my singing so horrible that you burst into tears, Heeseung?" you try to lighten the mood with a joke, hoping to bring some comfort to the situation. You're relieved to hear a faint snort from behind his sweater paws, indicating that your attempt at humor isn't entirely lost on him. Still, you can't shake off the concern gnawing at you.

Instinctively, you reach out and grasp his wrist, delicately shifting aside his sweater to expose his tear-streaked face. His eyes are swollen, and his nose is red, the sight pulling at your heartstrings to witness him in such visible distress. "Didn't know you were such a crybaby," you say lightly, hoping to lighten the mood even more as you brush away a fresh tear that teeters on the edge of his cheek.

"You look like my bestie Rudolph!" you tease, lightly poking his nose. He scrunches it up, his lips forming a pout as he watches you caress his face, a hint of a smile breaking through his sadness.

"One might think you actually care for me," Heeseung murmurs, voicing his thoughts. You’re taken aback, the question echoing in your mind, both heart and mind answering: yes.

"If you know that already, then don't ever cry like this in front of me again," you say gently, your thumb tracing soothing circles on his cheeks. Your eyes search his face for any sign that he wants you to stop, but you find none. Instead, Heeseung leans in and plants a chaste peck on your lips, catching you by surprise. The warmth of his lips lingers, mingling with the salty taste of his tears. You purse your lips and cringe slightly, lightheartedly pushing him away as he laughs, the sound like music to your ears.

Heeseung, feeling an urgent need to be closer to you, grabs your legs and places them across his lap, positioning you to face him. The sudden movement startles you, but you quickly settle, bending your knees and leaning against them as you stare up at him. From this angle, you notice the sharpness of his nose, the slight stubble on his chin, and the way his eyes, now clear of tears, hold a depth of emotion that tugs at your heartstrings.

As you study his features, you’re overwhelmed by a rush of feelings. The boy who always seemed so strong and composed now looks at you with such raw vulnerability that it breaks and mends your heart simultaneously. Heeseung’s gaze is equally intense, his eyes exploring your face as if memorising every detail. He seems entranced, lost in your siren eyes as though he’s seeing you for the first time.

"Will you tell me why you suddenly cried now?" you ask softly, concern lacing your voice. A brief silence falls between you as Heeseung contemplates whether to come clean. You wait patiently, playing with the ring on his pinky finger, not wanting to push his boundaries if he isn’t ready to speak.

"Remember how I told you I have an older sister?" Heeseung begins, his gaze drifting past your eyes into a sea of nothingness. "Her name is Lee Hae-yi."

Heeseung giggles as he recalls details about his sister, and you look at him fondly. "She takes after our mother a lot. It's something I've always been envious of. Hae-yi, she's incredible. We had many similar interests growing up, and she was somehow always better than me at everything we did. She's my biggest role model. I'd give the entire world for her to be happy." His face brightens at the mention of his sister, and you find yourself envious of the sibling bond he has with her, wishing you had a sibling of your own.

"My father wants me to take over the company when he retires, but she’s the one that deserves it, not me. I have no intention of running the company, but he's very adamant about me being the one to do it." Heeseung sighs, tightening his grip on your hand. "Even though the entire family can see that my sister is the natural-born leader—it’s the only quality she takes after my father. But he refuses to leave it in her hands. He says a woman can never hold leadership positions or other misogynistic bullshit. So, my father sent her away to the States, told her to study there and someday prove herself to him."

"He was never going to give her a chance in the first place, and she knew it, but she went anyway..." Heeseung pauses, and your eyes shoot up when you hear him sniffle. "She left because of me. Now I can't go on another day knowing she probably hates me for taking her spot that she worked her entire life for." A lone tear escapes the crevices of his eye, and you reach up to swipe it away, your palm resting on his face as he leans into your warmth.

"My father has a reputation to uphold, and I am naturally a part of that reputation. He expects me to be the perfect son, even if it's pretentious. I became the person I am and do the things I do as an act of defiance. I didn't want to feel like he had full control over me," Heeseung smiles solemnly, finally making eye contact with you after fully exposing every detail about himself and his story. It hits you that the things you knew about him were only surface-level problems and that they actually ran much deeper than just Jake.

"Don't you ever just want to stop everything and be free?" you ask foolishly. Heeseung giggles at your innocence, unknowingly breaking your heart a little more.

"Of course I do, but I won’t suffer the consequences alone. To my father, his career comes first, and everything else falls in line after."

"Even family?" you ask, incredulous. Heeseung nods, and your lips part, wanting to say something, but you decide against it and return to listening attentively.

"That man would do anything to defend what's important to him, even if it means hurting his own blood. I can't—won't—allow the people I care about to suffer because of my actions, even if it means playing a pawn in his little game." Heeseung caresses your hand, drawing circles in the centre of your palm. You grin and push the hair covering his eyes away from his face, noting the softness of his hair and the way it falls perfectly even when dishevelled.

"Thank you, Heeseung, for telling me this," you say, your voice filled with sincerity. Although you want to argue that he should fight for his freedom and not live for the sake of others, you can't bring yourself to tell him that, because you are doing the exact same thing.

"No, thank you for listening, Y/N.”

"Well, if running a company isn't your forté, what do you actually want to do?" you ask, hoping to take his mind off his very pressing situation. You watch him closely, noticing the way his expression shifts to one of even deeper regret.

"I think you already have some sort of an idea," he replies, managing a small smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I want to be a singer-songwriter."

"That surprisingly kind of suits you, Mr. Idol," you laugh, reaching out to pinch his cheeks. He puffs them up, making you lose your grip, and you can't help but smile at his playful defiance. Leaning down, he gently pushes you back onto the sofa, his hand supporting the small of your back as he towers over you. Your hair sprawls over the cushion beneath you as you look up at him, your breathing becoming uneven from the sudden closeness.

As you gaze into his eyes, you feel an undeniable connection. Everything the two of you do feels so natural; from the hand-holding to the hugging to the kissing even. It's as if you two are actually dating, but you aren't. It feels almost too perfect, too seamless. That alone feels wrong, how it comes so naturally even though you have no labels.

You close your eyes, expecting your lips to meet his again, but instead, you feel his warm lips gently press against your forehead. The unexpected tenderness makes your heart swell, and when your eyes flutter open, you see his own staring back at you with an intensity that takes your breath away. He gazes at you as if you are the most precious thing in the world, and it sends shivers down your spine.

You giggle softly as he snuggles into your neck, his hand wrapping around your waist protectively. You make space for him on the couch, allowing him to fit perfectly beside you. With your face buried in his chest, his chin resting on top of your head, and his arms wrapped securely around your small frame, you feel a profound sense of peace wash over you. His warmth seeps into your skin, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you finally feel safe.

One question constantly replays itself in your mind as you slowly drift off into a deep slumber. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear is both soothing and grounding. In the hushed quiet of the room, you whisper, "What are we?"

The question hangs in the air, laden with all the emotions and uncertainties you've been grappling with. You feel his arms tighten around you, a silent promise of protection and something more. As you drift into sleep, the thought lingers, a beacon of hope and a source of fear all at once.

That morning, as you gradually awaken to the muted light filtering through your window, you're met with an emptiness beside you that's both physical and emotional. The warmth lingering in the vacant space beside you feels like a cruel reminder of Heeseung's absence, and it weighs heavily on your heart. The realisation that he left without a word of farewell hits you like a punch to the gut, leaving you disheartened and bewildered.

Before you have a chance to fully process his departure, the bright rays of the morning sun illuminate your living room, casting warm hues across the space. The sudden awareness of the time jolts you into action, and you curse under your breath at the realisation that you're running late for class.

"Curse you, Lee Heeseung," you groan, quickly ripping the blanket covering your body away and scrambling to your feet, feeling lightheaded from the sudden movement.

"Good morning, sunshine," your head instantly whips around at the familiar voice you were longing for just a few seconds again, momentarily taken aback before relief floods your senses.

"I thought you left," you murmur, the words tinged with a mixture of hurt and longing, though you try to keep your tone neutral. He smirks, sensing the disappointment in your voice. Oh, how you wish you could rip that sweet sweet smile off his face..

"Why? Were you disappointed because you thought I left?" Heeseung's teasing tone irks you, stirring up a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. His smirk only serves to deepen your irritation, fueling a desire to push back against his playful demeanour.

"Jerk," you grumble and Heeseung laughs, finding your sulking expression adorable.

"Who's the crybaby now, huh?" Heeseung's playful jab catches you off guard, eliciting a scoff as you feign nonchalance.

"I'm not even crying, idiot," you retort, a mixture of amusement and exasperation colouring your words as you shoot him a playful glare. Heeseung giggles and carefully pulls you into a warm embrace, as if you’re a piece of fragile glass, afraid that even the slightest pressure might make you crumble.

It’s official—You and Heeseung are in a situationship. If someone were to ask you how it feels to have something you wanted so badly just within reach yet still fail to grasp it, you'd tell them it feels absolutely shitty.

It bothers you how he doesn't seem to mind that your relationship has no label, yet he still initiates things that only couples do. You're conflicted; your heart tells you one thing, but your mind tells you another, and you can't seem to decide which feeling to follow. The only thing you're certain of is that you want to be by his side.

It's a tangled web of emotions, one that Heeseung and you are both ensnared in. He knows it's complicated. He'd be a liar if he said he didn't want to be with you, close to you. But that courage to stand up against his father seems to evade him every time he tries to grasp it. Every time Heeseung closes his eyes, attempting to convince himself to fight for what he wants, his father's image intrudes his thoughts, and he’s back at square one all over again. It’s an endless cycle he can’t break out of. So, instead of making promises he knows damn well he can’t keep, he keeps you close to him under the guise of a research project that is only going to last a mere week.

As promised to his father, after one week, you'll be gone from his life, and vice versa. It's for the best, or at least that's what Heeseung has convinced himself of, that one week is all he needs to psycho himself into believing he doesn't need you; like the two of you never even met.

Except you did, and now you know each other's deepest, darkest secrets. But he knows you wouldn’t tell a soul, and likewise for himself. Then again, Heeseung is making all these decisions on his own, assuming that you’d be perfectly okay with it when the time comes around.

The ambiguity of your relationship with Heeseung leaves you grappling with questions that have no easy answers. As you try to make sense of it all, you can't help but wonder if he's aware of the turmoil brewing within you.

It's a silent struggle, one that you keep hidden beneath a façade of normalcy. It's almost funny how when you thought he didn't stay, you were hurt; when you realised he didn't actually leave, you were still hurt because you knew deep down that you couldn't hold onto him forever. Yet, amidst the confusion, there's a glimmer of hope, a fleeting sense of connection that keeps drawing you back to him, despite the looming deadline that threatens to tear you apart.

Saturday arrives, and for once, you find yourself declining your friends' invitation to attend the weekly parties. They're disappointed sure, but you reassure yourself that missing one party won't be detrimental to anyone. Chaewon did notice your frequent moments of distraction and introspection, behaviours she's never observed in you before. You brush off her concerns, attributing your preoccupation to stress over upcoming projects and submission deadlines. After all, it's your final semester.

Sunghoon also picks up on your behavioural changes, especially when you're around Heeseung. To him, you appear shy, like a kindergarten kid experiencing their first crush. However, he knows you well enough to anticipate that you'd argue otherwise if he were to express his observations.

Meanwhile, you find yourself spending most of your time in Heeseung's bedroom, working on a song that holds no academic value. You vaguely remember how you were dreading even thinking about this project and just wanting to get it over with, hell, you were even willing to turn in a nursery rhyme if the situation calls for it. With that thought, you chuckle to yourself as you sit in your usual spot on Heeseung’s bed, enveloped in the familiar scent of Teakwood and cigarettes lingering in the sweater that embraced you.

"Thoughts about singing the last chorus together?" Heeseung skillfully tucks the pencil he was just using behind his ear as he swivels around on his chair from his table to face you.

"You sure about that? I'm afraid I might outshine you." You comically brush your loose hair and shoot him a smirk, prompting him to jokingly roll his eyes back at you. "Is that so, Ms. Mariah Carey?"

"On a serious note, I really think singing the last chorus makes the song sound, I don't know... more desperate?"

"I see your point. Though I would hate to ruin the climax of the song with my horrendous singing, if Mr. Future K-pop Star says so, I have to do it." You smirk again when Heeseung scoffs before breaking out into small fits of laughter—laughter that sounds like music to your ears. "I can't take you seriously." He swivels back to face the computer displaying the music editing software. Your song is in its final stages of production before you and Heeseung can go ahead and record the demo, and it's one demo away before Heeseung has to completely cut you out of his life as promised.

The mere thought of letting go fills his heart with unease and uncertainty, crossing his mind during the day or even right before he falls asleep. Every fibre of his being resists the notion of parting ways, as if holding on tighter could somehow freeze time and preserve the precious connection you share.

In the quiet depths of his heart, Heeseung finds himself surreptitiously gazing at you, consumed by an overwhelming affection while struggling with the bittersweet truth that letting go may be an inevitable choice, but one he's not yet ready to make.

The universe is a paradox. Some might believe that even though a person eventually dies, your relationship with them doesn't, as it will live on forever, never changing. However, the truth about forever? It doesn't exist. Nothing lasts forever. Not you, your feelings, your relationships, the sun, the moon, or even the galaxies. Although forever has no meaning when one is living in the moment, and you, for one, aren't ready for that moment to end.

At the end of the day, the absolute truth is that all this shit about 'nothing lasts forever' is just an excuse for both of your lack of courage and commitment because those who truly want to be together find a way to make it happen.

In an inconspicuous outbuilding situated in the family's backyard, the hallways are unusually clean yet dark. Heeseung explains that the building is being used as sleeping quarters for the housemaids, which explains the customised doors that line the halls. He also mentions it's the only part of the house where he could actually build a recording studio without his father finding out.

You step into the recording booth, the air humming with anticipation as the padded walls cocoon you in a world of sound. With a pair of headphones hugging your ears, you feel the rhythm pulsate through your veins, while the microphone stands tall, poised to capture every nuance of your voice. The word 'nervous' is more than an understatement for what you're feeling at the moment as you watch Heeseung's every move on the other side of the tempered glass. It's endearing to say the least, watching the boy thrive in his element, right where he belongs.

You jump a little as you hear his voice coming out from the speakers in the booth, "You ready?" You find Heeseung looking at you with confidence, maybe more than you have for yourself. You feel the pressure, and Heeseung knows that the only thing he can do is show you that he believes in you. Heeseung is right because something about his unspoken trust assures you, even gives you that little boost of self-confidence you need as you sing your lines in the first verse.

Tears filled with regrets flow unconsciously. I wish I could follow to wherever and flow somewhere. In that warm sunlight, I want to let myself go, so that I can meet you...

Almost on instinct, Heeseung leans in, captivated by every word that leaves your lips, his gaze fixed upon you as your melodic voice fills the room. Every note, every accentuation, every lyric, is delicately captured by his ears as if he's savouring a rare delicacy.

At that moment, the world around him fades into a distant murmur, leaving only the desperate purity of your singing. He listens not only with his ears but with his heart, appreciating the beauty of your voice and the story it conveys. His face reflects a mixture of awe and admiration, mirroring the emotions woven into each line you sing.

The room is filled with an unspoken connection, a shared language that transcends words. In this tender exchange of sound, Heeseung embraces your vulnerability, your strength, and the extraordinary power you have over him.

You're one star, that's your name

You finish off the last line of the song before realising you had your eyes closed the entire time. Turning to look at Heeseung, who has an unfathomable expression on his face, you know singing wasn't your forte, but it couldn't have been so bad to the point he looked like he was about to cry. "So... did I do okay?" The sound of your voice brings Heeseung back from whatever futile thoughts he had running through his head, focusing on the present—on you.

"You were amazing, princess," Heeseung says, and you blush upon hearing the nickname he gave you. Although it isn't the first time, you still feel light-headed whenever he uses it. "I'll take whatever compliment I can get," you comment, and he smiles lightly to himself, replaying the recording so you can hear it for yourself. Heeseung was right; you weren't half-bad after all.

After re-recording some parts and unwillingly adding in adlibs as per Heeseung's request, this time you find yourself in the producer's seat while Heeseung stands behind the microphone, which he had to readjust to fit his height. It's no surprise that he manages to record everything in such a short period of time with very minimal mistakes. Once again, you catch a glimpse of the Heeseung who can do anything if he puts his heart and mind into it.

This is your first time recording a song, and you're pretty sure it shouldn't be this easy. You were mentally preparing yourself for the insults that he would throw at you. However, considering this is just for a mere ungraded school project, you think maybe that's why Heeseung isn't picking on every little flaw like he would any other project. Then again, the Heeseung you know is a perfectionist, so being able to leave the recording studio unscathed is a mystery for not only you but also Heeseung himself.

"I can't believe we actually finished this song," you remark as you stroll alongside Heeseung in the hallway, a slight spring in your steps. Heeseung grins, carefully matching his pace with yours, still attentively listening to your speech of accomplishment.

"The night is still young. I say we take our celebrations to the party at Sunoo’s. You could finally meet my friends so they can stop having this false perception of you. What do you think?" You turn on your heels to face him, half-expecting an excited expression on his face, so you are taken aback when a lone tear falls past his cheek.

"Heeseung-ah..." Without a second thought, you pull him into a tight embrace. "I'm sorry, I said that without thinking. We don't have to go. Let's stay in and watch a movie instead, hm?" Heeseung shakes his head beside you, and you pull away just enough to catch sight of his face. "No, I'm not crying because of that, don't worry."

"Then what is it about?"

"I'm just... happy, that's all."

"You're so precious, you know that?" You hold his face between your cold hands as you stare into his eyes, neither of you willing to look away first. You lean in and gently kiss the freshly escaped teardrop as if the essence of sorrow itself had been distilled into this tiny, tasteable form. "This is the second time I caught you crying, that's twice more than me." He giggles as he gently grabs your hands into the palm of his own. "Let's go."

"Great! I have this movie I really wanted to-"

"No, Y/N, let's go meet your friends."

With a heavy heart and a bittersweet urgency, Heeseung embraces the knowledge that your time together is drawing to a close. The impending separation looms, but he clings to a precious sliver of time, determined to make it count, even if it means sacrificing everything to see you smile one last time.

You give Heeseung the address to Sunoo’s place and tell him to meet you in front of his house. Standing outside in your off-shoulder top, you take yet another glance at your watch—10 minutes past your agreed meeting time. Anxiety creeps in, mingling with the chilly night air, as you wonder if he'll show up or if this was a mistake.

You come to a consensus that you should've known better than to convince Heeseung to go partying with you after everything he did to hide that fact from everyone. Guilt gnaws at you, knowing you may have pushed him out of his comfort zone, and you wouldn’t even blame him if he decided to bail on you.

You text Chaewon, asking her where they are so you can go ahead and look for them, but you receive no response. You figure she's probably having too much fun to pay attention to her phone.

Freezing and desperate for a glass of alcohol to numb your nerves, you make your way into the house. Inside, it pulses with energy as vibrant music fills the air, its rhythmic beats reverberating through the packed living room. Colourful lights flash and dance across the room, casting an enchanting glow on the eclectic crowd that has gathered for a night of revelry. The dance floor is a sea of motion, a kaleidoscope of bodies writhing to the infectious tunes, and you make a mental note not to lose yourself in the bustling crowd this evening.

Approaching the open bar, you pour yourself a cup of beer to kick off the night. The cool liquid soothes your parched throat, offering a momentary reprieve from the chaos around you. It's ironic, really, now that you think about it, because no matter how hard you try to escape or manifest excuses out of thin air, you always end up back here with a beer in hand, willingly or not.

As much as you've convinced yourself that you certainly weren't made for the nightlife, you can't deny that you stand out amidst the sea of people. Maybe sometimes, you actually do have fun, more than you'd let yourself believe.

As you take a sip from your cup, you feel a hand on your lower back, causing you to almost jerk forward. "Hey baby, you here alone?" Turning around, you find a young man in a button-up shirt that accentuates his physique. The strong smell of alcohol emanating from him indicates that he's already quite drunk, even though it's barely 8 PM.

"I'm actually here with some friends, thanks for asking," you respond politely, trying to maintain composure despite the uncomfortable situation. However, your patience wears thin as you feel him inching closer. "Can't a lady have her personal space?" you retort, your tone growing irritated as you notice his offensive scrutiny of your attire.

But he brushes off your discomfort, continuing to leer at you. "Come on, don't act like you hate it. You're basically asking for it, I mean look at this dress..." His words trail off as he shamelessly scrutinises your appearance, his hand still firmly planted on your back. Feeling increasingly uneasy, you shift uncomfortably under his gaze, and he takes advantage of your vulnerability by leaning in closer, his breath uncomfortably close to your ear.

You despise how some men automatically assume they're entitled to your attention or affection, simply because of how you're dressed. You know that physically fighting back would likely escalate the situation, especially since he appears much stronger than you. Not wanting to cause a scene in the bar, you consider threatening to call the police as a last resort.

Before you can take action, however, a sudden commotion erupts nearby, and the man is forcibly pulled away from you. Relief washes over you as you realise that someone has intervened, sparing you from further discomfort.

"She has a boyfriend." Your head snaps to the source of the voice, finding Heeseung glaring daggers at the man.

"Heeseung," you call out softly. He turns to you, searching your eyes for any sign of disapproval. When he finds none, he breathes a sigh of relief.

"Should have known it was too good to be true," the man mutters, ruffling his hair in clear frustration. You can't help but laugh, realising you're probably just one of many attempts he's made tonight. Heeseung walks up beside you at the bar, pouring a drink before turning to you.

"Didn't think I'd show up?" he asks, noticing the stunned expression on your face. You nod, still watching him, grateful for his intervention.

"So you're my boyfriend now?" you smirk, taking another sip from your cup to mask the fluttering feeling in your chest. Heeseung laughs, a bit embarrassed, and takes a sip from his own drink.

"Why? You like the sound of that?" he teases.

It's almost comical. You wouldn't take crap from any other man, not even Sunghoon or Jay, but you’d let this man openly tease you about your ongoing situationship. Yet, you willingly succumb yourself to the fluttering feeling in your chest.

"You don't?" you retort boldly. Your response catches Heeseung off guard, and he nearly chokes on his drink. As you laugh at his reaction, you notice a fleeting look of panic and sorrow on his face. The thought that he does like the idea of being your boyfriend crosses his mind, only dampened by the reality that this might be his last chance to be this close to you.

You're about to push the joke even further when a familiar voice calls out. "Y/N!" You turn to see Chaewon and Sakura making their way towards you from the corner where your friends are gathered. Their overjoyed expressions slowly morph into confusion as they notice Heeseung standing beside you.

You wonder why Chaewon and Sakura seem so confused—it’s not like they didn't know you were hanging around Heeseung. Then, as you really take in his appearance for the first time that night, you realise he’s dressed up for the occasion. He’s wearing a black graphic tee with a blazer thrown on haphazardly, his hair carefully parted down the centre, and his iconic round glasses are gone, no longer perched on his nose. This is the Lee Heeseung you first noticed at that club all those months back.

It slowly hits you: this is the first time your friends are seeing him outside of his usual nerdy persona.

"Lee?" Chaewon questions, eyebrows furrowed as she wraps her hand around Sakura's arm, nudging her. Heeseung smiles awkwardly and gives you a knowing look, silently asking you to act like you forced him to come (which, technically, you did).

"Chaewon, Sakura. I don’t think you two have officially met. This is Lee Heeseung." Chaewon subtly tilts her head, clearly puzzled as to why the academy's top student is at a frat party on a Saturday evening. "I wanted to have some fun after finishing our project, so I dragged him here," you explain hastily, hoping neither of them notices the little white lie.

"Wow, you really dressed him up nicely," Sakura remarks, her backhanded compliment making you roll your eyes as you quietly mouth curses at her.

"Come on, let’s introduce you to the gang," Chaewon cuts in just before the atmosphere turns awkward, and you mentally thank her for being the angel she is.

You sense Heeseung stiffen beside you, so you take his hand to reassure him that your friends are nice. Not that he doubted their kindness; he just doubted they’d want him there. However, he did say he'd come to meet your friends, so he doesn't resist.

With eager anticipation, you lead him into the heart of your cherished social circle, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness as your two worlds collide. You can't help but steal glances at Heeseung, who seems to be taking in everything with cautious curiosity. Your friends, too, look intrigued, if not a bit taken aback, by his transformation.

It’s awkward at first, but after some drinks and a few icebreakers, Heeseung starts to warm up to your friends, and vice versa. Yunjin, in particular, gets more comfortable with him than you’d like. Knowing her, it’s probably her attempt at flirting with Heeseung now that he’s the hot guy at the party everyone wants a piece of. You don’t expect any better from Yunjin, but Heeseung? He gladly reciprocates her flirtatious attempts, even black knight drinks for her whenever she loses one of your drinking games.

You’ve been sending Heeseung death glares, which he’d notice if only he spared you a glance or two in the last fifteen minutes. The word 'jealousy' is an understatement at this point. But then again, why would you be jealous? It’s not like the two of you are dating. But you did get close to him first. You know his little secret, you slept on his bed, heck, you even made out with him. You, not Yunjin, not Chaewon, not Sakura, and certainly not Jay or Sunghoon. So why are you getting the least attention from him among everyone else?

Frustrated, you pull out your phone and send him a piece of your mind. His phone vibrates on the table, but he doesn’t notice it. Pettily, you kick him in the shin under the table, and he lets out a yelp. You signal to his phone, and he checks it, smirking when he sees the content.

Heeseung excuses himself first, and you follow a few minutes later, claiming you’re going to get more drinks for everyone. Your friends are already past the boundary between sober and drunk, and they probably don’t even hear you. If they do, they’re too intoxicated to process it in their heads fast enough before you leave.

You squeeze yourself between the messy tango of people in the house until you reach the base of the staircase. Upstairs has fewer people, though most of them are likely looking for an empty room to complete their seven minutes in heaven with a stranger they just met. You find Heeseung leaning against the ledge overlooking the ground floor, and you just stand and admire him in all his glory until he finally notices you.

“Took you long enough,” Heeseung teases, reaching a hand out for you to hold, and you do just that. He pulls you in closer, spinning you around against the ledge so you’re now trapped between it and him. His arms press against either side of you, leaving you with nowhere to run, not that you would if given the chance.

“Never knew The Y/L/N Y/N could get jealous so easily. I must have overestimated you.” He leans in, and you can smell the vivid scent of alcohol mixed with cigarettes edged onto the fabric of his clothes.

“I told you, I’m not jealous.” You roll your eyes, trying to mask the fact that he’s hit the nail on the head.

“Oh, really?” Heeseung’s voice is a low murmur, his breath warm against your ear. “Then why were you glaring at me like that?”

“I just didn’t like seeing Yunjin all over you,” you admit, your voice softer than you intended. The truth slips out before you can stop it, and you feel a rush of vulnerability.

Heeseung chuckles, a sound that vibrates through you. “Well, I’m sorry that you felt like I wasn’t giving you enough attention. You have it all now.”

Your heart flutters at his words, and you look up at him, searching his face for any hint of insincerity. But all you see is the same boy who has become so important to you, looking at you with a mixture of amusement and affection.

“You’re impossible,” you mumble, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

He shifts his hands to hold you firmly on your sides, not breaking eye contact for a second. “Am I holding on to you like you’re precious now?” You mentally cringe at yourself for having sent him that text. Not wanting to give him that satisfaction, you purposely ignore the question.

Heeseung smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “My precious princess,” he murmurs, closing the distance between you. His lips capture yours in a kiss that’s both gentle and passionate, and you feel yourself melting into him.

In that moment, the noise of the party fades away, leaving just the two of you in your own little world. And as Heeseung’s arms wrap around you, holding you close, you come to terms with the feeling that yes you do, you feel precious.

#4 - The Fallout

The night ends in a blur of emotions and stolen moments, the memory of Heeseung’s kiss lingering on your lips as you part ways. Heeseung walks you to your door, his hand lingering on yours before he finally lets go, promising to text you later. You watch him disappear into the night, a warm feeling settling in your chest despite the cold air.

But Heeseung’s warmth is replaced by a chilling reality when he arrives home. The house is dark and quiet, a stark contrast to the vibrant energy of the party. Heeseung tiptoes through the hallway, trying to avoid waking anyone, but the creak of a floorboard betrays him.

“Lee Heeseung.”

The voice is cold and sharp, freezing Heeseung in his tracks. He turns to see his father standing at the top of the stairs, the dim light casting a shadow over his face. His father’s stern expression is enough to drain any remaining warmth from Heeseung’s veins.

“Where have you been?” His father’s voice is controlled, but Heeseung can hear the underlying anger.

“I was just out with some friends,” Heeseung replies, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Don’t lie to me,” his father snaps, descending the stairs with heavy, deliberate steps. “I got a call from Mr Kim. His son showed him pictures of you at a party posted all over the academy’s forum.”

Heeseung’s heart sinks. Mr Kim, a family friend and strict disciplinarian. The old man's disapproval was well-known, and Heeseung’s father always took his word seriously. He must have been tipped off by his own children studying at the academy, and in true fashion, news spread like wildfire, especially among the elites. The anxiety gnaws at him as he imagines Mr. Kim's stern face, the way his father’s expression will harden with disappointment. Heeseung’s mind races, trying to find a way to mitigate the fallout.

“Father, I—”

Before he can finish, his father’s hand strikes him across the face, the force of the blow sending him stumbling back. The sharp sting spreads across his cheek, but it’s the look of disappointment in his father’s eyes that hurts the most.

“You disgrace this family,” his father seethes. “Sneaking out to drink and party like some delinquent. You’re throwing away everything we’ve worked for.”

Heeseung tries to speak, to defend himself, but his father’s next blow catches him in the ribs, knocking the wind out of him. Heeseung doubles over, gasping for breath, his vision blurring with tears. He doesn’t dare fight back; he knows it will only make things worse.

“You think you can just do whatever you want?” His father’s voice is a harsh whisper, filled with venom. “You’re nothing without this family, without me.”

Another punch lands on Heeseung’s shoulder, and he crumples to the floor, curling into himself in a futile attempt to shield his body from the blows. Each hit is a reminder of his place, of the expectations he’s failed to meet.

The beating continues, each strike heavier than the last, until finally, his father steps back, breathing heavily. Heeseung remains on the floor, pain radiating through his body, tears mixing with the blood from his split lip.

“Get to your room,” his father orders, voice cold. “And don’t think about leaving this house again without my permission.”

Heeseung drags himself up, each movement sending fresh waves of pain through him. He stumbles to his room, collapsing onto his bed. The darkness of his room feels like a refuge, but it’s not enough to keep the tears from falling.

Heeseung curls into himself, clutching his phone to his chest. He wants to call you, to hear your voice, to find some comfort in your presence, but he knows he can’t. The risk is too great. Instead, he texts you a simple goodnight, hoping you’ll understand the unspoken plea for solace.

As the pain in his body slowly dulls, the emotional scars feel even deeper. Heeseung closes his eyes, wishing for sleep to take him away from the reality of his life. But even in his dreams, he can’t escape the feeling of his father’s disappointment, a weight that crushes him more than any physical blow ever could.

A whole week passes by since that night at Sunoo’s, and you wonder if the universe is playing another game with you. You no longer run into Heeseung in the hallway or find him huddled up reading in a corner of the library. It’s strange. Not only have you not seen him, but he also hasn’t texted you back. He always texts you back.

You even consider finding him at his mansion, but now that your project is done and dusted, you no longer have a reason to show up at his front door without looking like a clingy girlfriend—who isn’t his girlfriend. There is also the issue with his father; you don’t want to risk running into that man more than you need to.

Surely something must’ve happened for him to blatantly ignore you. You’re not even going to convince yourself otherwise, because nobody just suddenly goes radio silent on someone. You think back to that night, wondering what could’ve possibly gone wrong. Was it the kiss? Did you come off too possessive in your text messages? Or was it the fact you guilt-tripped him into attending the party with you, and his face ended up everywhere on the Decelis T?

Yes, you’ve seen the posts. You’ve seen the way people talk about you and Heeseung. Frankly speaking, you couldn’t care less. This isn’t your first rodeo with what the people in this school have to say about you. You’re used to it. What you hate to see are the posts about Heeseung, about how you ruined his bright future. And you can’t help but think that what these trolls are saying holds some truth.

The whispers in the hallways, the stares, and the snide remarks—they don’t bother you. But the thought that Heeseung might be suffering because of you does. You remember the way he had held you at the party, the way he had looked at you with such warmth and affection. It seems impossible that he would just abandon you without a word.

You decide to visit the library one more time, hoping against hope that you might find him there. The library is almost empty, the silence broken only by the soft rustling of pages and the occasional whisper. You scan the room, but there’s no sign of him.

Defeated, you sit down at one of the tables, your mind racing with a thousand questions. You pull out your phone, scrolling through your messages with Heeseung, rereading them in search of any clue you might have missed. Each unanswered text feels like a weight on your chest, a reminder of the distance growing between you.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a sudden ping from your phone. You glance down, heart leaping with hope, only to see a message from Chaewon. She’s asking if you want to grab lunch, but you can’t muster the energy to respond. All you can think about is Heeseung and why he’s disappeared from your life so abruptly.

With a sigh, you put your phone away and rest your head on your arms, feeling a mixture of frustration and sadness. The library’s quiet atmosphere does little to soothe your troubled mind. As you sit there, your mind in a whirlwind of confusion and concern, you hear footsteps approaching. You glance up to see Jake walking past you, a book in hand and a frown on his face. Relief washes over you at the sight of a familiar face.

"Jake," you call out, standing up. The boy seems surprised that you even knew his name, given that you barely talked to him.

"Have you seen Heeseung? I haven't heard from him all week."

Jake's frown deepens. "No, I haven't seen him. I thought he was just busy with you. Looks like you don’t know where he’s been either.” You sense some animosity in his words, but you try not to focus too much on it.

“What do you mean busy with me?” you ask, eyebrows raised.

“That’s what everyone’s been saying. Lee Heeseung sleeping around with the campus slut.” You’re taken aback by his words, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t sting, especially on an open wound.

“Okay, ouch? What did I even do to you?” Your voice comes out more defensive than you wanted it to, and Jake isn’t dumb enough to not notice it.

“You’re one to talk,” he mutters, now just pushing at the tiny bits of patience you had left after all the shit you’ve endured this entire week.

Jake hesitates, then sighs. "He told me he was going to stay out of trouble and focus on his studies, but it seems like he lied. He’s been sneaking off to parties, thanks to the likes of you. Who knows? He’s probably grounded right now because of that.”

Your anger flares, and you take a step closer to Jake. "You think this is all my fault? That I'm some kind of bad influence on Heeseung? Do you even know what he’s going through? He needed an escape, Jake. He needed friends to support him, not judge him."

Jake crosses his arms, still looking skeptical. "Support? By dragging him to parties and getting him in trouble?"

"Support by being there for him when he feels suffocated by his father and this school!" you snap. "You don’t know half of what Heeseung’s dealing with. You think he’s lying to you, but maybe he just didn’t want to burden you with his problems."

Jake's expression softens slightly, but he still looks unconvinced. "I just thought he was focusing on his future. Now it seems like he’s throwing it all away."

You take a deep breath, trying to calm down. "Jake, Heeseung is trying to balance everything. He’s not perfect, and he’s going to make mistakes. But he needs his friends now more than ever. You don’t get to be disappointed in him without even trying to understand."

“And what makes you think you understand him? Y/N, you knew him barely for a quarter of the time I did. If there’s anything, he would’ve told me by now.” Jake snaps, his voice rising and attracting the attention of every nearby patron.

“I don’t think I understand him, Jake. I know I understand him, more than you ever will. Because if you really understood him, you’d know he never wanted to be tied down by all these expectations from you or his father. If you really cared about Heeseung, you wouldn’t be here arguing with me about what’s best for him, because who are you to decide that for him? You should be showing up, reaching out to him now more than ever, but you’re not.” You say your last piece with conviction, each word laden with frustration and a hint of desperation.

Jake is stunned, his face paling as he absorbs your words. You can tell by the way he’s disassociating, his eyes glazing over and his expression becoming distant, that some part of what you said hit him hard.

The library is now uncomfortably silent, the eyes of the other patrons heavy on you both. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat, your hands trembling slightly from the intensity of the confrontation. But Jake doesn’t say anything, just stands there, his mind clearly racing.

You take a step back, the anger and adrenaline starting to ebb away, replaced by a gnawing worry for Heeseung. "I’m going to find him, Jake. With or without your help," you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper, but firm. With your new resolve, you leave Jake standing still in the middle of the library, the gears in his head turning as he tries to recall all the times Heeseung was ever out of character, even for just a second.

Then it strikes him. All those times Jake showed up at Heeseung’s house over the holidays, he was somehow never home. His clothes always had a hint of cigarettes, but Jake was never too sure because Heeseung would attempt to drown out the smell with his cologne. Then there was that one time over winter break when Heeseung drunk-texted him one evening, but when Jake confronted him about it the next morning, Heeseung claimed he was at a company event with his father and had drunk to entertain the guests. All of it sounded perfectly reasonable to Jake at the time.

Jake’s mind races, piecing together the fragments of inconsistencies. Is Heeseung not who he seems to be? This realisation hits Jake like a ton of bricks. He’s been blind, perhaps too caught up in his own expectations to notice his friend’s struggles. And like the theorist he is, Jake is determined to find out the truth.

The conversation ends, and the conviction in Jake’s messages gives Heeseung a strength he didn’t know he had. Heeseung recalls a particular conversation he had with you, about how if Jake truly cares for him, he’d appreciate his honesty. And you weren’t wrong, because Heeseung and Jake come out of this with a brotherhood stronger than ever. It’s like you knew this would happen.

Then again, you always give the best advice and always know what to say to reassure him. You know him like the back of your hand, reading his thoughts like the cover of a book, which convinces Heeseung even further that if you aren’t soulmates, no other words can describe the connection you two hold. And it’s because you two are soulmates that the universe decides it’s finally time to piece the two of you together so that neither of you has to continue pretending to be someone you’re not.

But no, you’re not soulmates. What you have isn’t because of some cosmic design. Heeseung willed this. He willed you to come into his life; he willed you to show up at that club all those months back to catch him in the act; he willed you to be the one he can be himself around. He intricately weaved the threads of fate himself until they spelt your name. And right now, your name, Y/N, is like a mantra in his head, echoing itself over and over again until he sees you in the flesh, until he feels your presence in his vicinity. That mantra is the only thing driving his decision.

That night, Heeseung sneaks out of his mansion. He moves quietly, making sure not to alert anyone, especially his father. His heart pounds in his chest, each beat a mixture of fear and excitement. Every creak of the floorboards seems amplified in the stillness of the house, and he holds his breath, praying no one hears. Heeseung has never felt so alive, the adrenaline surging through his veins as he edges closer to freedom.

The cool night air greets him as he slips out the back door, a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere of his home. The stars above seem to twinkle with approval, as if they too support his decision. Heeseung pulls his jacket tighter around him, not just for warmth but for comfort, as he heads towards your apartment. Each step is a step towards reclaiming his life, towards taking control of his own destiny.

As he walks through the quiet streets, memories of you flood his mind. He thinks of your smile, the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you love, the sound of your laughter. The thought of seeing you again, of being in your presence, propels him forward. Heeseung’s heart swells with a mixture of longing and determination. This is what he wants. This is what he needs.

Heeseung finally arrives at your apartment building, his pulse quickening. He takes a moment to gather himself, taking deep breaths to steady his racing heart. The anticipation is almost too much to bear, but he knows he has to do this. For himself. For you.

He approaches your door, his hand trembling slightly as he raises it to knock. The sound echoes softly in the hallway, and he waits, his breath caught in his throat.

When you open the door, the sight of you takes Heeseung’s breath away. You look surprised, but there’s a warmth in your eyes that reassures him. For a moment, neither of you speaks.

“Heeseung,” you finally say, your voice soft but filled with concern and relief. “Where have you been? I was worried sick!” You hit him softly on his chest, and Heeseung smiles, the familiar gesture a balm to his frayed nerves.

“I know, I’m so sorry, Y/N. But I really needed to see you,” he replies, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with regret.

“You think you can just disappear whenever it’s convenient and come back when you want to see me? What if I want to see you? Have you ever thought about that? Selfish jerk.” You fight back the tears threatening to fall. Part of you is angry that Heeseung is doing whatever he pleases, but another part of you wants to just forget the pain and longing you’ve been experiencing the past week and crash into his arms. It’s sickening, the power he has over you.

“I was wrong, princess. I won’t disappear again. Not anymore.”

You step aside, allowing him to enter. The familiar scent of your apartment wraps around him like a comforting embrace. The tension that has been gripping him for days begins to ebb away, replaced by a sense of belonging and peace. He realises now, more than ever, how much he’s missed you, how much he needs you.

You both stand there for a moment, the silence filled with unspoken words and emotions. Heeseung reaches out and gently takes your hand, his touch sending a reassuring warmth through you. “I’ve missed you so much, Y/N. I didn’t realise how much until I couldn’t see you.”

You look up at him, your eyes searching his for sincerity. “Promise me you won’t shut me out again.”

Heeseung pulls you into a gentle embrace, his arms wrapping around you securely. “I promise, Y/N. I won’t shut you out. You mean too much to me.”

As you stand there, enveloped in his embrace, you can feel the tension in your own body slowly melting away. You close your eyes, resting your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. Each thump is a reminder that he’s here, that he cares, that he won’t leave you again. You take a deep breath, savouring the moment.

You open your eyes, and the two of you just look at each other, a silent understanding passing between you. You smile, your heart full, and you know that this time, his promise will be kept.

You have no clue what happened to him the past week, you don’t know what stunts he had to pull in order to get to you today and have you in his arms. To be frank, you aren’t looking forward to finding out. The cuts on his face and the bruises on his arms tell you plenty—more than you need, really. You didn’t comment on it when you first saw it, not wanting to bring up anything that caused him pain. When he’s ready, he’ll tell you what happened on his own.

You draw back slightly to look at him, your fingers brushing against his cheek. His skin is warm under your touch, and his eyes hold a mixture of relief, regret, and deep affection. He leans into your touch, feeling a sense of peace wash over you. You take his hand and guide him to the couch, where you sit close together, the familiarity of your surroundings adding to the comfort of the moment.

You spent almost an hour talking about everything but nothing at the same time, it's like every time Heeseung felt he was ready to talk, he backs out and veers off into another topic instead. He shares about his reconciliation with Jake, how your advice about honesty proved true, and his regret over not being upfront sooner. He mentions the newfound attention he's received since the party at Sunoo's, people sliding into his DMs, but it all seems like a distraction from what he really wants to share.

You can see the struggle in his eyes, the weight of unspoken words on his mind. Without needing to say much, you place your hand gently on his, a silent assurance that you're here, you understand, and he can take his time. “Hey, slow down yeah? Heeseung, there’s no rush to tell me everything right now. I’ll be here whenever.” You say gently, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

In the depths of human nature, is an obsessive desire for logical explanations that make sense. However, there’s no explanation logical enough for how you just always seem to know your way around his emotions, because the gesture works almost immediately in calming his nerves.

Heeseung takes a deep breath, his gaze fixed on your joined hands. His fingers intertwine with yours, and you can feel the tension in his grip. It’s a silent signal that he’s ready to share what’s been weighing on his mind.

“Remember, you don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready.”

“No, I need to tell you. You deserve to know.” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “That night at Sunoo’s, everything was fine until I got home. My father was waiting for me. Someone probably sent him the pictures from the party, the ones all over the Decelis T. He was furious.”

You nod, encouraging him to continue. The anguish in his voice is palpable, and it breaks your heart to see him like this.

“He was so angry. He didn’t even give me a chance to explain. He just kept yelling about how I was ruining everything, how I was throwing away my future. And then…” Heeseung’s voice falters, and he swallows hard. “Then he hit me. Over and over.”

Your heart clenches, and you feel a surge of protective anger. “Heeseung…” you whisper, your voice trembling. You reach out, gently tracing the bruises on his arms with your fingertips. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe he did that to you.”

Heeseung’s eyes glisten with unshed tears. “I tried to stand up for myself, Y/N. I really did. But it only made things worse. He said I was a disgrace, that I wasn’t living up to the family name. He threatened to cut me off completely if I didn’t get my act together.”

You’re in fury by this point, because how could anyone possibly expect you sit still and listen when someone you care about is being hurt by someone who is suppose to shelter him with love and hope. This anger is mixed with sadness when you realise this is probably a frequent occurrence for him.

“You don’t deserve any of this. You’re amazing, Heeseung. Don’t let him make you believe otherwise.”

Heeseung takes a shaky breath, his grip on your hand tightening. “After that, Jake called me, and he helped me realise that I need to fight for my own life. That I can’t keep living under my father’s thumb. That’s when I decided to sneak out and come here. I needed to see you. You’re the one thing that keeps me grounded, that makes me feel like I can be myself.”

Tears well up in your eyes, and you pull him into a tight embrace. “We’ll get through this together. I promise.”

Heeseung holds you close, his voice filled with a mix of relief and determination. "Thank you, Y/N. I don’t know what I’d do without you." His words, though fitting for the occasion, hit you more deeply than you expect. You feel his heartbeat against your chest, each thump echoing the sincerity of his words. The realisation that he is relying on you as much as you are on him sinks in. You understand that the only thing keeping both of you sane, preventing you from becoming the versions of yourselves that others expect, is each other.

That night, you make the bold decision to invite Heeseung to stay over, considering it’s already well past midnight. As if sneaking out wasn't difficult enough, Heeseung assumes sneaking back in before dawn and before anyone realises he’s gone missing wouldn’t be too much of a challenge. Without even thinking twice, Heeseung accepts your offer, a mixture of relief that for a night, at least, he doesn’t have to feel trapped in the confines of his makeshift prison.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t fully thought this through. You live in a studio apartment, and with your queen-size bed spilling into your so called living room, there’s no privacy. You two are essentially sharing the same space. The room feels suddenly smaller, the proximity more intimate than ever before.

Noticing Heeseung’s fading bruises, you almost offer to take the couch so he can sleep comfortably on the bed. However, you know he’d likely reject your offer anyway so you didn’t even try. As you rack your brain trying to find a solution that works for both of you, Heeseung speaks up.

“We can just share the bed.” He shrugs, his expression stoic as if he hadn’t just spout the most out of pocket thing ever. Speechless, you stare at him, eyebrows raised, trying to form a coherent sentence that won’t embarrass you.

"Uhm..."

“What? Your bed is huge; I’m pretty sure we could both fit on there.” You can’t tell if he’s playing innocent, being naive, or if his dad knocked some sense out of him, but the shamelessness is almost baffling.

You won't lie and say the idea didn't cross your mind at some point, but the thought of sleeping next to Heeseung, especially now that you’ve come to terms with your feelings for him, seems like an impossible task. You’re afraid your heartbeat will vibrate across the mattress, and he’ll hear it and question you. The mere thought brings heat to your face, your pulse quickening at the proximity.

“Oh I see, you’re shy. Come on, it’s not like it’ll be the first time we’re sleeping together anyway.” He says, referring to the night the two of you made out and you accidentally fell asleep on his bed.

“Don’t phrase it like that, gosh. And that time was an accident.” You puff your cheeks, willing the heat to cool down but to no avail. The memory of that night, the closeness, and the vulnerability, floods back, making your heart race.

“You’re the one making this weird; it’s literally just sleeping. Not like we’re going to have sex or anything.” He giggles. You’re taken aback by the statement, and more so by his little giggle that accompanied it. How can he laugh in this situation when you’re as panicked as it is?

“Okay, now you’re just being annoying.” You turn your back towards him, rolling your eyes in feigned annoyance, though honestly, it only makes you feel more embarrassed for reacting the way you did.

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop. If it makes you comfortable, I’ll take the couch.” His voice softens, sensing your discomfort, but his eyes hold a plea, a silent wish to stay close.

“What? No! You’re injured; you should be getting plenty of quality rest.” You insist, your concern for him outweighing your own embarrassment. The sight of his bruises, the fatigue in his eyes, tugs at your heartstrings.

“And let you take the couch? Don’t even try.” He shakes his head, his determination clear. His gaze is steady, filled with a mixture of stubbornness and affection.

“Fine. We’ll share the bed, but you’ll stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine. No. Funny. Business.” You say firmly, trying to set boundaries, but the warmth in his eyes makes your resolve waver. The idea of sharing a bed with him, feeling his presence so close, is both thrilling and terrifying.

As you both settle into bed, the silence is filled with the soft rustling of sheets and the distant hum of the city outside. The mattress dips under his weight, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body and hear the steady rhythm of his breathing.

The room is dark, but the glow from the streetlights outside casts a soft light across his face. He looks peaceful, and for a moment, you just watch him, your heart swelling with emotions too complex to name.

Heeseung turns to face you, and you immediately turn away, hoping he didn’t catch you staring. You lie stoically on your bed, looking up at the ceiling, afraid to move a single muscle as you sense his gaze on you.

A few minutes pass, and you still feel his eyes on you. You suspect Heeseung himself doesn’t even realise he’s been staring at you unwittinglyaa as. You feel the tension between you hit a new high, the silence growing heavier with each passing second that you feel the creeping need to dig a hole right where you are and hide inside it. The elephant in the room is big, way too fucking big, and you finally decide to address it.

“There’s something else we need to talk about,” you say, finally turning your body to face him. His eyes meet yours in the dim light. You can barely make out the expressions on his face, but you can tell from the sudden shift in his body language that his guard is up at your proclamation.

“What is it?” he asks, his voice soft yet tinged with apprehension.

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts and courage. “This… situation between us. What are we doing, Heeseung?”

Heeseung’s eyes flicker with uncertainty, and he looks down at his hands, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing,” he admits. “I don’t want to mess this up, whatever it is.”

You feel a pang of vulnerability, a raw honesty hanging in the air. Before you can say anything else, Heeseung speaks up, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with intensity. “I like you, a lot actually. If it wasn’t already obvious enough, I like you, Y/N.” You can tell it took him a lot of courage to confess this to you.

Before you even got the chance to reciprocate his feelings, he stops you, wanting you to finish listening to what he has to say before he can bring himself to hear your answer. So you let him.

“I know our situation is really unconventional, and that it’ll be situationally better for both of us if I stayed away from you. That’s how I initially planned to keep you safe. But something about you, its like a drug; I just keep wanting more. Every minute, every second of every fucking day I’m just thinking about you. I want to know what you’re doing, who you’re with. I want to punch every single person who has nothing good to say about you. I want to feel you, I want to hug you, god, I want to kiss you so bad.”

He pauses, his eyes locking onto yours. “I realised how much you mean to me when I no longer try to force myself to sleep, trying to dream of something that'll numb my pain just a little. Instead, I can't sleep thinking about you because, for the first time, my reality is finally better than any dream. This, whatever we have, is real, and it’s the only thing that makes sense in my life right now. But every time I close my eyes thinking about you, I’m just reminded of the fact that I can’t have you and treat you the way you deserve.”

“You can have me, Heeseung,” you say, your voice filled with determination and emotion.

“You know what I mean, Y/N. I mean just look at the state I’m in. If my father can do this to his own blood, I don’t see why he wouldn’t do worse to you. I can’t have that.”

You reach out and gently touch his face, your fingers tracing the bruises and cuts. “Heeseung, I don’t care about the risks. I care about you. I want to be with you, no matter what.”

Heeseung looks at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear, hope, and love. He leans into your touch, his hand covering yours. “I don’t want to lose you, Y/N.”

“You won’t,” you promise, your voice steady and sure. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

Heeseung’s eyes soften, and he leans in closer, his forehead resting against yours. “Thank you,” he whispers. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Those words again. The phrase, "I don’t know what I’d do without you," to you isn’t mindless appreciation but a genuine confession. In your fucked-up realities, you are each other’s only salvation where he doesn’t have to shed any part of himself to feel connected with you. You see the vulnerability in his eyes, the way he looks at you with a mixture of hope and desperation. It’s a look that tells you he needs you as much as you need him.

With that realisation, you know you are ready to be the person who loves him, no matter how imperfect he is. This is no easy feat, because it is easy to love someone when they’re perfect. But loving someone when they are wearing their flaws like an apology, when nobody else tries to really know them and accept them for who they are—that is what truly makes a difference. You think back to all the moments when he was vulnerable, when he let down his guard and showed you the parts of himself that he kept hidden from the world. Those are the moments that made you fall in love with him, not despite his flaws, but because of them.

You smile, your heart swelling with love as you reply to his sentiment, “Lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out.”

Heeseung’s arms tighten around you, and you can feel the tension in his body slowly melting away. His shoulders, once rigid with stress and fear, relax against you. The scent of his cologne, mixed with the faint smell of cigarettes, is comforting and familiar. You realise that this is where you both belong, in each other’s arms, facing whatever comes your way together.

Heeseung’s fingers gently brush against your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. He leans in, his breath warm against your skin, and your eyes flutter closed as his lips meet yours in a tender, lingering kiss.

When you finally pull away, Heeseung’s forehead rests against yours, his fingers tangled in your hair. “I love you, Y/N,” he whispers, his voice filled with emotion. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, to make this work.” You nod, tears welling up in your eyes.

Funny, isn’t it, how you started insisting he stayed on his side of the bed, and now you’re wrapped in his arms with barely any space between your bodies. You can feel his heartbeat against your chest, his breath against your neck. His eyes meet yours, and you see a depth of emotion there that takes your breath away. It’s a look of pure, unfiltered love and gratitude. You know that this moment, this connection, is what you’ve both been searching for.

It’s the kind of love that makes you feel alive.

That makes you feel whole.

That makes you feel like you.

masterlist | part two

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greyminyoon1 · 5 months ago

Text

SAFE & SOUND — part 4

word count: 20k

MASTERLIST

Blood.

The warm, red liquid splatters onto your face, dripping down your neck and soaking into your clothes. For a split second, your mind blanks. You’ve been shot?

You freeze, waiting for the pain to hit, for the sting of a bullet tearing through flesh. But there’s nothing. No sharp ache. No burning sensation.

Not you.

Your gaze shifts downward. The woman in front of you staggers, her breath hitching painfully in her throat. Her wide eyes stare at the man in front of her in shock, unblinking, as blood pours from the gaping wound in her neck. The bullet has lodged itself on the right side, just above her collarbone. Her lips move—trying to form words, trying to breathe—but all that comes out is a gurgled wheeze.

Your heart pounds violently in your chest, the world tilting sideways as you try to make sense of what just happened. You turn your head, slow and deliberate, your body moving on instinct rather than thought.

Jungwon. He’s still crouched near the van, his hands empty. The rifle remains untouched on the ground beside him, exactly where he left it. His eyes meet yours for a brief second, wide with alarm, but it’s not him.

Your gaze shifts forward.

Sunoo. He’s mid-tackle, slamming into the man with the rifle. Smoke curls lazily from the barrel, the sharp scent of gunpowder stinging your nose.

The woman collapses into a heap at your feet, her blood pooling beneath her.

For a moment, everything stands still.

Silent.

Still.

Then—

Chaos.

A heart-wrenching scream cuts through the silence, raw and broken.

“No!” The man in front of you drops to his knees, his voice cracking as he cradles the woman’s body.

It’s a sound you’ll never forget. Pure grief. Devastation.

Your hands tremble, the knife slipping from your fingers and clattering uselessly to the ground. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Your mind races, but your body remains frozen, your legs rooted in place. You feel the warmth of the blood on your skin, smell the metallic tang in the air, taste the bitterness on your tongue.

You blink once. Twice.

No. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. The plan was to scare them off. To protect your people. To survive.

But now there’s a woman lying dead at your feet, and you’re the one who held her hostage. You’re the one who brought her into this.

Would this be how it played out in Jay’s mind every night since it happened—the same nightmare on repeat? The man with the knife. The girl he cared so much for held hostage, and later had her life ripped away from her right in front of him. The choice he made to satisfy his hunger for revenge.

Would you now become the monster in someone else’s story? The monster who leaves nothing but broken people in their wake? The one they obsess over, hunt down, seeking revenge? You’ve seen what grief can do, how it festers and twists until there’s nothing left but hatred and the singular need for retribution.

Your chest tightens painfully, tears pooling in your eyes, blurring your vision. You don’t even realise you’re shaking until you feel the tremor in your legs. Everything feels wrong—so, so wrong.

Movement.

Ni-ki sprints across from the front of the van, no longer bound. He’s quick, his hands working fast to untie the ropes holding Sunghoon, Jake and Heeseung. Jake is already moving, reaching for the med kit, but he falters, his gaze falling on the lifeless body on the ground.

Sunoo is still wrestling the man with the rifle, their grunts and shouts blending into the background noise of your panic. The other two attackers stand frozen, clearly in shock. They don’t move. They don’t reach for their weapons.

Maybe they’re victims too.

Maybe they didn’t want this.

None of you did.

Everything is happening too fast.

Your mind screams at you to move, to react, but your body refuses to obey. You don’t even catch the shift in the man at your feet—the subtle way his grief twists into rage—until it’s too late.

His hand shoots out, grabbing you by the throat.

You gasp, your hands flying to his arm, trying to pry his fingers loose. His grip is like iron, crushing your windpipe, cutting off your air. Black spots dance in your vision as he drags you closer, his bloodshot eyes locking onto yours with pure hatred. His face is twisted, consumed by pain, fury, and vengeance.

“You—” he spits, his voice raw with grief. “You did this. You—”

A gunshot. Sudden. Sharp. Deafening.

The pressure around your neck disappears instantly. The man collapses to the ground, his body crumpling like a puppet with its strings cut, right next to the woman. Blood seeps from the bullet wound in his temple, his expression frozen in an eternal snarl.

Your hands fly to your throat, coughing and gasping for breath as you stumble backwards. The world spins, your lungs burning as you suck in desperate gulps of air.

Jungwon. He’s standing now, rifle in hand, his gaze locked on the lifeless man on the ground. His expression is unreadable—calm, composed—but there’s something dark lurking behind his eyes.

You wipe the blood from your face with trembling hands, your mind struggling to catch up with reality. Everything feels surreal. Disjointed. Like a nightmare you can’t wake up from.

Jungwon steps closer, lowering the rifle. His voice, when he speaks, is quiet. Controlled. “Are you alright?”

You nod, though you’re not sure if it’s true. Your voice won’t come, stuck somewhere in your throat, tangled with the sobs you’re trying to suppress.

You don’t even have time to catch your breath when you hear the scream tear through the air, cutting through the chaos like a knife.

“Y/N, watch out!”

Your head snaps forward, your heart plummeting into your stomach. Sunoo’s down—pinned to the dirt—his hands grappling uselessly as the man he tackled scrambles to his feet, grabbing the fallen rifle.

Sunghoon is already sprinting toward him, but he’s too far. He won’t make it in time. The man grips the rifle tightly, his eyes wild with panic and grief, and before you can even think to move, he spins—locking the crosshairs squarely on you.

The world slows. You see it all in perfect, horrifying detail. His hands trembling as he raises the weapon. His lips pressed into a thin line. The way his chest heaves with shallow, erratic breaths. And the tears. The tears welling up in his eyes, glistening as they fall.

He’s going to do it.

Your feet won’t move. You’re rooted to the ground, frozen by the realisation.

He’s going to kill you.

And you deserve it, don’t you? After what just happened—after the woman died at your hands, after everything that’s led to this moment—maybe this is the inevitable outcome. His finger tightens on the trigger.

You close your eyes. You’re not ready. You’ll never be ready. The thought crashes over you like a wave. This is it.

And then—

The gunshot.

It echoes through the surrounding, deafening, final.

You’re not dead. Slowly, shakily, you open your eyes. Your knees buckle, nearly giving out beneath you at the sight before you.

Jay.

With his pistol in hand, dangling at his side. He must’ve circled around to retrieve it—used the chaos, used you as the distraction. He could’ve taken the shot clean. He could’ve stayed hidden, waited for the right angle, and taken down the guy aiming for you without risking himself.

But he didn’t.

Jay is standing in front of you.

His body sways slightly, his stance unsteady, but he holds firm. There’s blood—so much blood—it seeps through his shirt, dark and spreading fast, soaking the fabric and dripping down his side. So much blood. It stains the hem of his jacket and clings to his skin like oil, like ink.

You blink, unable to process what you’re seeing, unwilling to believe it.

Jay took a bullet for you.

The bullet hit him in the side, just below his ribs—aimed for him but meant for you. If he hadn’t taken it, it would’ve hit you square in the heart.

For a moment, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Then he drops to his knees.

“No. No, no, no.” The words tumble from your lips as you rush to his side, your hands shaking as you reach out to steady him. “Jay, why—why would you—”

He lets out a sharp breath, cutting you off. His usual glare is gone, replaced with something softer. Weaker. Human.

“Couldn’t let you die,” he says, his voice strained but steady. “Not like that.”

Your chest tightens painfully, your eyes burning with unshed tears. “You—stupid—”

“Yeah,” he interrupts, managing a weak chuckle. “I’ve heard that before.”

Ahead of you, Sunghoon reaches Sunoo, pulling him to his feet. The shooter is on his knees, his hands raised in surrender, his rifle now in the hands of Ni-ki.

But none of that matters right now. All you can see is Jay. All you can think about is the blood on your hands—his blood—and how he took that bullet for you.

“We need to get him back to the van,” Jake’s voice cuts through the fog in your mind, calm but urgent. He kneels beside you, his gaze locking onto Jay’s. “You’ll be alright. Just hold on.”

Jay’s lips twitch into a faint smirk. “Didn’t… think you cared.”

Jake’s jaw clenches. “Shut up.”

Heeseung and Sunghoon sprint over, their footsteps pounding against the dirt. “We’ve got him,” Heeseung says, already lifting Jay’s arm over his shoulder.

Jake rushes forward with the med kit, his face pale. “We need to stop the bleeding.”

You stay by Jay’s side, your hands hovering uselessly. Why did he do it? Why would he risk everything for you?

As they lift him, Jay’s gaze meets yours again, his eyes slightly glassy. “Don’t…,” he murmurs, barely audible.

“What?” you lean in closer, holding your ear close to his lips but he fails to conjure enough energy to speak.

Guilt. Fear. Regret. It all coils inside you, twisting and knotting until it takes shape—rage.

White-hot, blinding rage.

You barely register your own movements as you lunge forward, your hand closing around Jay’s pistol lying in a pool of his own blood. The metal feels cold against your skin, slick with crimson that seeps between your fingers. It makes you sick, but not enough to stop you. Not enough to drown out the fury coursing through your veins.

Your legs move on their own, shaky but determined, carrying you over the lifeless bodies sprawled across the dirt. The crunch of leaves and twigs underfoot echoes in your ears, drowned out by the pounding of your heart. You don’t falter. Not when you reach him—the one who pulled the trigger.

He’s on his knees, trembling, eyes wide with a mixture of terror and disbelief. His hands are raised in a futile plea for mercy, but you’ve got none to give. Not now. Not after Jay.

The gun feels heavier in your hand than it should, weighted down by blood and grief. You raise it slowly, deliberately, your aim locking onto his forehead. He flinches, his lips trembling as if to beg, but you don’t hear his words. You don’t care.

Your finger curls around the trigger. But just as you’re about to squeeze, a deafening gunshot shatters the air.

Your body jolts, your eyes snapping wide as the man before you crumples to the ground, blood pooling from a clean shot through his skull. You freeze, the gun still raised, your breathing ragged as you process what just happened.

Slowly, you turn.

Jungwon stands a few feet behind you, the rifle pressed firmly against his shoulder, barrel still smoking. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes—dark and piercing—say everything he doesn’t. His hands are steady, his grip unwavering. There’s no hesitation in him. No regret.

He lowers the rifle slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. The silence between you is deafening, save for the fading echo of the gunshot ringing in your ears.

You drop the pistol, the weight of it suddenly too much to bear. It hits the ground with a dull thud, splattering crimson droplets across the dirt and all over your boots. Your arms fall limply to your sides, trembling as the adrenaline starts to wear off.

Jungwon steps closer, each footfall deliberate, cautious. His voice, when he speaks, is quiet but firm. “You don’t need to carry that weight.”

His words linger in the air, but they don’t sink in—not yet. Your gaze drifts back to the lifeless bodies, to Jay lying still in the back of the van, blood staining the carpet beneath him.

You swallow hard, your voice barely a whisper. “He saved me.”

Jungwon’s jaw tightens, his gaze flickering to Jay before settling back on you. “I know.”

You close your eyes briefly, guilt gnawing at your insides, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. “I was going to kill him.”

“I know that too.”

You can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. “And you did it for me.”

Jungwon exhales softly, his voice steady. “No. I did it for me.”

The weight of his words sinks in, pressing down on your chest. There’s no solace in them, no comfort. What did he mean? He did it for himself?

The echo of the gunshot lingers in the air, a haunting reminder of what just happened. But it doesn’t linger alone for long. The groans begin—a low, guttural sound that rises from the treeline like a warning bell.

The dead are coming.

Jungwon hears it too. His head snaps toward the trees, his hand tightening around the rifle. "We need to go," he says, voice clipped and urgent.

You nod numbly, forcing your legs to move. You turn back towards the van, your steps unsteady, mind racing to catch up with the chaos around you. Sunghoon is already at the van, throwing the back doors open. Jake is inside, frantically working with Heeseung and Sunoo to keep pressure on Jay’s wound, their hands slick with blood. Jay groans, shifting weakly, his eyes fluttering open for a brief second before closing again.

"Let’s go!" Ni-ki quickly pours however much gas he can from the canister into the fuel tank, packs up whatever's left and jumps into the driver’s seat, turning the key in the ignition. The engine sputters to life, the familiar rumble somehow grounding you in reality. You climb into the van, pulling the door shut behind you.

The van rumbles down the cracked road, each bump jostling Jay in the back as Jake works tirelessly to slow the bleeding. The tension is suffocating, thick and heavy in the air. The only sounds inside are laboured breaths, the low hum of the engine, and the faint groans of the dead growing more distant.

Then—footsteps. Rapid. Desperate.

You glance out the back window and see them—the two remaining men from the other group. It was so chaotic that you don’t even remember seeing them around the area. Maybe they hid in fear. Doesn't matter. Because they're running now, stumbling over roots and rocks, trying to keep up with the van. They’ve ditched their weapons. They’re unarmed, vulnerable. And terrified.

One of them shouts, his voice hoarse. "Wait! Please! Don’t leave us!"

You clench your fists, nails digging into your palms. Your mind flashes back to the chaos moments earlier—the gunfire, the blood, the woman collapsing at your feet. These two men had stood by, not pulling the trigger but not stopping it either. Complicit of your actions.

"Jungwon," you whisper, your gaze flicking to him. He’s sitting in the front passenger seat, his rifle resting on his lap. His eyes are hard, his jaw set. He doesn’t look back at you.

Behind the van, the men stumble again. One of them falls to his knees, chest heaving, before scrambling back to his feet. "We’re sorry!" the other shouts, his voice cracking. "We didn’t want it to go this far! Please, we just want to live!"

The van lurches forward, and you feel the weight of their desperation pressing down on your chest.

"They’re unarmed," you say quietly, though you’re not sure if it’s a statement or an excuse. "They don’t have anything left."

Jungwon finally speaks, his voice low and steady. "Neither did we. Didn’t stop them from coming after us."

"They’re running," you counter. "Not fighting."

"They’re running because they lost," Jungwon says coldly, his gaze locked on the road ahead. "If we stop, they’ll turn on us the second they get the chance."

In the rearview mirror, you catch Ni-ki’s expression—stoic, but his clenched jaw betrays his unease. Jake doesn’t look up from Jay, focused on keeping him alive, while Sunghoon grips the other rifle tighter, his knuckles white.

The men’s voices grow louder, more desperate. "We’ll do anything!" one of them screams. "We’ll work for you—protect you! Please, just don’t leave us here!"

You can feel the eyes of the group on you, waiting for your reaction. It’s suffocating.

And then, one of the men stumbles again, falling hard to the ground. He stays there this time, his hands pressed to his knees as he gasps for air. The other one slows down, grabbing his friend’s arm, pulling him up.

"Y/N." It’s Jungwon’s voice, cutting through your thoughts like a blade. "We don’t have time for this."

Your gaze flicks to him. His eyes meet yours—steady, unwavering. But there’s something else in them. Something more. Regret? Sadness? You can’t tell.

"They don’t have a weapon," you say again, quieter this time. "They’re not a threat."

Jungwon exhales sharply. "They were part of the group that almost killed you. That shot Jay. That held the rest of them hostage."

"That woman—" you start, but the words catch in your throat. That woman begged for her life. She was just as scared as they are now. And you stood there. You let her die.

Your heart twists painfully in your chest.

Sunghoon, sitting in the corner with his arms hanging over his knees, finally speaks. His voice is softer than usual. "We can’t save everyone."

It hits you like a punch to the gut. He’s right. But that doesn’t make it any easier.

Jungwon nods once, his expression hardening again. "Keep driving," he says to Ni-ki. The latter hesitates for a moment, glancing at you through the rearview mirror. Then he presses his foot on the accelerator, and the van picks up speed.

"No!" the man screams behind you, his voice breaking. "Please! We don’t want to die!"

You can’t look away as they fade into the distance. One of them collapses again, clutching his chest as he gasps for air. The other tries to pull him up, but they’re too slow. Too weak.

And then, the groans return. The dead have caught their scent.

They’re going to die.

Your chest feels like it’s being crushed. You press your hand against the window, watching as the two men disappear from sight. Jungwon doesn’t say anything. Neither does anyone else.

You lean back against the van, the weight of what just happened settles over you, suffocating and inescapable.

They begged for mercy but you left them anyway. This shouldn’t surprise you. It’s the right call, after all. And if you’d been alone, you know you’d have done the same thing. Survival over sympathy—that’s the rule you’ve lived by since the community building fell. You don’t waste time mourning strangers.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? You’re not alone anymore.

And as the van jolts over the uneven road, the weight of that difference presses heavily on your chest. Jay’s words from earlier echo in your mind, cutting through the silence like a knife:

The whole point of this group—the way Jungwon leads us—is to make sure we don’t become the monsters we ran away from.

It hits you then, the realisation settling like a stone in your stomach. Maybe a part of you wanted to protect something for them. To preserve that fragile thread of humanity they’ve managed to hold onto in this fucked up world.

But all you did was shatter it. Leaving behind the cold hard truth of survival.

You see it in their faces now. The way Sunoo curls in on himself, as if he’s trying to disappear. The way Sunghoon’s jaw clenches tight, a muscle jumping in his cheek. The way Jake’s hands tremble ever so slightly as he presses another bandage to Jay’s side. The way Heeseung is wiping away the sweat forming on Jay’s forehead, almost absentmindely. Even Ni-ki, who’s been quiet since you left that village, looks lost in thought, his grip on the wheel a little too tight.

And then there’s Jungwon.

He’s always been the calm in the storm. The one who makes the hard decisions so no one else has to carry that weight. But right now, he looks as hollow as you feel. He’s sitting stiffly in the passenger seat, his gaze locked on the road ahead. His rifle rests across his lap, but his hands aren’t on it. They’re clenched into fists, pressed tightly against his thighs, like he’s carrying something far too heavy for one person to bear.

You glance down at your hands, noticing the faint red stains on your palms. Blood of all that lost and almost lost their lives. You wipe them on your jeans, but the stain lingers in your mind.

If you’d run into this group back at that auto shop—if they were the people they are now: hardened, desperate, with the blood of three strangers on their hands—they wouldn’t have kept you alive.

They wouldn’t have let you speak.

They wouldn’t have given you a chance to prove your worth.

It would’ve been a cold, practical choice. Eliminate the threat before it had the chance to grow. And you wouldn’t have blamed them.

But now? You wonder if they’re blaming you. Blaming you for the decision to leave those two men behind. For the way things spiralled.

The woman’s face flashes in your mind. Her wide, terrified eyes. The blood pooling around her body. “We’ve crossed a line,” you whisper, the words barely audible over the hum of the van’s engine. Jungwon’s head tilts slightly, but he doesn’t look at you.

No one argues. No one tries to convince you otherwise.

Because they all know it’s true.

Sunoo finally speaks, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. “We’ve crossed plenty of lines before.”

“Not like this,” you murmur, your words settling heavily between you all.

Ni-ki shifts in the driver’s seat, breaking the silence. “What do we do now?”

No one answers. Because none of you know. Not even Jungwon. And you can’t help but wonder if this is the beginning of the end. Not for the world—it ended a long time ago.

But for this group. For the fragile hope that’s kept them all going.

You lean your head back against the window, eyes drifting shut.

You’ve crossed a line. And you know you’re going to keep crossing lines, one after another, until there’s no point of return.

Ironically, that’s the one thing you’ve been trying so desperately to hold onto—your sanity, your humanity.

And now you’re afraid. Afriad of how the weight of their survival—the choices you’ll have to make, the risks you’ll have to take—is going to change you.

You’ve spent so long fighting to hold onto the parts of yourself that still feel human. That separates you from the dead that damned the earth.

Your boundaries, your morals, the thin, fragile line between surviving and losing who you are. You told yourself that as long as you had those things—those pieces of yourself—you wouldn’t become just another product of this world’s cruelty.

But now, you can feel that line blurring.

Whatever you said to Jay back in that field, about how wanting justice or revenge makes you human—you’re not so sure if you believe that anymore.

Because protecting them might mean crossing lines you swore you never would. It might mean compromising the very things that make you you.

And isn’t that how it starts?

One compromise. One choice made out of desperation. One decision that feels necessary in the moment.

Then another.

And another.

Until one day, you look at yourself and don’t recognise the person staring back. Until you realise you’re no different from the people you swore you’d never become.

And that’s what terrifies you.

Not them.

But the person you might become for them.

“Ni-ki pull over. We’ll stop here for today.” Jungwon speaks, the first words uttered from any of you in the past hour and a half or so. The sun is still out, early afternoon by what you can tell.

Ni-ki’s hands tighten on the steering wheel as he glances in the rear-view mirror. “We’ve still got a few hours of sunlight. We can keep going. We’ll reach the rest stop by dusk,” he says, confusion lacing his voice. But despite his words, he slows the van and pulls it to the side of the cracked road.

“We’ll stop here for today,” Jungwon repeats softly, his gaze fixed ahead. His tone leaves no room for argument.

The van grinds to a halt with a jolt, the engine ticking as it cools in the quiet. For a moment, no one moves.

“I can hear your stomach growling,” Jungwon says, glancing at Ni-ki with a faint smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s take a short break. Eat something before we move on, yeah?”

It’s a lie. You all know it. His voice lacks its usual firmness, and there’s no mistaking the heaviness in the air. No one argues, though. There’s a quiet understanding that Jungwon needs space, and this cramped van isn’t offering him any. So, without a word, everyone begins moving, stretching out stiff limbs and gathering what little supplies remain to set up camp by the roadside.

Jungwon heads straight for the edge of the road, lowering himself onto the ground with a weary sigh. He pulls his knees up to his chest, his arms wrapped loosely around them as he stares into the distance. The way he sits—hunched, small—makes your chest ache. He looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and for once, you can’t blame him. He had to pull the trigger today. Twice. On strangers who, by all rights, had it coming. But that doesn’t make it any easier. Killing people, even in self-defence, leaves a mark. One that never quite fades.

You take a hesitant step toward him, considering whether to offer him someone to talk to. But before you can get far, Heeseung catches your arm, shaking his head. His gaze is soft but firm.

“Let him be,” Heeseung murmurs. “He needs time.”

You nod, pulling back, though the guilt lingers in your chest. Jungwon shouldn’t have to bear this alone. None of you should.

Behind you, Sunoo’s voice breaks the tense silence. “Seriously? This is all we’ve got left?” His frustration is palpable as he crouches by the van, rummaging through the supply bag. “I swear we had five extra cans of beans last night.”

You tear your gaze away from Jungwon, forcing yourself to focus on the immediate problem. Food. Or rather, the lack of it. You walk over to where Ni-ki and Sunoo are crouched, the bag of supplies between them. The way they sift through it—careful, precise—makes the meagre contents all the more depressing.

“Are we running low?” you ask, your voice quieter than you intend.

“Yeah.” Sunoo’s lips twist into a grimace. “Those bastards—sorry, I mean, those men from earlier—they ate some of our food while we were waiting for you to get back.”

Even in the apocalypse, it seems disrespecting the dead doesn’t sit well.

You peer into the bag, taking stock. Two dented cans of baked beans. Five energy bars. One sad little sachet of instant coffee. And a leftover packet of ramen seasoning. It’s pitiful. Barely enough to sustain eight people. And Jay needs more than this. He needs proper food. Protein. Calories to help his body recover.

Your gaze shifts to the van. Jay is still lying flat on his back, propped up by makeshift bedding. His chest rises and falls slowly, his bandages soaked through with dried blood. His eyes are closed, but the furrow in his brow betrays the pain he’s in.

“We’re not going to make it far on this,” you say, glancing at Heeseung. “Not with Jay in that state.”

Heeseung sighs, running a hand through his hair. His fingers snag on the tangles, and he winces, but he doesn’t stop. “I know. We’ll reach the rest stop soon, hopefully they left something for us there.”

“Soon isn’t good enough.” Jake crouches down, picking up one of the cans, it looks almost too light in his hands. “Jay’s barely hanging on.”

Sunghoon nods in agreement. “And Ni-ki’s right. We could’ve kept going. We should’ve kept going.”

“We can’t push too hard,” Heeseung counters gently. “Jungwon…” His gaze flickers toward the figure still sitting at the roadside. “He’s trying to keep it together, but he’s hanging by a thread.”

You follow his gaze, watching Jungwon’s silhouette against the pale afternoon sky. He hasn’t moved from his spot. He sits so still, like a statue carved from grief and exhaustion.

“What do we do?” you ask quietly.

Heeseung exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath for hours. “We give him a moment. And then we keep moving. We don’t have a choice.”

The words sit heavy in the air. You know he’s right. There’s no time to stop, no time to rest—not really. The dead don’t wait. And neither does the world that’s out to kill you.

You glance at Jay again. His lips are pale, his skin clammy. He shifts slightly, letting out a soft groan of pain.

“We’ll get him through this,” Heeseung says, his voice firm with quiet determination. “We’ve made it this far. We’re not losing anyone else.”

His words aren’t loud, but they don’t need to be. They carry weight, grounding everyone in a way that feels almost tangible. You watch as the effect of his reassurance ripples through the group, see how the flicker of hope reignites in their faces, how determination replaces the exhaustion etched into their features.

Your respect for Heeseung grows.

He isn’t trying to be the leader, isn’t trying to take Jungwon’s place, but his presence is undeniable. He’s become the steady force they need right now, the glue holding them together when everything feels like it’s about to fall apart.

And in that moment, you realise something you hadn’t before: maybe the strength of this group doesn’t rest on just one person. Maybe it’s not just Jungwon who holds them together.

It’s all of them.

All of them, picking up the pieces when one of them falters, stepping in without hesitation when someone needs support. Even if it means carrying more weight than they’re used to, they do it. Without complaint. Without hesitation.

And you can’t help but wonder if Jungwon knows.

Knows how much they lean on each other when he can’t carry the weight himself. Knows how much his own silence and retreat weigh on the group. Knows how they’re quietly filling the gaps he’s leaving behind, steadying themselves and each other without blame or resentment.

You wonder if he realises that even though he leads, it’s not his burden alone. It never was. It’s all of theirs, shared in a way that keeps them moving forward—even when it feels impossible.

And you want to believe him. Believe that you’ll get through this. But as you look at the dwindling supplies and the fading light of day, a gnawing doubt takes root in your chest.

You push yourself to your feet, brushing dirt from your hands as you glance around the makeshift camp.

“We can’t just sit here waiting for the rest of the world to collapse around us,” you say, breaking the silence. “I’m going into the forest to hunt. I could bring back some game for all of us.”

Heeseung immediately rises to his feet. “I’ll go with you.”

“No,” you reply quickly. The sharpness in your tone makes him pause. “I’m going alone.”

Heeseung’s brows knit together, concern flickering across his face. “It’s not safe out there. You shouldn’t—”

“I said no,” you cut him off, your gaze locking with his. There’s a finality in your voice that stops him from pressing further. Heeseung knows better than to argue with a woman bleeding her fury. His shoulders slump slightly, and he nods once, reluctantly stepping back.

The group needs Heeseung to rely on at the moment, and having him come along will only plunge them into deeper anxiety.

You know it’s dangerous not having anyone to watch your back. One wrong step or a moment of inattention could end everything. But that also means you don’t have to worry about watching someone else’s back.

And frankly, you’d rather be alone right now. You don’t have the capacity to look out for someone else. You’re mentally disoriented, emotions frayed and teetering on the edge of control. In this state, you’re probably more dangerous than the dead if someone presses the wrong buttons.

Human beings, right? How weak they are. Easily impressionable, quick to trust the wrong person, to follow blindly. Stupid, with an unmatched talent for self-destruction. They build, only to tear themselves apart. They cling to fragile hopes and ideals that crumble at the first sign of adversity.

It’s baffling how you and these people even made it through the initial chaos of the outbreak that rattled the world.

Without another word, you head toward the van. The air feels heavier with each step, your thoughts churning in your mind as you approach the vehicle. You reach the foot of the van, reaching down to grab your bag and Jay’s bow, when a familiar voice cuts through the silence.

“You’re going to leave, aren’t you?”

You freeze, your hand still on the strap of your bag. Slowly, you turn to see Jay sitting upright in the van, his eyes half-lidded but sharp, piercing through the haze of pain he’s in.

Your heart skips a beat. He knows.

“What makes you say that?” you ask, your voice quieter now.

Jay’s lips twitch into a faint, humourless smile. “Because I was going to. Back then… when I lost her.” His gaze drops to his lap, his fingers picking at the edge of the blanket covering his legs. “The pain was so unbearable that I didn’t think I could handle losing anyone else. I just wanted to be alone with her ghost.”

Your chest tightens at his words. There’s so much grief buried in his voice, a sadness so deep that it feels like it could swallow you whole.

“She must’ve really meant a lot to you,” you say.

“The world,” says Jay, his voice barely above a whisper. “She was my world. But then I found new meaning to keep going. To keep these people safe, no matter what it costs me.”

You shake your head, guilt settling in your chest like a stone. “Now, look at the state I’ve got you in,” you say, your voice trembling slightly. “You’re not keeping anybody safe like this.”

Jay’s gaze lifts, his eyes locking onto yours with a quiet intensity that takes you by surprise. “I kept you safe, didn’t I?”

The weight of his words crashes over you like a wave. You don’t know what to say. You’ve never thought of yourself as someone worth saving—worth sacrificing for.

“Jay…” you trail off, your throat tight.

“Just promise me,” he says softly, his voice steady despite the pain etched into his features. “Promise me you won’t run off.”

You hesitate, your grip tightening on your bag. Lying to him feels wrong, but you can’t give him false hope. You can’t promise something you know you won’t keep.

So you compromise.

“I’ll make sure you’re alive before I do,” you say, your voice wavering with a bitter edge of truth.

Jay chuckles quietly, though it sounds more like a soft exhale of exhaustion. “That’s the best I’m going to get from you, isn’t it?”

You don’t answer, but your silence speaks volumes.

He leans back against the van’s wall, his gaze drifting to the sky outside. “You’re stronger than you think, you know. But you’re also more stubborn than you realise.”

You laugh softly, a sound that surprises even you. “Takes one to know one.”

Jay smiles faintly, but the warmth of it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just… be careful. You’ve got more people who care about you than you think.”

His words settle into your chest, heavy and uncomfortable. You don’t respond. You can’t. The knot in your throat makes it impossible to speak.

Instead, you sling your bag over your shoulder and adjust your weapon, giving Jay one last look before turning away. His eyes follow you, but he doesn’t say anything more. As you walk toward the treeline, your footsteps slow. The implication of Jay’s words hangs over you, intertwining with the growing ache in your chest.

The forest feels heavier than it should. Each step you take presses down on the dry leaves and twigs beneath your boots, the crunch echoing in the otherwise still air. You keep your grip firm on the knife in your hand, eyes scanning your surroundings for any sign of movement. It’s eerily quiet, but that’s how it always is now. The world hasn’t made a sound in a long time—at least not the kind that reassures you that life still exists.

You don’t know how far you’ve walked. Maybe a mile. Maybe more. The camp is long out of sight, and the silence in the trees feels more oppressive with each step. There’s no wind, no birdsong, no rustling of leaves. Just you, your footsteps, and your thoughts.

I kept you safe, didn’t I?

It stings. Not because it’s untrue, but because it is. He did keep you safe. He took a bullet for you, risked his life more times than you can count. And what are you doing in return? Hunting pathetic game and picking berries hanging heavy off bushes.

You shake your head, forcing the thoughts away as you crouch near a patch of moss. There are tracks—faint, but there. Rabbits, maybe. Or something smaller. You run your fingers over the prints, noting their direction. They lead deeper into the forest.

The sun filters through the canopy above, casting long shadows across the forest floor. You keep your steps light, your ears straining for any sound of movement. A rustle in the bushes makes you freeze, your grip tightening on your weapon.

There—just ahead. A rabbit. It’s small, barely enough to feed one person, but it’s something.

You lower yourself into a crouch, holding your breath as you inch closer. Your heart pounds in your chest, the adrenaline sharpening your senses. You’re close enough now. Just a little further—

A snap of a twig under your foot.

The rabbit bolts, disappearing into the undergrowth.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, rising to your full height.

Frustration prickles at the edge of your nerves, but you force yourself to stay calm. This isn’t like the hunts you’ve seen on TV. There’s no waiting in a tree stand with a high-powered rifle. No camouflage, no bait. This is raw survival, and more often than not, you walk away empty-handed.

But you can’t go back empty-handed. Not today.

Determined, you keep moving, weaving through the trees with renewed focus. You’ve lost track of time, your eyes scan for more tracks, more signs of life. And then you hear it: the soft, melodic trickle of a stream.

A water source. Not just for you, but the animals. You move toward the sound, careful with your steps, until the trees part to reveal a small clearing. The stream cuts through the earth like a silver ribbon, its water sparkling in the late afternoon light.

And there it is. A deer. It’s young—small, but it’s enough. Enough to feed the group, to keep Jay’s strength up. Enough to make this trip worth it.

It stands on the other side of the stream. Its oblivious as it dips its head to drink from the cool water. The sight is almost magical, like a scene pulled from a world that doesn’t exist anymore.

For a moment, you just watch. You can’t help it. The way the deer moves, the way the light plays on its fur—it feels like something out of a movie. You’re struck by how much has changed, how far removed the world has become from anything remotely beautiful. And yet here it is: beauty, in its purest, most natural form.

But reality quickly pulls you back. This isn’t a movie, and you’re not here to admire the scenery.

You crouch slowly, your movements calculated and silent. You reach for the bow slung over your shoulder, your fingers steady as you pull it into position. The string hums softly as you notch an arrow, your heart beating in sync with the rhythm of the forest. You take aim, your breath slow and controlled, the deer still unaware of your presence.

The release is smooth, and the arrow flies true. A soft thud follows as the arrow finds its mark. The deer stumbles, collapsing to the ground with barely a sound. Relief washes over you, but it’s tempered by a twinge of guilt. It’s fleeting, though.

You move quickly, crossing the stream and kneeling beside the deer. Your hands are steady as you check its pulse, ensuring it passed without much suffering. You offer a silent thanks—not to a god, but to the animal itself—for what it’s giving you, for what it’ll mean to the others.

You do your best to drain the blood and skin the deer by the stream. It’s messy, your hands slick and trembling from the sheer mass of it, and the finished product is far from professional. But who’s complaining about fresh venison meat in the middle of an apocalypse?

When you return to the camp, the pleased expressions on their faces ignite a spark of accomplishment in your chest.

“Holy shit, you actually did it,” Sunoo breathes, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief as he stares at the game you’ve brought back.

Jake wastes no time updating you. “Jay’s been going in and out of consciousness. He’s desperate for something—anything—other than beans.”

You glance at Jungwon, half-expecting some critique or lecture about risks. But he doesn’t say a word. Instead, you catch the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but it’s enough. Enough to know he’s grateful.

The rest of the group gets to work immediately, dividing the meat. Half of it is chopped into small cubes and added to the bubbling concoction of beans and ramen soup seasoning. The other half is sliced into smaller pieces, skewered onto sticks, and slowly roasted over the flames.

The waiting process is brutal.

The fire crackles, filling the silence as everyone stares at the cooking meat with unwavering focus, as if sheer willpower could make it cook faster. The air is thick with the scent of roasting venison, and stomachs rumble audibly, a cruel reminder of how long it’s been since anyone had a real meal.

Finally, Heeseung gives the go-ahead, and no one hesitates. They dig in with abandon, the first taste of fresh meat in what feels like forever sending a ripple of relief through the group.

Jake carefully scoops some of the broth into a makeshift bowl carved from wood and brings it to Jay in the van. When you catch Jay’s gaze, the look in his eyes says it all.

He’s grateful—not just for the food, but for the fact that you didn’t take off running into the woods.

The next morning—or afternoon, rather—everyone except Jungwon sleeps in, a luxury that feels foreign in this world. You never thought you’d use the phrase “overate” in the middle of an apocalypse, but that’s exactly what happened. With no way to preserve the meat, everyone unanimously agreed to finish it off while it was still good.

Jungwon looks noticeably better—calmer, more grounded—compared to the tense, hollow version of himself from the day before. By the time the camp starts packing up, he’s fully back in his role, directing the group with quiet authority.

Before long, you’re all on the move again, resuming the trip to the rest stop. The exhaustion lingers, but for now, this is a win. And in this world, wins like these are few and far between.

The sun dips low on the horizon by the time you arrive at the bus terminal leading out of the city, signalling that the rest stop is not far now—about another thirty minutes' drive. That is if you can get past the bus terminal without any hiccups.

The terminal looms like a forgotten monument—its once-bustling gates now a graveyard of cars, all frozen in time from when people tried to flee the city. Some doors hang ajar, others sealed shut. Windows cracked, tyres deflated, their drivers long gone—or worse, still inside.

The terminal is a bottleneck, leading into a wide expanse of roads out of Seoul. But it’s a choke point, too—a trap. You know that every car out there is a potential coffin, and every shadow could be hiding something worse. The dead don’t move until they hear or smell something alive. Something warm. Something vulnerable.

Like a van carrying eight passengers. One of which is bleeding out of a hole in his body.

The scent of Jay’s blood is thick in the confined space, metallic and unforgiving. It clings to your skin, your clothes, your thoughts. You glance back at him. He’s still pale, still barely holding on, Jake pressing a bloodied cloth against his side to stem the bleeding. But it won’t be enough. Not if you don’t keep moving.

“The last time I was here, I went on foot,” you murmur quietly to nobody in particular—maybe someone in particular but you try not to make it obvious. Your voice feels too loud in the tense silence. “Even then, it was risky. There are too many cars, too many places for them to hide.”

Jungwon doesn’t look at you. His gaze is fixed ahead, his grip on the rifle tightening with every passing second. “We don’t have that option now.”

No. You don’t.

“Why does this feel so eerie?” Sunoo’s voice breaks the silence, his usual sarcasm stripped down to unease. He leans forward from the back seat, resting his arms on the centre console. His eyes dart around the scene outside, scanning the cars and the deserted terminal. “Like we’re being watched.”

You don’t respond, but you feel it too—that creeping sense that you’ve just walked into something far more dangerous than you anticipated.

“Ni-ki, switch off the headlights,” Jungwon orders quietly. His voice is calm, measured, but there’s an edge to it. A tension that pulls tighter with each passing second.

Ni-ki reaches for the switch, cutting the lights. Darkness swallows the road ahead, the only illumination now coming from the fading light of the setting sun. He carefully guides the van up the curb, circling around the edges of the terminal as quietly as possible.

You crane your neck, glancing out the window. Bodies sit slumped in the front seats of cars, their heads tilted at unnatural angles. Their hands still grip steering wheels, as though they never made it out of the city. Some are fully decayed, little more than skeletal remains in tattered clothes. Others… others look almost whole.

Your stomach churns. You’ve seen enough to know the difference.

The van bumps gently as it rolls over debris—discarded suitcases, backpacks, remnants of lives left behind. You catch sight of a baby seat in the back of one of the cars, a blanket still draped over it.

Don’t look too closely.

Don’t think about it.

“There,” Jungwon whispers, pointing to a narrow gap between two cars ahead. It’s barely wide enough for the van to squeeze through. “Go slow. Keep the engine quiet.”

Ni-ki nods, his hands steady on the wheel as he manoeuvres the van through the gap. The tyres crunch softly over gravel and shattered glass.

“Do you think they’re dead?” Sunoo whispers, his voice low and tense. You glance at him. His gaze is locked on a car to your right—a man slumped against the window, his face pressed to the glass. His eyes are closed, his mouth slack. He looks dead. But you’ve seen them wake before.

“I don’t know,” you admit quietly. “But we shouldn’t stay to find out.”

Jungwon presses his hand against the dashboard, leaning forward to get a better look at the road ahead. His knuckles are white, his expression unreadable. “Keep moving. Slowly.”

The van inches forward, navigating the maze of cars and debris. You press your hand against the door, your fingers twitching near the knife strapped to your leg. Every instinct in your body screams to stay alert, to be ready for anything.

But nothing happens. The van makes it through the terminal without incident. No sudden lurches of movement from the cars, no decayed hands clawing at the windows. Just silence. You exhale slowly, the tension in your chest easing ever so slightly.

Maybe the dead aren’t here after all.

Ni-ki steers the van onto the open road beyond the terminal, the cracked asphalt stretching endlessly ahead. The trees lining the road sway gently in the breeze, their rustling leaves the only sound aside from the low hum of the engine.

“We made it,” Ni-ki breathes out, leaning back in his seat with a relieved sigh. “Thank fuck.”

Even Jungwon’s shoulders relax, his grip on the rifle loosening just a fraction.

But the moment is fleeting.

A wet, rattling cough echoes from the back of the van and everyone’s heads snap toward the sound.

Jay.

He’s laying flat on the carpet, his face pale and slick with sweat. His hand, trembling slightly, presses against his wounded side. But it’s the blood staining his lips that catches your attention—the dark red smear he tries to wipe away before anyone can see.

“Jay?” Jake is the first to move, scrambling to his side. “Hey, look at me.”

Jay coughs again, harder this time, his whole body shaking with the effort. Blood spatters onto his shirt, onto Jake’s hands as he tries to steady him.

“Pull over!” Jake snaps, his voice urgent. “Now!”

Ni-ki doesn’t hesitate, swerving the van to the side of the road and bringing it to a screeching halt. The tyres crunch against the gravel, and the van shudders as it comes to a stop.

Jake lifts the cloth that’s been pressing onto the wound, checking with practised hands. His fingers come away slick with fresh blood. Too much blood.

Your eyes dart to the wound, taking in the angry, swollen edges and the telltale patches of red creeping outward, spidering across his skin. You don’t have to be a doctor to recognise the symptoms of blood poisoning.

“Fuck,” Jake mutters under his breath, grabbing a clean cloth from the med kit. He presses it against Jay’s side, applying pressure. “It’s worse than I thought.”

Jay lets out a weak laugh, his voice strained. “Yeah… figured.”

“Don’t joke about this,” Jake snaps, his usual calm demeanour cracking under the weight of the situation. “You should’ve told me the moment it got worse.”

Jay doesn’t respond. He just leans back against the carpet, his chest heaving with laboured breaths. His gaze flickers to you for a brief moment before closing again, like he’s too exhausted to hold it.

Jungwon is out of the van in seconds, sliding open the side door with a sharp tug. His movements are sharp, precise, but there’s an edge to them—a barely concealed frustration that you can practically feel radiating off him.

His footsteps crunch against the gravel as he paces in front of the vehicle, his hands resting on his hips, fingers digging into his sides. His shoulders are tense, rising and falling with each heavy breath, and his jaw clenches and unclenches in a steady rhythm. You can see it clearly: his mind spiralling through every possible scenario, none of them ending well.

And if you know Jungwon the way you think you do, he’s probably blaming himself. Blaming himself for stopping yesterday. Telling himself that if he hadn’t broken down, if he hadn’t let himself falter for even a moment, they’d have reached the rest stop by now. They’d be safer, better prepared, instead of stuck here with too many variables and not enough solutions.

It’s a vicious cycle. And no matter how many times you tell him it’s not his fault, you know he’ll never believe it.

Because that’s who Jungwon is. The leader who carries the weight of everyone’s survival. The one who always blames himself when things go wrong.

But it’s something you all should’ve seen coming. Considering the conditions and the crude materials Jake had to work with just to stem the bleeding, infection was always a risk—one you all silently hoped wouldn’t happen. But now, staring at the unmistakable signs spreading across his skin, you realise there’s no more denying it.

It also means his countdown has started. Time is slipping away, and with every passing minute, his chances of survival grow thinner.

“What do we do?” Sunoo asks quietly from inside the van. His usual sarcasm is gone, replaced by a cautious uncertainty that makes your chest tighten.

Jake doesn’t lift his head from where he’s crouched beside Jay, his hands pressing down on the makeshift bandage to stem the bleeding. “We need to stop the bleeding,” he says firmly. “But he needs rest. Proper rest.”

“There’s nowhere safe,” Jungwon mutters, still pacing, his eyes darting to the road and back again. “Not out here.”

You watch him carefully, noting the way he keeps flexing his fingers, like he’s trying to ground himself. Then, as if sensing your gaze, he stops abruptly and turns to you. His dark eyes lock onto yours, a flicker of something vulnerable slipping through the cracks of his usual calm exterior.

He’s looking to you for help.

It catches you off guard—this boy, who always seems to have the answers, who leads with quiet confidence and keeps the group together through sheer willpower. And now he’s standing there, staring at you like he’s out of ideas, like he needs you to have the solution he doesn’t.

Your gaze flickers to Jay. His chest rises and falls in shallow, uneven breaths. His skin is deathly pale, and sweat beads along his hairline. He’s slipping, and fast.

Your thoughts flash back to the moment he jumped in front of you, taking the bullet that should’ve been yours. The memory hits you like a punch to the gut. Hell, you don’t even know how you’d handle it if he died because of you.

Your mind races, turning over every possibility, every bit of knowledge you’ve gathered from surviving on your own. And then your eyes land on the bus terminal in the distance.

“Jake, what do you need?” you speak up, your voice steady despite the chaos in your mind.

Jake blinks, startled. “What?”

“What do you need to keep him alive?” you press. “Just name it. Whatever it is, we’ll find it.”

Jake’s brow furrows in thought, his hands still working on Jay’s bandages. “Well, it doesn’t look like it hit any major organs. That’s the only good news. The bullet is still inside, and I can’t wedge it out now without any equipment or at least antiseptic, it’ll only worsen the infection. He’s also lost way too much blood and is starting to burn up. If we don’t get antibiotics into him and stabilise his blood pressure, he’ll go into septic shock.”

“Jake, layman terms, please.” Sunghoon says as he pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly frustrated.

Jake sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Basically, if we don’t find the medicine and supplies he needs soon, he’ll die.”

The words hang there, unspoken fears suddenly given form. Silence falls over the group like a heavy blanket, pressing down on all of you harder than ever. The only sounds are Jay’s laboured breaths and the distant rustle of wind through the abandoned cars. You glance around at the others—Jungwon, Heeseung, Sunghoon, Ni-ki, and Sunoo—all of them wearing the same haunted expressions.

“There’s a drug store at the terminal,” you say, your voice breaking the silence. Everyone turns to you, hope flickering in their eyes, fragile but present. “If we can get behind the counters where they keep the prescription meds, we might find antibiotics. Maybe corticosteroids, TXA—whatever Jake needs.”

Jungwon’s gaze sharpens, locking onto you with unwavering focus. “You’ve been there?”

You nod, brushing stray hair from your face. “I passed through. There were supplies. But the locked room at the back? I couldn’t get in without making a lot of noise. I doubt anyone else would’ve been desperate enough to risk it, so there’s a good chance the medicine is still there.”

Jungwon straightens, adjusting the strap of his rifle across his chest. The cracks you saw earlier—the uncertainty, the fear—are gone, buried beneath that steely mask of determination he always wears when the group needs him most.

“We don’t have a choice,” says Jungwon, his tone resolute. “We’ll go. We’ll find what we need.”

“We?” Sunoo’s sceptical voice cuts through the tense air, his eyebrow arching. “Who’s we?”

“Me and Y/N,” Jungwon replies without hesitation. “The rest of you stay here with Jay.” His words leave no room for debate, but Ni-ki shifts uncomfortably, clearly wanting to protest. The severity in Jungwon’s voice, however, stops him in his tracks.

Jake speaks next, his eyes darting between you and Jungwon before ultimately fixing on you. “You can recognise the medicine, right? Make sure you get the antibiotics. Hard, strong ones. If we don’t hit him with the right stuff, it won’t make a difference.”

“I know what to look for,” you assure him, placing a steady hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll grab everything we can.”

Jake exhales deeply, but his jaw remains tight. “I would offer to go myself, but if anything happens to him while I’m gone…” He trails off, glancing at Jay, who looks pale and lifeless where he lies.

“We got this,” you promise, your voice unwavering. “You focus on keeping him alive until we get back.”

“In the meantime,” you add, turning to the others, “two of you should head to the rest stop on foot. Scout the area for any signs of trouble. But be careful. If I’m wrong and The Future is still there, at least we won’t be driving straight into their crosshairs.”

Jungwon’s eyes linger on you again, something flickering behind his expression. It’s not just relief—it’s trust. He trusts you. Despite everything that’s happened, despite how little time you’ve spent with the group, he’s relying on you now.

“Yeah, that would be smart,” Heeseung says, stepping forward. “Sunoo and I can handle it. Ni-ki, Sunghoon and Jake should stay here and keep watch.”

“If we’re not back before you two, just leave without us. We’ll meet you halfway.” Heeseung adds, his voice even.

“And if we’re not back before you two, and the rest stop is safe, leave without us,” Jungwon says, his words carrying a weight that, unlike Heeseung, seems to hang in the air. His eyes lift to meet yours for a fleeting second—a silent understanding passing between you. “We’ll catch up.”

You give him a firm nod, mirroring his determination. Neither of you says it aloud, but the message is clear.

Failure isn’t an option.

“Let’s move,” Jungwon says, gripping his rifle tighter.

You and Jungwon move in silence, weaving between abandoned cars and twisted metal barricades. The stench of rot hangs in the air, thick and cloying, as if the dead themselves are watching, waiting for the right moment to lurch forward.

“Stay low,” Jungwon whispers, his voice barely audible over the crunch of gravel beneath your boots.

You nod, gripping your knife tightly as you press yourself against the side of a rusted bus. The terminal doors are just ahead, glass cracked but still intact. You glance at Jungwon, who gestures for you to move forward, his rifle at the ready.

The two of you approach cautiously, your steps light, deliberate. You catch a glimpse of movement inside—a lone zombie shuffling aimlessly near the entrance. Its clothes are tattered, blood smeared across its face, and its eyes… lifeless, yet all too aware of any sound that might bring it to life.

“I’ve got it,” you mouth, stepping forward. One quick jab to the temple and the zombie crumples to the floor, lifeless once more.

Jungwon nods approvingly, motioning for you to follow him inside. The terminal is eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that makes your skin crawl. Dust clings to every surface, softening the outlines of benches and kiosks that haven’t been touched in what seems like forever. Abandoned bags and scattered belongings lie across the floor like forgotten memories, each one telling a story you’ll never know.

Your eyes settle on a battered duffle bag near the entrance. The fabric is torn in places, and the faded logo suggests it once belonged to someone travelling light, someone who never made it to their destination. You crouch down, brushing off the dust before carefully tipping out its contents—clothes, a water bottle, a crumpled photograph. The remnants of a life reduced to debris.

You shake the bag to make sure it’s empty, then stretch it open to inspect the inside. It’s worn but sturdy. This should be big enough to store the medicine you need.

You make your way toward the drugstore tucked in the corner of the terminal. The moonlight reflects faintly off the sign above it, and the sliding doors are stuck a quarter-open, jammed by an overturned display rack.

Inside, shelves are mostly bare, but you search diligently. Bandages, aspirin, paracetamol—all over-the-counter stuff. Useful, but not what you need.

“Jake said we need antibiotics,” Jungwon reminds you, scanning the shelves. “Strong ones.”

“I know.” You crouch down, rifling through the lower shelves, frustration growing with each passing second. “But they’re not here. They’re probably locked in the backroom.”

Jungwon’s gaze shifts toward the heavy door at the back of the store. It’s secured with a sturdy lock, the kind that won’t budge without serious force.

You try the handle out of instinct, even though you already know it’s pointless. Yet, there’s that stubborn flicker of hope gnawing at you, the same irrational hope that’s kept you going this far. Who knows? Maybe some other stragglers came through, just as desperate as you to save a life, and managed to open it. But alas, it’s locked tight.

“Of course it is,” you mutter, brushing dust off your hands.

“We could try prying it open,” Jungwon suggests, but you both know it’ll take too long—and make too much noise.

“The longer we’re here, the more we’ll draw them in,” you say, casting a wary glance toward the entrance. You’ve already seen a few zombies shuffle past the glass doors, their hollow eyes scanning the streets for movement. They’re not inside yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

Jungwon steps closer to the door, inspecting the lock with a critical eye. His fingers tighten around the rifle slung across his chest.

“I could shoot it,” he offers, his tone calm, measured. “One shot to take the lock out. We grab what we need and get out.”

You hesitate, weighing the risks. The sound will draw them in, no question. But how long would it take to pry the door open? Too long. Far too long.

Jungwon sees the conflict in your eyes and steps into your line of sight, forcing you to look at him. “We don’t have time to think this through,” he says softly. “Jay doesn’t have time.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. Jay—lying back at the van, clinging to life.

Time is not on your side.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Do it.”

Jungwon raises his rifle, aiming directly at the lock. His hands are steady, his breathing controlled. “On my signal, we run in, grab everything we can, and get out. Don’t stop. Don’t second-guess. Just grab and go.”

“Understood.”

You brace yourself as he pulls the trigger. The shot echoes through the terminal, deafening in the stillness. The lock shatters, pieces of metal scattering across the floor. The backroom door swings open, revealing shelves packed with boxes of prescription medication.

But the noise has done its job.

From outside, you hear them—the unmistakable groans of the dead, drawn to the sound like moths to a flame.

“They’re coming,” you whisper.

Jungwon glances over his shoulder, then back at you. “Move. Now.”

You bolt inside, heart pounding as you grab boxes at random—anything that looks remotely useful. Antibiotics. Painkillers. Anti-inflammatory meds. You shove them into the duffle bag with shaking hands, your mind racing.

Behind you, Jungwon is doing the same, his movements quick and efficient. But you can hear the groans getting louder, the shuffling of feet growing closer.

“They’re inside,” Jungwon warns, his voice tight with urgency.

You glance toward the entrance of the store. Shadows flicker across the broken glass as the first zombie pushes its way inside, its dead eyes locking onto you.

“We need to go,” you say, slinging the duffle bag over your head, the straps digging into your shoulders. Your voice is steady, but your pulse thunders in your ears. You can’t stay here any longer. The scent of blood and decay is thick in the air, and every second you linger feels like borrowed time.

Jungwon nods without a word, grabbing one last box before turning toward the door. The corridor is filled with the low, guttural moans of the undead, their decayed bodies pressing forward in a relentless wave. They trip over each other, stumbling through the narrow store entrance, their milky eyes locked on the two of you.

Another shot rings out as Jungwon takes down a zombie clawing its way through the entrance. The recoil barely seems to faze him, but you notice the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands tighten around the rifle. He’s running out of bullets, and both of you know it.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, glancing back at the growing horde. “We’re trapped.”

Your eyes dart around the store, searching desperately for another way out. There’s no back exit. The front is swarming with rotters. But then—your gaze catches on something above. A hatch in the ceiling, barely noticeable through the dim lighting.

“There!” you shout, pointing.

Jungwon follows your line of sight, spotting the hatch. Without a word, he slings the rifle over his shoulder and moves toward it. “I’ll boost you up,” he says quickly, lacing his fingers together to form a step.

“No,” you say, shaking your head as you glance back at the corridor. More zombies are pushing through, their groans growing louder, more desperate. “You go first. I’m lighter. It'll be easier for you to pull me up.”

Jungwon looks at you, torn. His jaw clenches, his eyes flicking between you and the hatch. “We don’t have time to argue—”

“Exactly!” you snap, your voice cutting through the rising noise. “There’s no time. Quick—go!”

For a moment, he doesn’t move. His expression is hard, conflicted. But then he nods sharply, understanding that there’s no time for stubbornness. He turns and grabs the edge of the shelf beneath the hatch, pulling himself up with a grunt. The wood creaks under his weight, but it holds.

As soon as he’s up, he reaches down, his hand outstretched. “Grab on.”

You don’t hesitate. Throwing the duffle bag behind you, you jump, gripping his wrist tightly as he pulls you up. The muscles in his arm flex with the strain, his face set in determination. But just as you reach the edge of the crawlspace, a hand shoots up.

The rotted hand grabs your ankle, its grip like a vice, fingers digging into your skin. You let out a startled gasp, kicking instinctively, but the zombie holds on tight, pulling with surprising strength.

“No—shit!” you hiss, panic lacing your voice as you scramble to free yourself. The jagged wood around the hole splinters under your weight, cracking with each tug of the zombie’s hand.

“Y/N!” Jungwon’s expression shifting from urgency to pure panic in an instant.

Your body jerks violently, your chest slamming against the rough edges of the hatch. Pain blossoms through your ribs, but you barely register it over the sheer terror coursing through you. You kick wildly, your free leg connecting with something solid—bone, maybe—but it’s not enough to break its grip.

“I’ve got you,” Jungwon says through gritted teeth, his grip on your wrist tightening as he pulls you back. His eyes burn with determination, his muscles straining as he fights to keep you from being dragged into the swarm below.

“Fuck, fuck—” Your heart pounds in your chest, the sound of your own blood rushing in your ears. You twist your body, trying to free your leg, but the zombie’s fingers are locked around your ankle like steel clamps.

More hands start clawing up, fingers reaching, desperate to grab hold of anything living.

Jungwon shifts, bracing his feet against the frame of the hatch for leverage. “Hold on! Don’t let go.”

“I’m trying!” you snap, panic making your voice sharper than intended. But your hands are sweating, your grip slipping, your strength waning. Faster now that the duffle bag is weighing you down.

You feel the zombie’s filthy nails scrape against your skin, digging in deep enough to draw blood. The rancid smell of decay wafts up from below, making your stomach churn.

Then you hear it—the unmistakable growl of another one joining the frenzy. They’re piling up, climbing over each other to get to you.

“Jungwon!” you gasp, desperation clawing at your throat. “They’re going to—”

He doesn’t let you finish. In one swift move, he lets go of one hand holding onto you and reaches for his rifle, swinging it around with practiced precision. He doesn’t hesitate. He aims down through the gap and fires.

The zombie’s head jerks back, a sickening crack echoing through the crawlspace as the bullet finds its mark. The grip on your ankle loosens, and with a final desperate kick, you free yourself.

Jungwon grabs your arm again, hauling you up with a grunt. You collapse onto the platform beside him, gasping for breath, your chest heaving.

“Are you hurt?” Jungwon’s voice is calm, but there’s an edge of urgency to it. His eyes scan you quickly, looking for any signs of a bite.

“I’m fine,” you manage, still catching your breath. “It didn’t get me.”

He nods, stepping closer to you, his hand hovering near your shoulder. “You sure?”

You nod, though your heart feels like it’s about to burst from your chest. “Yeah… yeah.”

But you both know it’s a lie. You’re not okay. Neither of you is. You can still feel the ghost of that grip around your ankle, the way it clung to you like death itself. You meet his gaze, and for a moment, you see the concern etched into his features—the slight crease between his brows, the way his lips press into a thin line. It’s subtle, but it’s there.

“We need to go,” Jungwon says, his voice softer now but still firm. He brushes a lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering just a second too long before he pulls back.

You nod again, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yeah, let’s go.”

You could’ve died. But even worse—if you hadn’t insisted Jungwon go first, he could have—no, there’s no “could’ve” about it. He would have died. You wouldn’t have had the strength to pull him up if the roles were reversed.

It’s always like this, isn’t it? The small choices. The split-second decisions that separate life from death. The apocalypse doesn’t give you time to reconsider, to take back your mistakes. If it had played out differently, if Jungwon hadn’t made it out of that hatch… you don’t think you’ll ever be able to face them again. Then, Jay would die. And The others wouldn’t survive much longer either.

The thought churns in your stomach, twisting like a knife. You force it down. There’s no room for regret. No time for fear. You’re still here. You’re not dead. Not yet. And you’ll make damn sure it stays that way.

“Y/N.” Jungwon’s voice pulls you from your spiralling thoughts. He’s a few paces ahead, glancing over his shoulder, his expression grim and serious. There’s a tension in his eyes that wasn’t there before, something raw and unspoken.

“Stay close. Please.”

His voice is quieter on that last word—almost a plea. It startles you more than anything else that’s happened so far.

You nod. “Got it.”

He peers over the edge of the roof, scanning the ground below for anything that can cushion your descent. His movements are quick, efficient, but you can see the weight he carries pressing down on his shoulders. He’s not just leading you right now; he’s holding everything together—the group, the plan, your survival—but more so himself.

“There.” Jungwon points to a vending machine tipped against the side of the terminal building. Its display glass is shattered, shards glinting in the fading light, and the machine itself is battered and empty. Still, it looks sturdy enough.

“We can use that to climb down.” says Jungwon.

He takes the lead without hesitation, lowering himself carefully over the edge and testing the machine’s stability before finding a footing on top of it.

Once he’s sure it can hold both your weight, he glances up at you and stretches out a hand.

“Come on.”

You hesitate for half a second. Not because you’re scared, but because something about the sight of him—standing there with his hand outstretched, waiting for you—makes your chest tighten. He doesn’t have to do that. He doesn’t have to look back for you. But he always does.

You slowly ease into him. His grip around your waist is firm, steady as he lands you gently beside him on the machine. And for a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe that everything will be fine.

However, the moment your feet touches the ground, the sound of distant groans reaches your ears. It’s faint, but growing louder.

Jungwon’s fingers slip into yours without warning, his grip firm but not crushing. It’s instinctive—there’s no hesitation, no second-guessing, as though the simple act of interlocking his hand with yours is the most natural thing in the world.

You don’t pull away.

His palm is calloused, but his touch is grounding, like a tether keeping you from spiralling into the chaos around you. The warmth of his hand seeps into your skin, anchoring you to this moment.

The world around you feels like a blur—half-destroyed buildings and rusting cars blending together in the fading light. The distant groans of the undead echo from somewhere behind you, a haunting reminder that danger is never far. But Jungwon’s focus never wavers. His steps are quick but deliberate, each one calculated.

It’s like he knows exactly where to go.

The path ahead seems impossible to see—fog, shadow and debris blocking your view—but Jungwon moves with certainty, his eyes scanning the terrain with a sharpness that only someone used to surviving in this world could possess.

“Watch your step,” he says softly, guiding you around a cluster of jagged rocks and broken glass. His hand tightens slightly around yours as you stumble over a crack in the pavement. His fingers squeeze gently, a silent reassurance.

You glance at him, and for a fleeting moment, you catch a glimpse of something rare—something softer beneath the hardened exterior he wears so well. His brows are drawn together in concentration, but his lips press into a line that seems more anxious than confident.

“Do you even know where we’re going?” you ask, your voice hushed.

“We just need to make it past the gate, can’t be that hard,” Jungwon says, his voice steady and composed, but the lack of conviction in his tone is deafening. He doesn’t look back as he speaks, his pace quickening as if he’s trying to outrun the weight of his own words.

It makes your chest ache. Even when he’s unsure, he keeps the facade up—for you, for everyone. To keep you hoping. To give you something to cling to, no matter how thin it might be. But Jungwon knows better than to hold you to meaningless reassurances. He knows you don’t believe it, not really. Yet he says it anyway, maybe out of habit. Maybe because it’s all he knows how to do.

You wonder if he’s afraid. Surely, he must be. Only you’re not sure if that fear is directed towards the dead.

Before you can think too much, Jungwon halts abruptly, the sudden stop jolting you out of your spiralling thoughts. His hand clamps around your wrist as he pulls you forward, weaving through the maze of rusted and abandoned cars, his grip firm, unrelenting. His movements are sharper now, deliberate, and it doesn’t take much to realise he’s actually running from something.

You want to turn back, to see what it is that’s chasing you, but Jungwon doesn’t give you the chance. His arm loops around your waist, and before you know it, he’s hoisting you onto the back of a battered lorry that looks like it’s barely holding itself together. You don’t have time to ask what’s going on before he’s climbing up after you, throwing a filthy, moth-eaten tarp over the both of you, cocooning you in darkness.

“What—” The question barely escapes your lips before his hand presses against your mouth, silencing you. His other arm braces over your body, shielding you.

Then you hear it.

A sound that chills you to your very core. Low, guttural groans, and the unmistakable shuffle of dozens—no, more than dozens—of dragging feet. The dead are close. Too close.

They’re moving past you, the tarp hiding you from their vacant stares, but the proximity makes your breath hitch in your throat. It’s not just one or two. The sound is overwhelming, the groans echoing all around you like a sinister symphony of death. You can feel the vibrations through the lorry’s frame, the weight of their movements too much to ignore.

But it’s not just the horde that sends a chill down your spine. It’s the direction they came from.

The van.

Your mind races, panic clawing at the edges of your thoughts. Did Heeseung and Sunoo make it back to the van? Did the dead catch onto Jay’s blood? Are they— No. You can’t think about that. You can’t let your mind spiral like this. Not now.

Jungwon’s hand shifts slightly, his grip loosening as he removes it from your mouth. You’re on the verge of falling apart, the weight of everything threatening to crush you. But then you feel it—a gentle squeeze around your waist. Reassuring, grounding.

You glance up, meeting Jungwon’s eyes in the dim light filtering through the tarp. His gaze locks onto yours, steady and calm despite the chaos around you. He’s saying something without words, speaking to you through his expression.

They’re okay. I know they are.

The words ring silently in your mind, a fragile lifeline in the sea of doubt. But even as you hold onto that unspoken promise, you know.

Even Jungwon can’t say for sure.

The tension is suffocating, thick enough to choke on as the minutes crawl by at an excruciating pace. Every second drags painfully, your body tense and your breathing shallow, afraid that even the smallest sound will betray your presence. The groans of the undead echo just beyond the tarp, their shuffling feet and guttural rasps terrifyingly close.

You force yourself to take stock of your position, assess how easy it would be for you to get up and run if the situation permits. You’re lying on your side, pressed tightly against Jungwon. His body is turned towards you, his arm cradling your head while his other hand rests firmly on your waist.

You try to shift slightly, attempting to ease the weight off his arm. The last thing you want is to make this uncomfortable for him on top of everything else. But before you can move much further, Jungwon’s grip tightens. His hand presses gently but firmly against the back of your head, pulling you closer to his chest until your cheek is practically resting against his collarbone.

“Stop moving, will you?” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. The low timbre of his voice sends a chill down your spine, a contrast to the heat emitting from his body.

Your breath hitches, not just from the tension of the situation but from the unexpected intimacy of it. You can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek, grounding you in a way that feels strange and unsettling. You nod slightly, a silent agreement to stay still, and Jungwon relaxes just a fraction, his hand still resting on the curve of your waist.

The world outside the tarp feels like it’s closing in, the groans of the dead growing louder before tapering off again as the horde slowly moves on. Each sound sets your nerves alight, your muscles tensing involuntarily as you wait for the inevitable moment when one of them will catch a whiff of life and turn back. But that moment doesn’t come. Not yet.

Beneath the tarp, the silence between you is thick, heavy with unspoken words and unacknowledged emotions. You can’t bring yourself to look up at him, but you feel the weight of his gaze, protective and steady even in this precarious situation.

You stay under the tarp for what feels like hours, though you’re not sure how much time has passed. The groans of the horde slowly grow more distant, but the occasional shuffle of feet or guttural rasp reminds you they’re still out there—stragglers lingering behind.

Jungwon hasn’t moved, his arm still lightly draped around your waist. His breathing is steady, but you can feel the tension radiating off him. He’s waiting, listening, calculating. You don’t dare to speak, your heart hammering against your ribs as you lie there in silence.

Eventually, the noise dwindles to nothing more than faint echoes. Jungwon tilts his head, his eyes narrowing as he listens intently for any signs of danger. After what feels like an eternity, he lets out a quiet exhale and shifts slightly, lifting the edge of the tarp just enough to peer out.

“Come on,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. You nod, following his lead as he slides out from under the tarp and drops to the ground.

The air feels heavier now, thick with the stench of decay. The horde might have passed, but the stragglers are everywhere.

Jungwon motions for you to follow, his movements silent and deliberate. You mimic his steps, keeping low and hugging the shadows of the abandoned vehicles. The slightest misstep could draw their attention, and you’re hyper-aware of every rustle of fabric as you move.

As you near the edge of the terminal, your eyes dart frantically across the barren lot, scanning for any sign of the van, of Heeseung and Sunoo, of the others. The silence feels heavy, pressing against your ears as you search. But all you see is emptiness—the van is gone.

For a moment, dread begins to creep in, whispering that maybe—just maybe—they didn’t make it. And then it hits you.

The van is gone.

Thank fucking god.

Jungwon’s hand brushes against yours, snapping you out of your thoughts. He points towards the tyre tracks leading away from the terminal, faint but unmistakable in the dirt.

“They made it out, they’re alive,” Jungwon murmurs, his voice low but filled with conviction. His words aren’t just for you—they’re for himself too. A reassurance that the others are okay. That the plan worked.

Relief washes over you like a wave, but it’s quickly replaced by a new urgency. Your thoughts snap back to the weight of the bag on your shoulder, heavy with the precious medicines and supplies you risked everything to find.

“Jay’s medicine,” you say, your voice breaking the silence.

Jungwon nods, already stepping forward, his rifle at the ready as his eyes sweep the path ahead. There’s no time to waste. Not with Jay’s life hanging on a silver thread.

“Let’s go, it’s not far now.”

The walk to the rest stop is weighed down by silence. Every step feels heavier than the last, each one dragging you further into your own thoughts. There’s a thousand things you want to say—words that linger at the back of your throat, pressing against your chest—but you can’t seem to summon the courage to speak them out loud.

You glance at Jungwon from the corner of your eye, half-expecting to catch him doing the thing. The thing where he sneaks glances at you when he has something to say but is not sure how, only to avert his gaze nervously the moment your eyes meet. But this time, there’s none of that. His focus is locked ahead, his expression unreadable.

He has nothing to say to you.

The silence follows you like a shadow, lingering even as you catch sight of the van parked in the clearing. Relief flickers in your chest for a brief moment, but it’s quickly snuffed out when your gaze shifts to the towering barricade surrounding the rest stop.

It’s clearly the work of some powerful force. Military-grade equipment is woven through the defences, the barb wire circling the top of the enclosure glinting under the moonlight. Wooden spikes line the perimeter like jagged teeth, making it abundantly clear that this place was never meant to welcome anyone.

Which is weird because the last time you passed through this place in search for food, it was nothing more than an open rest stop. It’s not one of the sprawling ones you’d find further down the expressway, but it’s big enough. Big enough to refuel, grab a bite, and carry on your way.

Jungwon’s eyes narrow as he takes in the scene. His hand hovers near his rifle, fingers flexing restlessly. “Looks fortified,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

“Too fortified,” you mutter, your gaze following the stretch of barricades. The gas station and the attached convenience store sit within the enclosure like something out of a nightmare—a beacon of hope warped into something far more sinister.

The location is perfect. Open road for miles, no trees or buildings to block your view. If a horde approached, you’d see it long before it became a threat. Which begs the question...

Why the hell is it abandoned?

You approach the van slowly, your footsteps crunching softly against the gravel. With every step, your heart pounds louder in your chest. Half of you expects to see it empty, and when you peek inside, you find that you’re right.

“They must be inside,” you murmur, glancing towards the barricade.

Jungwon doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his tension in the way he grips his rifle tighter. He’s thinking what you are—if they’re inside, why is everything so quiet?

You both make your way to the gate. It’s slightly ajar, swaying just enough to make you think it’s been left that way deliberately. You hesitate before pushing it open, and the rusty metal gives a screech that cuts through the eerie silence. The sound makes you wince, setting your teeth on edge. But nothing stirs.

You step inside cautiously, your eyes sweeping the area. The gas station looms ahead, the broken windows glinting like jagged shards of glass. The convenience store sits just beyond it, the door perfectly intact which is more than what you can say for other places you’ve scavenged. Everything looks wrong—too clean, too still, too quiet.

Not a single living soul in sight.

You glance at Jungwon, who’s scanning the surroundings just as intently as you are. His brow is furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. You know what he knows, even without him telling you. In this case, it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

People like The Future don’t abandon their posts. Not without a damn good reason.

“No way they’d leave a set-up like this behind.” Jungwon whispers, the words barely audible

The door to the convenience store glides smoothly as you push it open, the stale air inside rushing out to meet you. The smell of dust and old wood fills your lungs as you step inside cautiously, your eyes darting around the room. It’s dark, but even with the dim light filtering through the cracked windows, you can see the shelves are completely gone.

In their place are makeshift beddings—sleeping bags spread out haphazardly, blankets thrown over crates to make impromptu mattresses. There are even personal belongings scattered around—boots lined neatly by a corner, a few scattered pieces of clothing draped over the back of chairs.

Your stomach knots. This wasn’t how the place looked the last time you were here.

Your eyes drift down to the floor, and that’s when you see them—a cluster of bags, familiar ones. Your breath catches in your throat as you step closer. You kneel down, running your hands over the straps, the worn fabric.

These aren’t just any bags. They belong to your group.

Heeseung’s patch-covered backpack. Jake’s med kit bag. Even Sunoo’s colourful duffle that Ni-ki has been begging him to cover with mud to conceal the colours.

Panic rises in your chest like a tidal wave. “No,” you whisper under your breath, shaking your head. “No, no, no…”

You scramble to your feet, stumbling towards the back of the store. “Heeseung? Sunoo? Jake?” Your voice echoes through the empty space, growing more frantic with each name. “Sunghoon? Ni-ki? Jay?”

Silence.

“Where are they?” you mutter, spinning around, eyes darting from one shadowed corner to the next. “Where the fuck are they?”

“Y/N.” Jungwon’s voice is firm, grounding. “We’ll find them.”

But you’re already moving, your gaze locking onto something near the far wall—a door. It’s subtle, blending almost perfectly into the wallpaper, but the peeling edges give it away. There’s no handle, just a faint outline of a frame.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you approach it cautiously. You glance at Jungwon, who gives a small nod, his rifle raised. With a deep breath, you press your hand to the door and push.

The door swings open easily, revealing a dimly lit room beyond. The room must be soundproof, because the moment the door opens, the noise rushes out—a mixture of hushed conversation and distant shuffling. The voices are familiar. Too familiar.

Your hand trembles as you push the door fully open, stepping inside.

The first thing you see is Jay.

He’s sitting upright right beside the door frame, leaning against the wall, his head resting back. His shirt is still stained with blood, but you can see his torso is wrapped up with fresh bandages. His eyes flutter open when he hears the door creak, and he turns his head slowly to look at you.

“Hey,” you whisper, crouching low to meet his eye, your voice cracking with emotion. “Are you okay?”

Jay gives you a weak smile, his lips twitching at the corners. He doesn’t speak but you can tell he’s happy to see you two alive.

Relief crashes over you, so overwhelming that your knees nearly give out beneath you. Before you can say anything else, Jungwon’s voice pulls your attention.

“Y/N,” he calls out, stepping into the room behind you. His voice holds a mix of awe and disbelief. “Look.”

You follow his gaze and finally take a good look around.

The shelves—the ones that had been removed from the front of the store—are all here. Lined neatly in rows, stacked with canned goods, MREs, bottles of water, medical supplies, ammos. Enough to last an entire year or more with careful rationing. More than you’ve ever seen in one place since the world ended.

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, taking a slow step forward.

Jungwon lowers his rifle, his expression unreadable as he scans the room. “They’ve been stockpiling.”

Your fingers brush over a can of soup on one of the shelves. It’s pristine, untouched. Like it’s been waiting here just for you.

“Jungwon? Y/N?”

The voice comes from the back of the room, faint but unmistakable. Your head snaps around, your heart thumping in your chest. It’s too dim to make out his face at first, but the familiarity of that voice cuts through the haze of exhaustion like a knife.

“Jake,” Jungwon breathes, his steps quickening as he strides toward the figure emerging from the shadows.

Jake barely has time to react before Jungwon wraps him in a tight hug, the tension in his shoulders visibly easing. “Fuck, man,” Jungwon mutters, his voice rough with relief. “I’m glad you lot are okay.”

Jake pats him on the back, his own relief evident in the way he sags slightly into the embrace. “We thought something happened,” he says, pulling away. His face is tired, dark circles shadowing his eyes, but there’s a faint smile tugging at his lips. “We heard the gunshot. Sunghoon and Ni-ki wanted to go after you, but then the horde started coming down on us.”

He pauses, glancing over at you. “We waited as long as we could, but Jay’s wound…” Jake’s voice trails off, his expression tightening. “We were afraid the dead would catch the scent of his blood.”

You barely process what he’s saying. Your mind is too busy counting heads, scanning the room for the others. They’re safe. They’re alive

“Yeah, we ran into a bit of trouble,” Jungwon says, glancing at you briefly before turning back to Jake. “But good news—we got the antibiotics you needed.” He pulls the bag from his shoulder and opens it, revealing boxes of prescription medicine that even The Future can’t get their hands on.

Jake’s eyes widen as he takes in the haul. “Shit. Damn. Don’t be disappointed, Jay. Looks like you’re living another day.” His grin is infectious, a flash of humour cutting through the tension. “That rhymes, by the way. And that too.”

Jay lets out a weak laugh from his spot on the floor. “Looks like you’re the one disappointed, Jake.”

The warmth of their banter spreads through the room, and for a brief moment, everything feels normal. The tension in your chest loosens slightly, but you know it won’t last. It feels fragile. Like a glass bubble that could shatter at any second.

“I already took the bullet out,” Jake says, pulling you from your thoughts. “Thanks to the supplies stockpiled here. And thank fuck this room’s soundproof, because he was screaming like a bloody baby.” Jake crushes a tablet into a cup of water and holds it out to Jay, who takes it with a grimace.

Your gaze drifts across the room. It’s genuinely surreal. “What is this place?” you murmur, still taking it all in.

Jake shrugs. “Heaven in hell, apparently.” He gestures toward the far end of the room. “There’s a basement too. Stocked to the brim.”

The sound of footsteps draws your attention. From the shadows, Sunoo emerges, a flashlight in hand, its beam bouncing off the walls in jagged patterns. His grin is wide, lighting up his face in a way you’ve rarely seen since you’ve been with this group. He’s practically vibrating with excitement, his steps light, his voice carrying a note of relief that feels almost out of place in this grim, desolate world.

“Thank god you’re both okay!” he exclaims, rushing towards you and Jungwon, his feet barely touching the ground as he moves. The rest of them follow suit, trailing beind him.

“Have you seen this place? The supplies would last us for months! And that barricade outside—it’s miles better than the one we had before.” Sunoo exclaims.

That’s the thing. You have seen this place. And it wasn’t like this.

Your stomach twists as dread coils in your chest. Slowly, you shake your head. “Something’s not right,” you murmur, more to yourself than anyone else. “When I came here two months ago, it wasn’t like this. There were no barricades. No fortifications. It was just… a regular rest stop.”

Heeseung turns towards you with a frown. His brows furrow, confusion flickering across his face. “I could’ve sworn they marked this place on one of their maps back at base camp. Captain Hwang showed it to me when I got promoted in the security department.”

“Maybe it was a work-in-progress,” Jake suggests, his voice steady but thoughtful. “They could’ve started building it but hadn’t fully moved in when Y/N passed through.”

You can hear the curiosity in his voice, the way he’s already trying to rationalise what you’re saying. It’s how they survive—by making sense of things, by explaining away every lingering threat until it no longer feels like one.

“Maybe,” you admit reluctantly, though the unease gnawing at your gut doesn’t let up. ”But it’s clearly no longer a work-in-progress. Whoever built this will come back.”

Heeseung runs his finger along one of the shelves, lifting a thick layer of grime and holding it up for everyone to see. “No one’s been here in a while. Those sleeping bags outside? Covered in dust. Same with these shelves.”

Dust means time. Time means abandonment. But why? Why would anyone leave behind a place fortified this well, stocked with enough supplies to last a year? Which in apocalypse standard time, it might as well be a lifetime.

Your gut twists uncomfortably. “Like Jake said, this is heaven in hell. An oasis in the desert. It just doesn’t make sense, why would anyone leave all this behind? It’s not safe to stay here. We should grab whatever we can carry and keep moving.”

The moment those words leave your mouth however, a heavy silence falls over the room, heavy and suffocating. You glance around, catching the way their faces shift—how exhaustion weighs down their expressions, dulling the sharp edges of fear and worry. That’s when it hits you.

They’ve already made up their minds.

They’re tired. Tired of running. Tired of scraping by on borrowed time. Tired of surviving without truly living. And this place, with its sturdy barricades and stockpiled supplies, promises them something they haven’t had in a long time.

A home.

They see this place as a refuge. A chance to finally stop running. The desire to settle down, to stop looking over their shoulders, has taken root, pulling them in like a siren’s song. But it’s nothing but a lie—a lie that this world has dangled in front of you far too many times.

You turn to Jungwon, hoping—praying—that he’ll say something. That he’ll back you up. That he’ll remind them of what you all know deep down: nothing good ever comes easy in this world.

But when your eyes meet his, your heart sinks.

Because you see it in him too. That same exhaustion. That same longing for rest. The desire to finally stop running.

You swallow hard, trying to find your voice amidst the rising panic in your chest. “Jungwon, you know we can’t stay,” you say, your voice quieter than you’d like.

Jungwon looks at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. There’s a heaviness in his gaze, a weariness that mirrors your own. He knows you’re right. You can see it in the way his shoulders sag just slightly, in the way he presses his lips together like he’s trying to stop himself from agreeing.

Because places like this don’t just get abandoned without a reason. The apocalypse is full of these places, scattered across the country like cursed relics of a civilisation long gone. You’ve learned the hard way that anything that looks too good to be true usually is.

But before Jungwon can say anything, Ni-ki steps forward. His expression is calm, collected, his eyes calculating as they sweep across the room. “Whoever left these supplies behind will come back,” he says, his voice steady. “But when they do, they’ll find eight armed individuals. If we play our cards right, we could secure this place.”

Jake nods. “Jay isn’t fit to move. He needs rest if he’s going to fight off the infection. We’ve got medicine, sure, but if we keep running, he won’t stand a chance.”

“I’m with Ni-ki on this,” Sunoo adds. “This place is too good to give up. It gives us a fighting chance against whatever’s out there.”

Your frustration boils over before you can stop it. “And what makes you think whatever’s out there won’t find a way in here?” you snap, your voice sharper than you intended. The room falls silent again, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

Ni-ki’s glare cuts through the stillness like ice. His jaw tightens, his arms crossing over his chest. “You’re the one who led us here,” he says, his voice low and biting. “And now you want us to leave all this behind?”

The guilt hits you like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of you. He’s right. You did lead them here. Just like you led them into every bit of danger that almost cost them their lives; the motel, the village, the bus terminal—and now, here. Every risk, every danger—it all ties back to you. And now they’re looking at you like you’ve betrayed them.

“I didn’t bring you here to settle,” you say quietly, the weight of your own words pressing down on your chest. “I brought you here to survive.”

Ni-ki doesn’t waver. His voice remains steady, calm. “We will survive. We can survive here. We don’t need to keep running.”

And that’s when you realise.

They’ve already stopped running.

Your chest tightens as Ni-ki’s words settle over the group like a final verdict. The exhaustion, the constant fear—it’s worn them down to the point where even the slightest hope of stability feels like salvation.

And who could blame them? You’ve all been running for so long, barely surviving. This place offers a lifeline, however fragile it may be.

But it doesn’t feel right.

It can’t be right.

Jungwon hasn’t spoken since you addressed him directly, his eyes fixed on a spot on the floor like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle with missing pieces. You watch him carefully, hoping for that flicker of leadership you’ve come to depend on, the clarity he always brings in moments of uncertainty. But it’s not there. Instead, there’s a weariness that drags him down like chains around his ankles.

“You’re right,” he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper. It catches you off guard, making your heart skip a beat.

“We’ve been running for too long.”

Your stomach twists. No. He’s giving in.

“But—” he adds, glancing up to meet your gaze. “We’re not settling blindly. We don’t know why this place was abandoned, and we can’t afford to assume it’s safe. We secure it. We prepare for the worst.”

There’s a collective exhale from the group, the tension easing slightly. Ni-ki nods in agreement. “We fortify the barricade. Set up traps, expand our perimeter. If anyone comes back, they’ll regret it.”

“I’ll keep an eye on Jay. He’s stable for now, but he needs proper rest.” Jake says, wiping his hands on his jeans as he rises from where he was crouching beside Jay.

Sunoo chimes in next, his voice lighter than before. “I’ll start taking stock of the supplies. We need to ration carefully if we’re staying.”

Everyone seems to fall into place, tasks assigned and agreed upon with a silent understanding. But you remain still, your hands clenched at your sides, heart pounding in your chest.

“Jungwon.” You call his name softly, pulling him aside as the others begin to disperse.

He follows you out of the room without question, the two of you stepping into the cool night air outside the barricade. The wind carries the faint scent of petrol and dust, mingling with the metallic tang of lingering fear.

Jungwon’s gaze is locked on the barricade, his rifle hanging loosely in his grip. You watch him for a long moment, the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitch slightly. There’s exhaustion in the way he stands, a bone-deep weariness that makes your chest ache. And it’s more than just physical fatigue. You see it in the way his jaw clenches, in the void behind his eyes.

“You know this is a mistake,” you say, your voice trembling slightly. “You know better than anyone that places like this don’t stay safe.”

Jungwon sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I know. I know it’s a risk.”

“Then why are you letting them believe it’s safe?”

He looks at you for a long moment, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes. “Because they need it. We need it.”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling over. “And what happens when whoever built this place comes back? When they’re more armed, more prepared than we are?”

“We’ll handle it,” he says firmly.

“Jungwon—”

“I can’t keep running.”

You blink, taken aback by the vulnerability in his tone. You’ve seen him tired, stressed, angry—but this is different. He’s crumbling under pressure.

“I can’t keep dragging them from place to place, always looking over my shoulder,” he continues, voice cracking slightly. “I’m tired, Y/N. We all are. This might not be the perfect solution, but it’s what we have right now.”

The words settle between you like a stone sinking to the bottom of a river. They’re heavy, filled with truths you know too well. But another weight—one you’ve been carrying since the village—presses down on you harder.

“You hate me, don’t you?” Your voice comes out quieter than you expect, almost swallowed by the night air. It’s not really a question. More of a statement.

Jungwon’s brow furrows as he glances at you. “I don’t.”

“You regret letting me come along,” you press, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “I’ve done nothing but put you all through hell since you let me in.”

“Y/N—”

“No, listen.” You take a breath, forcing yourself to keep going. “Ni-ki doesn’t have to say it, but I know he thinks I’ve got no clue what I’m doing most of the time. And he’s right! Half the time, I’m winging it.”

“Y/N.”

“And you—” Your voice trembles as you continue. “You keep risking your life to protect me, and I don’t even know why. I should’ve just let that zombie bite me in the auto shop. I was supposed to go down with the city that day. Hell, I should’ve taken that bullet. I—”

“Y/N!” Jungwon’s voice cuts through your rambling like a knife, sharp and commanding. He steps closer, turning to face you fully. His eyes bore into yours, intense and unwavering.

It silences you instantly.

“Stop,” he says quietly, almost pleading. “Stop doing this to yourself.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he shakes his head, cutting you off.

“Ni-ki’s just frustrated. He doesn’t think that about you. And you can’t put us through hell if we’re already living in it.” His voice softens further, exhaustion creeping into his words. “I don’t regret making the decision to keep you. Jay would never forgive himself if something happened to you. And I don’t hate you.”

There’s a pause, and then he adds, so quietly you almost miss it, “I hate myself. For letting the world get to me.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of you. For a moment, you can’t think of anything to say. You’ve never seen him this vulnerable, this open. It’s both unsettling and grounding, and you feel the cracks in your own walls widening.

“No.” You shake your head slowly, your voice trembling. “You hate me for driving you this way. It’s not the world. The world doesn’t have anything on you.”

Jungwon tilts his head slightly, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smirk. “And you think you have the power to influence me in ways the world can’t?”

You let out a shaky laugh, though there’s no humour in it. “No. But I think you look at me like I could be someone who can finally lift the burden of leadership off your shoulders. You trust my calls. You listen to my opinions. And what I said back at the field, about justice and revenge—you weren’t just listening. You were thinking.”

He doesn’t deny it. His gaze flickers, but he stays quiet, letting you speak.

“Thinking about how maybe I might have a point,” you continue. “Thinking about how you might have been approaching the world the wrong way. But that’s the thing—I don’t want you to think. To second-guess what you’ve always believed in just to weigh mine in.”

Your voice falters slightly, but you push on. “I don’t want you to change. You don’t owe me or the world anything. Fuck the world. To hell with it.”

Jungwon lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You’re cute when you’re hating the world. As ironic as that is.”

The comment catches you off guard. Cute? Your brows furrow in confusion as your mind scrambles to process his words. How can he crack a joke right now?

But there’s something about the way he says it—the way his lips twitch into the faintest smile, the way his eyes soften just a little. He’s trying to lighten the moment, to ease the tension that hangs between you like a noose.

And it works. Sort of.

“I don’t want to hate the world,” you murmur, your gaze locking onto his. Your voice is softer now, raw. “After all, it has all of you in it.”

Jungwon’s expression shifts, his playful smirk fading into something more serious. His gaze lingers on you, studying your face like he’s searching for something he can’t quite name.

“It’s not just about what you said. If that’s what you’re wondering.” His voice drops lower, almost a whisper. “I felt it—the blinding rage for justice… or revenge.”

Your heart stutters in your chest as you turn to him fully, waiting for him to continue.

“When he had you in that chokehold,” he says, his jaw tightening at the memory, “my mind switched off. I wasn’t even thinking. All I knew was that I couldn’t let you die. I picked up that rifle and pulled the trigger without a second thought. And when Jay…” ”

His voice cracks, the name catching in his throat. He stops, closing his eyes briefly to steady himself before speaking again. “When Jay took that bullet for you, I lost it. I completely lost it. That’s when I started thinking about what you said.”

“And you’re right,” he continues, voice quieter now. “If either of you had died right there and then, I would’ve done worse than just give him a quick death.”

You blink rapidly, struggling to process his words. The sheer depth of his emotions is overwhelming, leaving your mind scrambling for a response.

What Jungwon is saying is valid. You know that deep down. You would’ve done things—unimaginable, unspeakable things—if Jay, Jungwon, or anyone else had died. You would’ve burned the world down, torn apart every last remnant of civilisation if it meant protecting them.

But that’s what makes this even harder to hear. Because it also means Jungwon truly, deeply cares for you. The same way you truly, deeply care for them.

And that wasn’t part of your plan.

Noticing your loss for words, Jungwon seizes the moment to press on, his tone quieter, more reflective. “And you’re also right… I don’t like the fact that their lives are practically in my hands. It’s suffocating.”

He pauses, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. “But when you came along… I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. You know how to make the hard calls, the split-second decisions that mean life or death. And all I’ve been doing is leading this group away from those problems. Trying to avoid them. Making decisions in their stead so they don’t have to. Hoping they’ll never have to face it.”

“Well, it’s not exactly a good problem to have,” you shake your head, a soft sigh escaping your lips.

Jungwon huffs out a dry laugh, one that barely passes for amusement. “No, it’s not.” He pauses, rubbing a hand over his face, exhaustion evident in every movement.

“Jungwon,” you say softly, your voice careful. He doesn’t look at you immediately, so you step closer, catching his gaze. “You’re not sheltering them the way you think you are.”

That gets his attention. His brows furrow slightly, confusion flickering in his eyes. “What?”

“These people aren’t following you because you’re their leader,” you continue, your tone gentle but firm. “They’re following you because you’re you. They trust you, even if it costs them everything.”

“And you’ve done a phenomenal job keeping them alive, better than most would” you add, your voice softening. Jungwon stays quiet, his gaze flicking to the ground, as if he’s trying to process your words. You can tell he’s not used to hearing this—compliments don’t seem like something he knows how to take.

He exhales sharply, a sound caught between frustration and exhaustion, his shoulders slumping as if the weight he’s been carrying has suddenly doubled.

“I never asked to lead,” he murmurs, the words heavy with quiet resentment.

“But that’s the thing about responsibility, isn’t it? You don’t get to pick and choose when it falls on you.” you say.

For a moment, he just stands there, his lips pressed into a thin line. You can see the conflict playing out in his expression—the part of him that wants to argue, to deny what you’re saying, because he doesn’t believe it himself. But there’s another part—a quieter, more vulnerable part—that knows you’re right. That knows he’s been carrying this burden far longer than anyone should have to.

“Jungwon,” you whisper, stepping closer. “This place… it feels wrong, and you know it. They trust you. If you tell them to leave, they’ll listen. They’ll pack up and—”

“This place,” he interrupts, his tone deliberate and resolute, cutting through your words like a blade. “It’s hope. Something that these people need now more than anything. And if they think it’s worth fighting for, it is.”

His voice carries the finality of someone who’s already made up his mind. You don’t miss the way his gaze hardens, the way his jaw tightens as he speaks. He doesn’t say it outright, but you can tell he’s not just talking about the others.

This place is hope for him too.

It’s all they have left now, after everything else has crumbled—their faith, their humanity, their belief in something better. And now that their previous hope of holding on to what made them human has shattered—by the likes of you—they’re desperate. Clinging to anything that might give their lives meaning.

And once hope takes root, there’s nothing you can do to convince him otherwise. Jungwon has already decided that this is where they’ll make their stand, no matter how dangerous it might be.

And if Jungwon isn’t leaving, none of them will.

They’ll stay. They’ll fight. And they’ll fall right into the trap of whoever left it here. And the worst part?

They’ll do it willingly.

For hope. For him.

You glance at Jungwon again, noticing the way his eyes drift toward the barricade behind you, scanning the treeline and the roads as if he’s mapping out every possible threat in his head. Even in a rare moment of rest, he’s on guard. Always looking out for them. Always protecting. Always leading.

And in this moment, a realisation settles heavily in your chest—you don’t actually know him the way you think you do.

Because unlike Jungwon, you’ve never had to carry the weight of leading people. You’ve never had to shoulder the responsibility of keeping them alive, day after day. You’ve never had to watch people you care about die because of decisions you made.

You wouldn’t even count the people back at the community building among the people you care about. Sure, you’d shared meals, traded supplies, and worked together to keep the place standing. But at the end of the day, that’s all it was—a band of survivors benefiting from each other’s abilities. A mutual arrangement, nothing more.

When it really comes down to it, you wouldn’t take a bullet for any of them. Not the way Jungwon would. Not the way you’ve seen him do—standing between danger and his people, no hesitation, no second-guessing.

And in that sense, you and Jungwon are different.

Where he sees people worth saving, you see liabilities. Where he sees hope, you see a death trap waiting to happen. Where he takes on the burden of leadership, you’ve kept your distance, never letting yourself get too close. Never letting yourself care too much.

You tell yourself it’s because caring makes you vulnerable. But deep down, you know it’s because you’re afraid—afraid of the weight Jungwon carries every day. Afraid you wouldn’t be able to bear it.

And you’d be right, because you see the toll it’s taken on him written all over his face. The haunted look in his eyes, the tension in his posture, the weariness in his voice. It’s all there. And it’s breaking him, piece by piece.

“I don’t want to see you lose yourself,” you say softly, your words hanging in the air between you.

Jungwon sighs, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. His voice lowers, as if speaking any louder would make him crumble. “I’m not losing myself. And I won’t let the group lose themselves either.” He pauses, his gaze meeting yours with quiet intensity. “That’s why you’re here. You keep me grounded.”

You scoff quietly, shaking your head. “I’m not exactly the best moral compass.”

“You are for me,” he says simply.

The honesty in his words makes your breath catch in your throat. It’s raw. Unfiltered. And it terrifies you.

“I hope you’d stop looking at me like I could solve all your problems. I could never replace you. Even if you wanted me to,” you say, your voice wavering slightly before you swallow hard, trying to steady yourself. You glance at Jungwon, searching his expression for any sign that he might push back, but he’s listening—silent, thoughtful, waiting.

“But what you can do,” you continue, softer this time, “is share the burden. Share it with the people who’ll gladly bear it with you. Heeseung, Jay, Jake, Sunghoon, Sunoo, Ni-ki… they're not helpless, you know? And I know for one that they’ll follow you anywhere.”

His gaze shifts ever so slightly, something flickering in his eyes at the mention of their names. A hint of guilt, maybe. Or perhaps a deep-rooted fear that he’s failed them somehow, that he’s not enough.

He looks at you then, really looks at you, eyes searching yours. And his next words hit harder than you’re prepared for.

“Will you?”

Your chest tightens, and for a second, you hesitate. But before you can stop yourself, the word slips out.

“Yeah.”

The lie falls from your lips so easily, it surprises even you.

Jungwon’s expression softens, relief flickering in his eyes. He nods once, quietly accepting your answer. But as soon as the word is out, regret crashes over you like a wave, cold and unrelenting. Because you know the truth.

You’re not going to stay.

You’re not going to help him carry that burden.

You’re going to run.

And Jungwon doesn’t know it yet, but when you leave—when you inevitably abandon them—he’ll have to pick up that burden all over again.

And somehow, you know that will hurt more than anything the world could throw at him.

part 3 - whispers | masterlist | part 5 - people

♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

notes from nat: happy lunar new year to all celebrating! this is actually the last part i have in drafts... meaning i have to race against time to get the next part written and ready by next week... don't hold me to that though. i'll try my best 🫡 and shoutout to @youcancometome for guessing the title of this part right!!!

perm taglist. @m1kkso @hajimelvr @s00buwu @urmomssneakylink @grayscorner @catlicense @bubblytaetae @mrchweeee @artstaeh @sleeping-demons @yuviqik @junsflow @blurryriki @bobabunhee @hueningcry @fakeuwus @enhaslxt @neocockthotology @Starryhani @aishisgrey @katarinamae @mitmit01 @cupiddolle @classicroyalty @dearsjaeyun @ikeucakeu @sammie217 @m1kkso @tinycatharsis @parkjjongswifey @dcllsinna @no1likeneo @ChVcon3 @karasusrealwife @addictedtohobi

non-gray/underlined = cannot tag

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greyminyoon1 · 9 months ago

Text

⌇ behind closed doors ✦ ˙⋆.˚

the one where you’re riki’s girlfriend but none of your friends know yet, resulting in him having to witness one of the guys make a move on you.

★— pair: riki x fem reader | includes: fluff, established relationship, mario cart!, minor jealousy, swearing, suggestive (making out), height/size difference | featuring: heeseung & sunghoon | words: 1.1k

★— note: look, my first post! yay! x3

requests are open! send me one? <3

“how can you suck that bad at mario cart?” sunghoon smirks, watching your cart drift off the road…again. you groan in frustration, waiting impatiently for your princess peach in her vehicle to be dropped onto the track again so you’ll be able to desperately try and catch up with everyone else.

riki laughs, sitting by your side but with a considerable distance between you (which the both of you always try and maintain when in front of your friends). it’s not that either of you are ashamed or embarrassed for them to find out about your relationship, it’s just that the both of you aren’t in a hurry to be brutally clowned everyday. the guys always said you and riki would end up together, and when they find out they were right? oh, you’re sure you two will never hear the end of it. and besides that, you know they will try to embarrass the two of you to no end. you will tell them…eventually.

but today is not that day.

even if sunghoon is inching closer and closer to you on the couch, eyes glancing over and watching you as much as he can while he’s battling for second place with heeseung.

“it’s cus’ she sucks at driving in real life too.” riki laughs, looking away from the screen and over to you, which he’s been careful not to do too much. which is why he’s only noticing sunghoon’s closer proximity to you now.

your eyes focus on how riki’s eyebrows pinch together, until heeseung lightly raises his voice to warn you of the approaching banana on the road.

“shit!”

you pivot the cart as best you can, hitting against a wall and spinning out. but hey, at least you’re still on the track and not falling into the endless sky below.

“hm, maybe she’ll get better by playing this.” sunghoon speaks as though you’re not a part of the conversation, but his eyes are right on you, lips curved into a smile that you’re starting to worry is more than friendly. the way his eyes look at you is a little too…fondly.

“first!” heeseung calls out in victory, lifting his hands and controller in the air.

“what!?”

sunghoon whips his head back to the screen, disappointed to see that he’s only in second place on the charts.

riki comes in third, which is low for him, and you note it along with the way he’s suddenly gotten quieter, face somewhat subdued.

“do you wanna play again?” sunghoon’s asks, voice dropping an octave as he practically says it against your ear.

you instinctually flinch, caught off guard by how he leans just slightly closer to you, growing more flustered by the second as you don’t know how to respond to sunghoon’s subtle flirtations.

you don’t even notice it, but riki sure does notice the second sunghoon’s thigh touches yours as he’s sitting right next to you now. and riki cant stand it. dropping his controller on the carpeted floor, he grabs your hand and is hastily pulling you off the couch, towards the hallway.

“actually, i just remembered that i left a pack of coke in y/n’s car. we’ll be back.” riki lies. the boys don’t know it, but you do. you are known to be the person that picks riki up for most of your hang outs (which isn’t that suspicious, considering that riki doesn’t have a car yet and you live the closest to him), but he did not bring a pack of cokes and leave them in your vehicle.

you don’t understand what’s happening as riki opens the door to heeseung’s bedroom, pulling you inside and turning his back to lock the door behind you.

“what are we doing?” you ask with distinct confusion, looking at the boy’s broad back in front of you.

when he turns to face you he says nothing, only stepping silently forward to take your cheeks in his large hands, a little firm in his hurry to cross the distance between you. and then his lips are suddenly on yours, and you think you’re beginning to understand what this is all about.

“mm- riki, riki,” you try to murmur between kisses, but the boy is insistant, wrapping his arms around you and pressing your smaller body into his towering frame.

“i know, baby. you don’t have to tell me. just let me do this.” he whispers against your lips, taking a moment to look into your eyes as his words are meant to assure you that he’s fine, that you don’t have to remind him that you’re his. but he just wants this small moment to feel that you are.

your stomach flutters with a few butterflies as you gaze into his pretty yet slightly intimidating stare, nodding your head as riki takes that as the go ahead.

his hands squeeze into the flesh of your waist before rubbing one hand up and down your side, plump lips move over yours like you’re in slowmo.

your heart starts to beat faster as riki gently bites your lip, making the need to be closer to him worsen as you raise your hands and place them over his chest.

riki responds by hugging you tightly, leaning over more than he already has to with your height difference as his kisses become deeper. you gasp when his tongue slips into your mouth, riki letting out a happy sigh as he tastes and explores you.

a suspicious amount of time passes when you finally slip back out of heeseung’s bedroom, riki’s lips reddened and yours swollen from the make out session.

“well that took a long time.” heeseung announces when the two of you walk back into the living room.

“uh, sorry.” riki replies lamely, scratching the back of his neck as he regrets not remembering to think of an excuse to tell them.

“you two are together, aren’t you?” sunghoon asks with 100% confidence, lips smirking.

“what! why- why would you say that?” you stutter, eyes wide as heeseung and hoon both share a knowing look.

“because when i tried to make riki jealous by getting too close to you it worked. plus i don’t see any coke in either of your hands.”

“oh…” riki mumbles, shocked face slowly transitioning to shy as he grabs your waist to pull you closer to him, almost as if he thinks he can hide behind you. “forgot about that.”

heeseung and sunghoon burst into laughter, you and riki eventually joining them as the initial surprise of being caught settled into relief at the realization that there’s no point in pretending anymore.

“i’ll forgive you this time, sunghoon hyung.” riki starts, eyes glimmering with mischievousness as he rests his chin over your head cutely. “but don’t ever flirt with my girl again.”

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greyminyoon1 · 10 months ago

Text

ONE NOTE

PAIRING > sim jaeyun x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS > When you turned 18, you heard your best friend’s favourite song. Turns out, it was just one of the various signs to finding your soulmate. However, you couldn’t bring this up to jake. Not when he was in a happy relationship with your other best friend! Would you choose heartbreak or sacrifice your happiness for the sake of keeping the friendship

GENRE > soulmate au + best friends to lovers / facing a crisis that you don’t want to break the perfect relationship your two best friends have.

FEATURING > leehan and taesan from boynextdoor, an oc for your girl bestie named aria & the rest of enha in your friend group.

SCHEDULE > every two days or so

TAGLIST > send an ask or go here for the google form :)

START: 18 August 2024 | END: tbc

PROFILE: the fam | mental health club

ONE: wingwoman

TWO: souls bonded

THREE: elephant in the room

FOUR: so sorry for your future

FIVE: it's not jake

SIX: i accept it

SEVEN: will we ever be close again?

EIGHT: happy birthday jae

NINE: she's been a nastay gurl

TEN: or was it? [written]

ELEVEN: it's glowing

TWELVE: it's just not fair

THIRTEEN:

FOURTEEN:

FIFTEEN:

SIXTEEN:

SEVENTEEN:

EIGHTEEN:

NINETEEN:

TWENTY:

TWENTY-ONE:

TWENTY-TWO:

TWENTY-THREE:

TWENTY-FOUR:

TWENTY-FIVE:

TWENTY-SIX:

TWENTY-SEVEN:

TWENTY-EIGHT:

TWENTY-NINE:

THIRTY:

THIRTY-ONE:

THIRTY-TWO:

THIRTY-THREE:

THIRTY-FOUR:

THIRTY-FIVE:

THIRTY-SIX:

THIRTY-SEVEN:

THIRTY-EIGHT:

THIRTY-NINE:

FOURTY:

fin

got any questions to ask the cast or author?

ONE NOTE: asks

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greyminyoon1 · 11 months ago

Text

NATURALLY — p.jongseong

PAIRING: chef!jay x fem!reader GENRES: fluff, smut WC: 6.0k+

WARNINGS: masturbation (m receiving), body marks like a hickey on the neck, jay is described as reserved, but he's a jerk in love with yn. lmk if i forgot any more.

SYNOPSIS: jay has always been very private about his love life and physical contact in front of his friends, but a comment from his work colleagues made him rethink some things.

NOTES: i wanted to write something for jay and i don't know if i'm satisfied with the result. to take my mind off the last story i wrote, i tried something and i promise to improve on the next ones. i hope you like it!

masterlist

“What's that hickey on your neck?” Jay stopped midway when he thought about adjusting his dolman, turning to face his best friend and partner in the restaurant.

Frankie's hysterical and excited scream caused other cooks and people working in the kitchen to look in her and Jay's direction, causing the boy to feel his face heat up. And it wasn't because he was close enough to the stove.

“Frankie, for God's sake” he said quietly, the collar of his dolman being pulled up a little more than usual, ”Keep your voice down.”

“It was my sister, wasn't it?” she held back a laugh as she finished chopping some herbs and put them in the steaming pot a few steps away.

“Who's to say?” Jay joked.

“Oh, I'll call her right away then” Frankie wiped her hands on her apron and turned to Jay. The smile played on his lips as he approached and gave her a gentle push on the shoulder.

“You're the worst best friend I have, you know that?” he whispered.

“And you're the worst best friend and brother-in-law I have, you know that?” she whispered back ”Finally you and Y/n are becoming more public. Tired of hiding?”

Jay didn't see your relationship with him that way, not least because the two of you weren't hiding from anyone. Quite the opposite. The people at his restaurant knew that you and he were having something, just as the people at your work also knew about Jay. The only difference was the public touching and fondling in front of people.

It was normal for a couple to kiss in front of their friends, exchange some affection, or become more affectionate with each other in front of people. Especially since two people who had feelings for each other tended to do this unconsciously. Jay got tired of seeing Heeseung, another cook and best friend, walk past Frankie and kiss her from time to time. Shouting love to her from across the kitchen as he prepared an order.

Of course, Jay felt responsible for bringing the two of them together and thought it was cute how they showed their love for each other.

Maybe that's how Frankie felt about having introduced you, her sister, to Jay at a get-together in their restaurant.

He had always been discreet about romantic relationships and anything that involved them, but Jay had also always been very observant and curious, wanting to get to know you a little more from the moment you told him your name and sat down in the restaurant chair to try the dish that Heeseung and Frankie had created.

You were beautiful. The most beautiful woman Jay had ever seen in his life, and he had traveled to other countries in search of innovations for his restaurant's menu, so he knew a lot of people. He worked with and talked to a lot of people, so he had a lot to say about that.

Jay's best friend and partner was the right-hand in this introduction between the two of you. She knew that your best friend was single – the only single guy in the group – and you, the sister, had never introduced anyone decent to your sister and mother. Jay was the complete opposite of any guy you'd ever had a relationship with, so who better than your sister to recognize that and give you a little push? She had no guarantee that you and he would work out because you were both too shy to start anything, but the night everyone organized to meet at Jake's house and you arrived in Jay's car, your sister knew she had made the right choice.

Since then, no one has ever seen anything suspicious between you and Jay when you all went out together. Over three months they saw, at most, Jay kissing the top of your head while you were all drinking in a bar. Frankie used to ask her best friend if he'd ever kissed you because she never got to see it. And you never said more than was necessary either, perhaps because Jay was always much more reserved about it, so respecting him in this respect was the least you could do.

“Come on, Jongseong, you haven't answered me” Frankie snapped Jay out of his thoughts when he bumped into him again. The smell of the spices she used in her dishes was unmistakable and he couldn't help but approach the pot and furtively ask for some of the sauce to try.

“What do you want to know?” he rolled his eyes in false drama, rummaging around on the worktop to find a spoon she wouldn't use. As soon as he found a small one, he silently asked permission and scooped some of the sauce into his mouth. It was delicious, as always. Frankie was great with the spices she made and that made her stand out even more in the restaurant. Jay loved that. He, Frankie and Heeseung had totally different ways of cooking and excelling in some aspects of the kitchen, which was why it had worked out so well when they opened the restaurant together.

“That hickey on your neck” she said, leaning against the counter opposite Jay as she watched him enjoy the sauce he had just tasted. Smiling with satisfaction at having achieved the goal of her seasoning “Was it my sister?”

“Who else would it be?” he saw Frankie shrug.

“It's just that in all these months, I've never even seen you two kiss on the mouth. Now you show up with a scar on your neck” and it was her turn to pick up a spoon to try out the work she had done. It wasn't as hard to find as Jay, since it was her worktop, so Frankie knew exactly where her utensils were. She picked up the spoon and put in a lot less sauce than Jay, just enough to see if she needed to get anything right “It's different, you know?”

Jay smiled, although she couldn't see the amusement in his eyes when he heard her. It was different, and he didn't blame her for asking. The two of them were interrupted by Heeseung's approach to the counter, the dishcloth in his hands to wipe something up.

“Have you two stopped talking? Because we have a lot to do” he joked.

“We're about to close, asshole” Jay pulled out the dishcloth and turned it to hit Heeseung weakly, who muttered in protest.

“Right, dickhead” he laughed lowly, approaching Frankie and hugging her ”Has he confessed about that hickey yet?”

“What's so horrible about me getting a hickey?” he lamented.

“It's not horrible, it's just…”

“Different?” Jay used the word Frankie had described seconds before, prompting Heeseung to agree as he hugged his girlfriend a little tighter. Looking at the couple in front of him, Jay grimaced as he thought about what he could say to them.

There was no other way out of that explanation because you were the only person who could do that to him. Neither of you was careless about it, but in the heat of the moment, Jay didn't even mind being marked by you. He would never have minded. Knowing that the way you sucked on his skin or scratched him was the result of his persistent and precise touches on your skin. From the movement of your bodies and the synchronicity you two had.

Thinking about it, Jay began to feel hot, taking deep breaths to try and dispel the thought of the night before that had resulted in the hickey on his neck, the big topic at the end of the night.

“That was our first visual confirmation that you two have something going on” Heeseung cut the brief silence when he heard one of the waiters call out. There were only a few other people in the restaurant and the dishes were relatively simple. So no one had to do anything on the run. He let go of Frankie and kissed her quickly before returning to his worktop on the other side of the kitchen.

“So I have to let her give me more hickeys so you can confirm that we're together?” Jay commented a little too loudly, forgetting that there were other people in the kitchen besides Frankie and Heeseung. The two people who had caused the whole thing laughed at the boy's desperation as he tried to talk his way out of it and forget about the malicious looks and teasing noises from the other staff.

“You just need to stop turning redder than the pepper I'm going to use for the sauce” Frankie whispered to him after a short bout of laughter.

Jay just obeyed, no longer wanting to go through all that banter in the kitchen of his restaurant.

Jay didn't want to be the type to overthink things, but talking to Frankie and Heeseung sparked something in his mind. It wasn't a bad thing that he was always secretive about his love life and what he and you did, it never seemed to be a problem for you because he saw the way you behaved in front of your friends and sister. You were never able to initiate any caresses on Jay either, the most you did was bump into his hand when you handed him something or slide your hand around his waist when you passed him in the same space.

Physical contact in public wasn't something that made you uncomfortable, maybe you'd heard how quiet he was about it from your sister – being Jay's best friend – so taking her words at face value was the least you could do.

He found himself standing in the car before entering your apartment with the bag of food he always carried after a tiring day. The night before had been at his place, and as a silent combination over the months, the next night was always spent at your apartment. Jay wanted to ask you so many things, to know if it was a problem for you that he was secretive like that or if Frankie had said something about it so that you could take the hint without him having to say anything. Communication was the key to a relationship working, right? And everything was going too well between you and him, so why not ask?

Jay got out of the car and walked up to your apartment a little faster than usual, his hands firmly gripping the bag he was carrying with his dinner as he exited the elevator and went straight to your door. Even though he was the only person arriving at that time and also had a spare key to your door, Jay never entered without knocking. And that's what he did.

He knocked lightly on your door before taking the key with his free hand and unlocking it, entering your dimly lit and silent apartment. As it always was when he arrived after work at the restaurant. Jay went into the kitchen and put the bags in the fridge, going up to your bedroom to see the familiar sight of almost every night he was there in your apartment.

Your wet hair cascaded down your back, covered by the thin layer of clothes you were wearing. Tonight it had been a light-colored sweater, which Jay couldn't quite identify because his eyes were focused on how you were spreading the cream over your arm.

“Hey” you greeted him slowly, looking at him in the reflection of the mirror and smiling in Jay's direction. He smiled at you too. A tired smile, but so beautiful. You called out to him with a gentle gesture, watching him walk towards you and stop right behind you in the reflection of the mirror.

Jay didn't say much, leaning in to place a kiss on the curve between your shoulder and neck, inhaling the vanilla essence of the cream you were applying. Your distinctive scent made him sigh.

“Tough day?” you asked, ignoring the slight shiver that formed on your skin when Jay placed another kiss on your neck, resting the tip of his nose against your cheek.

“Too much to do” Jay whispered against your skin, one of his hands snaking around your waist to pull you against him without much effort “And they bothered me for a long time!”

“My sister?” you asked, hearing Jay's whimper and his grip on your waist intensify. Your laughter echoed throughout the room and, putting down the bottle of cream, you turned to Jay. His hand was still on your waist and now his other hand was on your cheek “What did she do this time?”

For a few seconds, Jay stopped answering that because he wanted to focus on you. How your clean face and the sparkle in your eyes made his heart beat faster. Jay knew that his best friend's sister was beautiful, he just didn't know that he would hold you in his arms after so long. It was a dream to be able to share every little thing with you.

“She was playing with my face because someone left me a present” he whispered, his eyes dropping down to your lips. He noticed how apprehensive you were when you bit your lower lip and then put your hands flat against his chest “Turn down the collar of my shirt” Jay still kept his voice down to a whisper, tilting his neck a little to give you access to what he wanted.

Your fingers seemed a little shy at first when you went to the collar of his shirt as if that path was unknown to you. Although it never was since you had touched him so many times that you had even memorized every little part of Jay's body. Holding the collar carefully, you lowered it to the point where you saw the purplish skin just below his Adam's apple, almost near his collarbone.

“Oh my God” was the only thing that came out of your mouth, your fingers pulling away from the fabric of his clothes and you curled up in Jay's arms ”I'm so sorry, Jay. I—”

“Hey, it's okay” he said, silencing your whining as he leaned his forehead against yours ”I actually wanted to talk to you about it.”

You didn't want to admit that your heart had raced at that. So that's when you and he were going to break up? Jay got angry because Frankie probably made fun of the hickey you gave him, not knowing that someone would see.

Your slight panic, coupled with past traumas from failed relationships, made you just follow him to bed in silence. Jay held your hand with the tenderness he had in any moment the two of you spent together. He was the first to sit down, leaving the space at the head of the bed for you to sit and lean against, facing him. Now your gaze had dropped to your lap and Jay noticed how quiet you had been since he had said those words.

“Y/n” he called you in a calm tone, although he still whispered every word. Even though it was just the two of you in the apartment, it was as if he didn't want anything else to hear you and him.

“Hi” you looked up when he called you, feeling your cheeks burn at the sensation of Jay looking at you like that.

“You…” he didn't want to show that he was more apprehensive than you, nor did he want to say that he was thinking about too many things at once. Sharing frustrations was fundamental and perhaps he would say that another time, but right now, he just wanted to know one thing “Do you mind if I'm not so physically affectionate with you in front of others?”

For a moment, your mind went blank, not knowing how to respond to the question he had asked. Your eyes searched his for a fraction of a second before fixing them and paying even more attention to the man in front of you.

“What do you mean? Did something happen?” you asked.

“It happened, and… I wanted to know.”

Jay didn't want to make the mistake of not being honest or not sharing his frustrations with you. The thought of seconds ago had dissipated when he almost ran over himself with the words to tell you everything that had happened. From the moment he walked into the kitchen to the little chat he had with Heeseung and Frankie, the physically affectionate couple on any occasion. It was cute to see how affectionate Heeseung was with your little sister and you even commented on it to Jay and your other friends. But it wasn't as if you felt jealous of her or envious because she had it and you didn't. You listened attentively to Jay telling you everything.

You listened attentively to Jay saying everything he felt and his fear of you caring ate away at him. Because he didn't know how to act and had never said anything to you about that kind of thing. As you watched him lose himself in his words, gesticulating a little more than usual and starting to get euphoric, your mind worked on the opposite.

You slid across the bed to sit on Jay's lap, crossing your legs to either side of him and holding him by the collar of his shirt. At that moment he stopped talking and paid attention to what you were doing.

“Go on” your voice was soft, although you were a little agitated at being on Jay's lap and with your face so close to his.

“I can't concentrate with you sitting like this” he admitted, his hands running down to your waist and pressing into the sides of your hips.

Your smile was mirrored by his as you leaned in a little closer and brushed your lips against Jay's. The slightly cracked crevices of his mouth passed through you smelled of the lip balm you had applied earlier. Jay knew how soft your lips were and how much he wished all day that he could kiss you, but when he went to do so, you pulled back a little more. Your head hung back just enough so that he couldn't kiss you. A little teasing game and he didn't even know why, but he was getting impatient.

Maybe you wanted to see how impatient he would get and you were just testing his limits, but Jay proved he wasn't very good at this game because the second time you brushed your lips against his and pulled away, he couldn't take it anymore.

One of the hands-on your waist moved quickly up to the back of your neck and pulled your face close enough to collide your lips with his. The sound of Jay's muffled moan echoed in your mouth as you opened slightly to greet his tongue urgently and desperately. He just wanted to kiss you and taste you on the tip of his tongue. As the kiss intensified, feeling your tongues wrap around each other, you felt your body slide down, Jay laying you gently against the mattress and climbing on top of you.

He seemed to fit perfectly between your legs every time the two of you got into this position. It was as if Jay knew exactly at which angle to lie down and place you, how he should sit between your thighs, and the exact place his hips should press against yours. Everything was millimetrically calculated as he continued to kiss you. Mouths moving against each other, ragged breaths, and hands rushing for more contact.

You unbuttoned each button on his shirt until his chest was exposed, sliding your hands over the tanned skin that had been addicting you for the last few months. Jay smiled against your mouth, loving the warm contact of your fingers against his skin, causing him to slide his teeth against your lower lip at the same second that his hips pressed against yours.

Your moan was music to Jay's ears, and seeing the effect he had on you with a few kisses was breathtaking.

“Babe” he called softly, his mouth still against yours as he slid it up to your chin and placed a small kiss there.

“Yes?” you tried to muster all your strength to reply, your fingers stopping in the middle of his chest.

“Can I mark your neck too?” the way Jay looked at you was so innocent and cute, in stark contrast to the way he was now. Between your legs, with his cock hard and pressing against your clothed pussy. You genuinely laughed when he looked at you like that, the question coming out so quietly “Are you… Are you laughing at me?”

“What? No!” you tried to say, but you couldn't tell yourself. So you pulled him a little closer to kiss Jay's lips a little more slowly “You can… Do it.”

It was like giving someone the best news in the world. The way he smiled at you felt like you'd just told him you'd bought his favorite manga collection.

Jay just nodded at you, leaving a small kiss on your lips and slowly making his way back down to your chin. Thinking about getting back at you for laughing at his request, or leaving a mark that you made on him too. Even if yours wasn't intentional, but he wanted his to be. Didn't know why he needed to show that the hickey on your neck had been made by him. Only he could mark you like that.

Jay's thoughts ran wild and he went back to working his lips against your skin, down your jawline to just below your ear. Your sweet spot was the ideal place for him to start distributing slow kisses as if he were kissing you. At that moment a moan came from your mouth and he unconsciously pressed his hips against yours.

“Jay” you moaned his name softly as he moved up to your earlobe to slowly suck on the skin. The light taste of vanilla against his tongue indicated that your cream was an illusory barrier between your skin and his mouth to kiss you. Jay didn't care, just focusing on sucking on your earlobe.

He knew you weren't going to stand still and thank God for that, your hands quickly running to the zipper of his pants to undo any ties between the fabric and his hips. Jay lifted up enough for you to pull down what was necessary of his pants and underwear, freeing his cock that needed to be out of the grasp of clothing. He sighed against your neck, swallowing a moan as your fingers gently gripped his cock.

“My love, you…” Jay didn't hold back and moaned close to your ear as your thumb circled the head of his cock, spreading the pre-cum that was forming there. He bit down hard on your skin for the first time since he'd started kissing you there “Fuck, Y/n” Jay wanted to concentrate as much as possible on kissing your skin and marking you in a good way, but he didn't count on your mind working as well as his.

You masturbated him slowly while Jay tried not to bite you hard again, knowing that his teeth were already marked on your skin. You held back from making a sound, loving the way you were catching him off guard as you ran your hand up and down his cock. Wetting your fingertips with pre-cum as you used it to slide more easily along its length, feeling the veins under your fingers.

Jay took a deep breath, not bothering to control any more sounds coming out of his mouth. He let the moans out freely and tried to concentrate on the kisses, apart from your hand, which was doing a great job. He circled his tongue over your skin, making irregular designs with the tip of it until it came down near your collarbone. There he moaned once more as you squeezed the head of his cock just as your fingers reached the top, your fist working just as slowly as Jay's lips worked on your skin.

“You want to drive me crazy, don't you?” his panting voice made you smile, even if he couldn't see it. You moved your fist up and down again, gripping his cock more firmly to jerk him off a little faster.

“I want to give you a boost, love” you said quietly, close to his ear as you heard the wet sound of Jay's pre-cum between your fingers each time your hand moved up and down his cock.

“Fuck” Jay's hands roamed your body, touching your sides and gripping the fabric of the nightgown you were wearing tightly.

He wanted to rip everything off you and fuck you right there, take your hand off his cock, and shove it deep into your pussy until your whole body was marked, not just your neck. But Jay had to concentrate, he had to do this before he could fuck you properly. Then he connected his lips to your skin again and kissed you even harder and faster.

Jay sucked on the skin of your neck and let go with a pop, seeing the reddish mark that formed when he did so. The ball of saliva against your soft skin made him suck on the same spot again, noticing the red spot becomes a little darker. You squirmed beneath him, shivering every time Jay's mouth came into contact with your skin. Your fingers squeezed a little tighter as you reached the head of his cock and slowly descended to his balls.

He swore he was about to come, his hands squeezing your hips and his hips fucking your hand as he started to move.

“Y/n, I…” Jay straightened his face to rest his forehead against yous. He was panting and his lips were red, the crack in his mouth completely wet from the saliva that had spread across his skin by then. Jay was completely divine on your lips. His cheeks flushed and his chest rose and fell frantically as he continued to fuck your hand.

“Do you want to cum?” you asked in such a sweet whisper that he felt his cock twitch all over. Jay just nodded and pressed his hands even tighter against your hips, wanting to release quickly from how good you were doing jerking him off like that.

It didn't take a verbal request or anything you said to him to make him cum, just the way your hand went up and down, paying equal attention to the head of his cock, which was drooling more and more pre-cum, and his balls that you made sure to caress every time your fingers went down. Jay was on the verge of madness and he only managed to be quick to lift your nightgown, showing the skin of your belly enough so that he could cum there without dirtying your clothes. And that's what he did.

Spurts of thick, hot, white cum bathed your skin as he came, moaning your name continuously as his lips ran to your neck. Giving a long suck against your skin, in erratic movements with his hips against your hand. His cock throbbed between your fingers until you milked the last drop, cleaning the cum with your thumb from the head of his completely sensitive cock.

Jay whimpered at the sensation, almost cumming again when you brought your fingers to your lips to completely clean what was left there. His eyes were shining, his mouth wide open and his breathing was completely uneven. Jay was on cloud nine and didn't know what to say at that moment.

You made a move to move beneath him, maybe you were going to get up or something, but he wouldn't let you move with so much cum in your belly.

"Wait a minute" Jay kissed the tip of your nose before running to the bathroom and grabbing a towel. It didn't take him long to wet the cloth and run back to clean you. You bit your lower lip to try to suppress the smile that was about to spread across your lips at the care he took in cleaning you and making sure everything was okay before getting out of bed and putting the towel in the laundry basket.

When Jay came back, he just discarded his already open shirt and pulled up his underwear, getting rid of his pants and throwing himself on the bed next to you.

His arms wrapped around your body to pull you closer, nuzzling his face close to your neck where he had left that hickey.

“Why… Did you do that?” he was still trying to recover from what had just happened, his heart racing. You smiled as you turned to face him, your hands holding either side of Jay’s face.

“Because if you don’t remember when this happened…” you removed one of your hands from his face to point to where the hickey you had given him was, running your thumb against Jay’s skin “Your fingers were inside me, so I just wanted to return the way I felt.”

“Oh” Jay felt his cheeks burn suddenly. Of course, you had done the same to him. He didn’t remember why you had left that hickey, but to refresh his memory, the two of you were in his room and while his fingers were going deep inside you, your moans had been muffled like that. Just like he had done minutes ago against your neck. He laughed along with you and pulled you a little closer, wrapping your body between his arms.

“Now how about I mark you in other parts too?” he asked.

“And how would you do that?”

“I don’t know” Jay pulled you on top of him, wrapping your legs around his waist “But I want to be inside you when it happens this time.”

Trying to reassure Jay that you didn't care about the way you two acted in front of your friends was hard work. The conversation he had with your sister and Heeseung seemed to have gotten to him somehow, and you felt obligated to tell him what you had learned before meeting him.

You had heard from Frankie and Heeseung that Jay was reserved and quiet, that they needed to make the boy meet someone who would make him smile a little more. Or even be more affectionate, but that it would be hard work. When you met Jay, you didn't see anything like what the two of them had told you before.

Jay smiled easily at you, treated you well, and was generous and gentlemanly with everything he did for you. Meeting him and getting involved with him was a bonus that you didn't think would happen, although your head was still pounding from the conversation you had with your sister and brother-in-law. This was something you kept with you for the months that followed as you got to know and get involved with Jay. And that was what you told him after that confession. You didn't want to cross the line that you thought he had sat quietly. And you also didn't mind not having physical touch in front of your friends, especially since Jay was the complete opposite when it was just the two of you. And you appreciated that.

“Here” he called your attention as he returned from the kitchen to the backyard of your parents' house. Bringing a drink that you had ordered while he was diverting from his duty to stay at the barbecue with Heeseung and Sunghoon.

Your sister was in charge of making the drinks with Lucy, Sunghoon's girlfriend, while you talked to Jake and Crystal right in front of you.

“Thank you” you smiled at him and took the glass, trying the mixture that your younger sister had made.

When your eyes returned to Jake and Crystal to resume the conversation, you felt Jay's hands on your shoulder. Maybe he wanted to say something silently or just get your attention. Or he wanted to try your drink since your sister could have made something completely different for him. Not knowing what Jay wanted, you turned to him to find him smiling at you.

Without saying anything, Jay leaned down enough so that his face was close to yours.

"Jay, what…"

"What's your drink?" he asked quietly.

"Watermelon, why?"

He didn't answer, moving a little closer to you to touch his lips to yours. The shock evident on your features gradually dissipated as Jay's lips moved against yours. Your free hand went to his face when you felt Jay's tongue ask for entry for a kiss, which was soon given.

It didn't take long, especially because you knew that kisses with him were always slow and needy, ending somewhere else that you were both far away from. So Jay quickly pulled his lips away from yours.

“Really, your drink is watermelon” he smiled and walked away.

“Holy shit!” Heeseung shouted the moment Jay passed by him, calling Frankie's name inside the kitchen with excited shouts.

You tried to process what had just happened, that Jay had kissed you in front of your friends who were amazed and excited about it. Your eyes searched for Crystal who had been the only one left there, because Jake got up and ran with Sunghoon to the kitchen too.

“Come on, they look like teenagers” she rolled her eyes, laughing while you were still in shock about everything that happened.

Your lips tingled where Jay had kissed you and your mind was spinning with the fact that he made it seem so natural that you didn’t even know what to say. Walking with Crystal to the kitchen where everyone was, your eyes ran to your younger sister.

“I can’t believe I fucking missed that” she whimpered.

“You two need to kiss again, seriously, it was so cute” Heeseung jumped, looking like a child who had just received the best present in the world.

You just rolled your eyes and tried to ignore your brother-in-law’s excitement, although it was funny how he was dealing with all of this. Jay also tried to ignore it as he walked around the kitchen counter to stand next to you, hugging you from behind and giving Heeseung, Jake, and Sunghoon even more reason to scream hysterically.

“Why are you all screaming? Oh my God!” you tried to look serious as you felt Jay’s arm around your waist.

“What? Are you seriously going to ask us that?” Jake looked at you.

“They’re all excited about the kiss I didn’t see” your sister pretended to be angry, looking at you and Jay.

“Just wait until you see that I’m not the only one with a hickey now” Jay hummed and pulled away from you, smelling the barbecue that had been abandoned by Heeseung.

“No fucking way!” Frankie yelled and looked at her boyfriend, exchanging glances with you.

Your eyes rolled back and you tried to ignore them when they started yelling excitedly again and talking at the same time about you and Jay and how beautiful you two were together.

“You’ll pay for this, Park Jongseong” you said as you passed him at the barbecue.

“I’ll take that risk, love” he said back, smiling widely as he turned the meat that had been forgotten by Heeseung.

Jay thought that being affectionate with you in front of people, thinking about the kiss he gave you a few minutes ago, seemed so right and natural. As if it wasn’t something rehearsed, it had to happen.

So maybe having more physical touch was common between the two of you and his reserved persona could be being left behind by someone who did it without even asking.

2K notes · View notes

greyminyoon1 · 11 months ago

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can I call you tonight? - park jongseong

enhypen masterlist

synopsis. yn needs money. that’s the only reason she keeps agreeing to babysit jay’s son each week. nothing was ever going to blossom out of it, not with jay - a workaholic 6 years older than her. she keeps telling herself that every time his smile lingers a little too long on his lips, but each time she dials his number into her phone, he picks up before the second ring.

pairing. singledad!jay x reader

genre. social media au, pretty angsty at times, fluff, smut later on

characters. enhypen members, aespa’s giselle, nct’s jaemin and jisung, possibly others from these groups in the future

warnings. mentions of toxic past relationships, cheating, mature themes and sexual content, swearing, inappropriate jokes, more will be added as the series continues

taglist. open! please send an ask, must be 18+ and have that on your blog visible!

start. coming soon!

end. tbc

profiles.

one. he shoots he scores

two. coming soon!

2K notes · View notes

greyminyoon1 · 11 months ago

Text

secrets untold (part 1) | sunghoon

summary: ever since sunghoon graduated university, he’s been working the same bothersome job without any real excitement in his life. but when you move into the apartment next to his, sunghoon’s reality is turned upside down and he finds himself running all over korea with you by his side. as he comes to learn, not everything is as it seems.

PAIRING: sunghoon x fem!reader

notes: ahhhhh. four revisions later and i’ve managed to write the best version of this story. i also made a playlist that you should definitelyyyy listen to while reading this. there’s nothing left for me to say other than i love sunghoon and i hope you enjoy. xx

SECRETS UNTOLD PLAYLIST

WORD COUNT: 24.1K

MASTERLIST + TAGLIST SIGN UP

to my lovely best friend @moonstruck-muses for helping me on my revisions, for brainstorming with me, and for being the best person i know.

consider leaving a comment (or two) and reblogging! x

warnings under the cut!

content warnings: mentions and descriptions of guns and a blood wound, violence in the form of hand-to-hand combat and gunshots, descriptions of stitches, alcohol use.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

Just once does Sunghoon wish for something exciting in his life.

Day in and day out, he swipes his keycard to enter the lobby of the high-rise building he calls his workplace and locates his secluded office by the back of the floor. His name sits in gold lettering, the prestigious plaque gifted to him upon his promotion a few years prior. Sunghoon’s morning begins by opening his laptop to note all of the reports he has yet to finish from the day before and checks his email for any lingering questions from clients or his co-workers. Despite his diligence, his peers aren’t and he finds himself picking up the slack more often than not. Being a financial analyst was not on Sunghoon’s bucket list of goals to achieve in his twenties. In fact, Sunghoon would rather do almost anything other than look at numbers all day and tell people what to do with them.

If he had his way, Sunghoon would have chosen a career path less rigorous and numerical-based. He would’ve tried his hand at photography and studied the fine arts to garner a career in the editorial space, or perhaps he would use his time at university to study the history of coffee before opening his own shop in the busy city of Seoul. But his parents had other plans for him, namely to study law, medicine, or finance, and the latter of the three options seemed less boring to him.

His years of studying lead him here, at Kim Search Group, crunching numbers that mean absolutely nothing to him.

The glasses that sit on the bridge of his nose become bothersome after an hour of staring at his laptop. His next meeting is in twenty minutes and he’s less than pleased when he realizes his reports are on the docket. The agenda stares back at him in hard, black letters like they’re taunting him. Sunghoon thinks they mock him with the way the cursor hovers over the parts highlighted for his portion of the presentation. Nonetheless, Sunghoon acquires what he needs and heads to the meeting room.

Everybody arrives early as usual. His boss concludes the opening remarks and lets his employees take the floor. One by one, Sunghoon’s co-workers stand in the front of the room and report their findings and other related topics from the past month. It all sounds the same to him; every person in this room looks like they could be carbon copies of one another with their suits too expensive and cologne too strong. It makes Sunghoon nauseous. Everybody here lives for everyone else instead for themselves, himself included.

“Good work, Park,” his boss tells him on the way out of the meeting room. “I grow impressed by your work ethic and capabilities everyday.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kim,” Sunghoon says with a bow.

“Do you think you can finish the Kang-Yoon reports by tonight? Our clients will be here first thing tomorrow morning to review before they decide on their purchase. I’d love to get them a first draft of their financial report when they come in.”

With a tight smile, Sunghoon nods. “Sure thing. I’ll email it to you tonight.”

“I knew I could count on you,” Mr. Kim winks. He nudges Sunghoon’s arm like they’re old friends.

By the time he gets home, it’s nearly nine in the evening. His tie sits loosely around his neck and his suit jacket is thrown haphazardly over his arm with the too-expensive briefcase his father bought him when he had been promoted. Sunghoon can’t help but scoff when he sees the dark brown leather staring back at him.

Sunghoon lives in a quiet part of town, just on the outskirts of Seoul. His neighbors are either asleep by the time the sun goes down or busy juggling children with muffled laughter echoing in the hallways. Typically, Sunghoon expects to come home and enter his apartment lobby to be greeted by the doorman who wishes him a good night, take the elevator to the third floor, and tidy his living room while trying to undress himself in the meantime.

Except, you’ve moved into the apartment next to his.

Now, Sunghoon walks with excitement because he anticipates running into you when he’s on his way up. Sometimes you both arrive at the lobby together. Other times it’s you that he sees unlocking his door when he approaches. It doesn’t matter to him, though. The only good thing about working late on the weekdays is that he gets to run into you when he comes home.

He quickly learns that you like to keep to yourself. You aren’t a loud person–not like his neighbor who lives on the other side of him–because he barely hears your footsteps and never hears you watching television. The most he’s heard is the scrape of a chair against hardwood floors.

Above all, Sunghoon thinks you’re cute. You make his heart flutter for no good apparent reason. He’s barely spoken a word to you beyond introducing himself when you first moved in and yet he finds himself pacing his living room, wondering what kind of food you like to eat and what you do on the weekends.

Sunghoon wishes he could come up with something witty to say to convince you to keep talking to him. But even seeing you in your well-worn clothes and tires expression on a Wednesday night is enough to leave him flustered.

“Hey,” Sunghoon says awkwardly with a single nod in acknowledgement when he sees you standing in front of your apartment. He watches your hand halt by the knob. You turn your head to look around you and Sunghoon feels the heat creep up his neck.

“Hi?” you say with an uptick in your voice, pointing at yourself.

Sunghoon nods. “Hey.”

“You already said that.”

“Right.” He clears his throat. “I’m Sunghoon.”

“I know. I remember you from when I moved in.”

“O-Oh,” Sunghoon stutters. “Right, yeah. You’re right. Well, I’ll introduce myself again in case you need anything.”

You unlock your apartment and step inside. “Duly noted. Goodnight, Sunghoon.”

When the door locks behind you, Sunghoon closes his eyes and curses at the ceiling for being awkward around you. He swears he might’ve felt his knees buckle when he looked into your eyes and struggles to fish out his apartment keys.

He always wishes he could say something that would convince you to stay in the hallway just a minute longer. He wants to be courageous enough to ask a question that piques your interest, so much so that he invites you back to his apartment to discuss it over a bottle of soju before you head back to your place. But Sunghoon doesn’t do any of that because he always gets tongue-tied when he realizes you’re standing before him, and because you always close the door before he can even think of something else to say to you. Sunghoon sighs in defeat and loosens his tie as soon as he steps through the threshold of his own apartment.

He sleeps with the sound of crickets chirping outside his window.

The following morning is the same. Sunghoon wakes up before the sun has the chance to say hello, swipes his keycard to access his office, and stares at his laptop until he’s sure his eyes will fall out of their sockets.

While he meanders in his office with an unusually meeting-free day, Sunghoon uses his idle time to think about you. It seems as if his thoughts gravitate towards you these days, especially as he’s gathered the courage to say more than a few words every time you’re in his line of sight. He still feels that anxiety in the pit of his stomach when he sees you with your hair down after a long day, but it’s not enough to discourage Sunghoon from being as polite as he can so that you remember him as being kind.

If he remembers correctly, you moved into the apartment next to his four months ago. Sunghoon recalls seeing a load of boxes perched by your front door and the bubbling excitement of seeing the new tenant piqued his interest. A large one was used as a door stopper and he’d noticed you carrying boxes inside one-by-one. In fact, that’s the first and only time Sunghoon recalls seeing what the interior of your apartment looked like. White, bare, and undecorated. He had offered to help but you declined on the notion that you hired movers to help bring the rest of your belongings. The two of you exchanged names and pleasantries, and when the conversation fell flat, Sunghoon settled to welcome you into the neighborhood and told you to reach out if you ever needed anything. Much to his dismay, you didn’t.

It’s crazy for him to think about how tongue-tied he’s gotten for a complete stranger over a short period of time, even crazier because he doesn’t know the first thing about you.

It’s gotten so bad that his friends have heard Sunghoon speak about you countless times.

Jay and Jake are his best friends from college and the only people he talks to. Sunghoon’s career has overtaken his social life with many friendships and blooming relationships falling apart because of his commitment to work. His degree is the product of parental expectation, but his paycheck is enough to make him feel comfortable and Sunghoon likes to surround himself with people who don’t make him feel like a stoic shell of a human being.

It seems as though Jay and Jake aren’t tired of him because they regularly include him in drinking nights and check in about his nonexistent relationship with his neighbor crush. Jay in particular is extremely vocal about having work-life balance in order to, as he puts it, “have a life for yourself before you grow old and die alone.”

For now, however, Sunghoon is happy watching you from afar and praying that there’s a reason for the two of you to become closer.

It’s another Tuesday night and Sunghoon is staying late again. Mr. Kim is too, so Sunghoon supposes tonight must not be all that bad if his superior has ordered takeout for himself for the late hours. Sunghoon arrives at his apartment around the same time he always does and prepares himself for a well deserved, deep slumber before he does this again tomorrow. Only, Sunghoon hopes he sees you before he’s off to dreamland.

And there you are, unlocking your apartment door. You look far too cute at nine in the evening. It’s unfair.

“Hey,” Sunghoon calls out to you, throat far too dry to continue speaking. He pulls his keys out of his pockets to keep himself busy when he feels your eyes burning into him.

“That’s the second time you’ve started a conversation by saying that.” Sunghoon whips his head in your direction to be met with a charming smile that seems almost playful. It’s the first time you’ve ever looked at him like this and he swears he feels his knees buckle.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, fishing his keys out of his pocket. “I guess I’m running out of things to say after a long day at work.”

“Is it that bad?”

Sunghoon breathes out a laugh. “I’m a financial analyst. Long hours and not a lot of socializing, if you can believe it.”

“Oh, I believe it.” You put your keys in the lock and push the door open. “Can’t say I’m a big fan of math.”

“It all starts to look the same after a while but you get used to it. Crunching all those numbers…I feel like I’m saving the world,” Sunghoon says facetiously.

“Well, I'm sure you’re a superhero to someone.”

“I highly doubt it, but I appreciate your enthusiasm.”

“I hope tomorrow is kinder,” you tell him as you walk into your apartment. “Don’t let those numbers get you down.”

“Goodnight,” he calls after as you close the door with a friendly smile.

Sunghoon is barely able to make it into his apartment when his cheeks start to hurt from how wide he’s stretched the lower half of his face. As he stares at your shared wall, he feels a sense of excitement and pride swell in his chest upon replaying his conversation with you over and over again. He paces in his living room with the image of your grin etched in his memory and eats a quick meal before getting ready for bed.

Sunghoon sleeps with a smile on his face.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

When the weekend approaches, Jay and Jake accompany Sunghoon to a bar across from his apartment on a rare Friday night at eight o-clock on the dot.

For the first time in a long while, Sunghoon leaves his office right on time with no prospect of having to work later in the evening or on the weekend. His friends convince him to go to the dive bar and celebrate his early dismissal with a drink or two. Sunghoon doesn’t remember the last time he saw them so casually like this because he’s either still at the office or too tired to agree to their plans.

Each of them have at least two drinks in their system. The bar food is starting to digest and the chips are a little too stale for Sunghoon’s liking but Jay and Jake don’t seem to mind as they keep shoveling them into their mouths in between conversations. The two of them seem far too energetic for Sunghoon to keep up and the exhaustion from the past week is finally catching up to him.

“Work has been killing me,” Jake groans while clutching his beer bottle. “You know how I just passed my two-year mark at the Seoul Research Center? Well, my boss assigned me an apprentice who’s interning for the semester and he’s just not cut out for this kind of stuff. I have to remind him about basic protocol every single time we work together.”

“That blows,” Jay says.

“I babysit him more than I do my actual work and I’ve been going in on Saturdays to finish my work. My boss told me not to fuck this up because this kid is apparently the son of one of the investors and plans to work here full time after he graduates college. This is gonna blow up in my face, guys. I just know it.” Jake sighs. “But what about you both? What have you been up to?”

“Some idiot misfiled a bunch of expense reports and I’m responsible for managing them.” Jay rolls his eyes and slumps back in his seat. “I’m good at my job, I know I am. I bring in clients like it’s nobody’s business but because I’m the youngest on my team, all of the managerial tasks are put on me. I mean, we have a secretary for a reason and that’s literally in the job description. Why can’t they do it?”

“Guess this is a bad week for both of us,” Jake says with a light chuckle. “I look forward to the weekend when I realize it’s Monday.”

“What about you, Sunghoon? How are things with you and the firm?”

The condensation of his drink feels nice against Sunghoon’s palm. Jay and Jake are looking at him expectantly and he knows the topic would come around to his job at one point or another. He plasters a small smile on his face and tries to answer as honestly as possible.

“Same old, same old. I’ve only been working late a few days every other week. It’s not as taxing as it was before.”

“Are the higher ups still giving you a hard time?”

Sunghoon shrugs. “I’m only responsible for seven junior analysts. They’re all competent enough and get their work done on time. I don’t really have to look after them like my colleagues and thank god for that.”

“I’m still rooting for you to quit your job,” Jay encourages.

“I’ll quit my job when you quit yours.”

“Touche.” They don’t press him about it anymore.

“Any update on the hottie next door?” Jake asks.

“Don’t call Y/N that,” Sunghoon scolds. “You make her sound like a hooker.”

Jake shrugs. “You said she was hot.”

“I said she was pretty.”

“So you don’t think she’s hot?” Sunghoon rolls his eyes as the other two laugh at him from across the booth. “Relax, I’m just messing with you. It’s fun to see you all riled up.”

“There’s something incredibly wrong with you.”

“Okay, enough with Jake.” Jay pushes his friend to the back of the booth to get closer to Sunghoon with both elbows on the table. “On a serious note, have you talked to her yet?” Sunghoon closes his eyes shut in shame and grimaces. “I’ll take it as a no?”

“Oh we talked,” he says, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling above him. “I actually grew a pair and talked to her when I came home.”

“Why is that a bad thing?”

“I started the only conversations we’ve had by saying ‘hey’ like a virgin loser.” Sunghoon groans before facing his friends again. “She called me out on it too.”

“Ouch,” Jake winces. “That bad?”

“Well, she laughed and we talked about my job a little. She called me a superhero for dealing with math.”

Jay shrugs. “You kind of are.”“Did anything else happen?” Jake asks. “Did she invite you over? Did you invite her over?”

“Slow down, Jaeyun. Not everyone is as pathetically desperate as you are.”

Sunghoon laughs. “No, I didn’t invite her over. I also didn’t go to her place. But she said she hoped the next day would be kinder so I think that’s a good sign?”

“Dude, you’re thinking way too hard about this. That’s like, the best kind of sign. It means she cares about you.”

“I wouldn’t go so far to say that. Maybe the next time I see her, I won’t be such a fucking loser.” Sunghoon finishes his drink.

“Well, maybe you won’t be so tongue tied now that you guys are familiar with each other,” says Jake. “She knows something about you now.”

“But I don’t know anything about her,” Sunghoon groans.

“That’s why you make small talk, Hoon. Maybe try asking Y/N about her day and see where that takes you.”

“Y/N seems like the kind of person to keep to herself. She’s always so quiet.”

“Maybe she’s just a quiet person, then,” Jay adds. “You know, someone you have to get to know in order to get them out of their shell.”

“I’m so bad at talking to girls.” Sunghoon chastises himself and nods when the waiter signals to ask if he’d like another beer. “I get in my own head and end up making a fool of myself.”

“If words fail, just smile at her and use your good looks,” Jake teases. The waiter brings the three of them fresh, cold bottles. Sunghoon takes a long sip and savors the flavor as it slides down his throat. The coolness of the liquid provides a nice contrast to his warm face.

“I couldn’t tell you why I'm so hung up on Y/N. When I see her, I feel like my feet are planted into the floor and nothing I want to say comes out of my mouth.”

“That, my friend, is what it’s like to have a crush,” Jay says. “I mean, you remember the time Jake had a crush on his lab partner in sophomore year, right? The one time he brought her coffee, he ended up spilling it on her white shirt.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jake groans. “But God, I’m really no better.”

“You’re not the only one feeling like this, man.” Jay takes a drink. “Maybe you should take it as slow as you are right now, you know? Start by talking to her before you both go your separate ways. Maybe you’ll be comfortable enough to ask her on a date.”

Sunghoon laughs humorlessly. “God, I’ve been pining after this girl for so long and I don’t know a single thing about her other than her name. What if I never get to know her? What if she moves away and we don’t keep in touch? Or worse, what if she's dating somebody? What if she’s not into guys?”

“Well, I don’t think we can help there,” Jake shrugs.

“I mean, I’d be bummed but I wouldn’t be upset.”

“You would totally be upset.”

“Okay,” Sunghoon says. “Maybe a little upset.”

“There’s no use in thinking about what-ifs,” Jay advises. “You’ll only give yourself a headache.”

“My mom keeps asking about when I’m gonna get a wife,” Sunghoon complains. “Every time we talk on the phone, I can tell she humors the pleasant talk about my job and life because she becomes really animated when she asks that question. How do I tell her that I’m so fucking hung up on my neighbor that the thought of dating anyone else repulses me?”

“Damn,” Jay swears. “You really like this girl, don’t you?”

“Yes, and it’s really fucking frustrating to pine after her because I barely know her and I’m ready to drop everything if she called me right now.”

“Maybe she’s not worth it,” Jake says with a shrug. “I know that’s the last thing you want to hear, but maybe there’s a reason why you haven’t been able to make a move on her. Maybe you guys aren’t good for each other and the universe is trying to tell you that. I don’t know.”

“I just wish someone would send me a sign,” Sunghoon pleads. “I don’t really know what sign, but something that’ll make us talk more. I need courage. I just need one chance. If it fails and she rejects me, then I’ll be an adult and move on with my life.”

“You deserve to be happy,” says Jay. “After all the shit you’ve been through, you deserve at least to go on a date with a cute girl.”

“Everything feels so bleak these days. I go to work every single day and leave unfulfilled. It’s like I’m floating through my day to make it to the weekend just to do this every single week. Before I know it, the holidays have come and another year goes by. I feel like I’m wasting my life by being at this job but my parents sacrificed so much so that I could have the life I have now.

“I don’t know what to do, guys. Every day feels the same. I wonder if this is how my life is supposed to be for the rest of it. Life is so fucking hard and all I want is a break. I just want to feel something.”

“I wish we could give it to you,” Jay says quietly. He knocks his hands to Sunghoon’s. “You know we’re with you every step of the way, right?”

“I know. It’s just…hard.”

“You’re the best person I know, Hoon,” Jake comforts. “I’m really sorry that everything went down the way it did.”

“Sometimes, I wonder if I feel like this for Y/N because I daydream about her to escape my life,” Sunghoon confesses. “I think about a future with her, and I know that sounds crazy considering I barely know her, but sometimes I wonder what it’ll be like to come home to her instead of parting ways when we get home at the same time. I think about cooking meals for her and going on dates instead of working late. I think about falling asleep next to her instead of being alone. I wonder what my life would’ve been like if my parents never forced me to study finance. Maybe Y/N and I could have a chance.”

“Or, maybe you would’ve never met her at all,” Jay says. “Maybe you would’ve never met us.”

“In another life, I’d own a coffee shop and my biggest worry would be somebody making a scene.” Sunghoon laughs. “I could deal with that.”

“Do we get free coffee for life?” Jake asks, pointing between himself and Jay. “I think bitching in dive bars all these years together means we deserve free coffee.”

“I’ll think about it,” Sunghoon teases. “But seriously, I think…I’m so tired of my life right now because I’m unhappy. There’s no excitement. There’s nothing to keep me going. Work doesn’t fulfill me and I hate it when my boss asks me to stay late. But if I quit my job, I don’t know what I’d do. My parents would disown me if I abandoned their plans for me.

“And you know, I feel so fucking selfish talking like this when there are so many people in Korea who don’t have what I have because they don’t have the means to work. I feel so guilty thinking like this when people go hungry every day because they can’t afford to eat. What kind of person does that make me? I can handle bad days so long as there’s a roof over my head.”

“Sure, but you can’t control the way you feel and your upbringing doesn’t make you a bad person,” Jay assures. “You can acknowledge that you’ve had it good in life but that doesn’t mean your struggles aren’t any less valid.”

“Yeah, and beating yourself up over it is only making you more upset. You deserve to be happy, Sunghoon. Don’t forget that.”

“Thanks, guys. I guess I’ve avoided saying how unhappy I am out loud. Sometimes it feels too much because I don’t have a second to myself. When I get home, I sleep and then the next day comes. I dread closing my eyes because that means I have to work the next day.”

“One step at a time,” Jay says. “We’ll be there with you until you figure out what to do next.”

“You guys mean the world to me. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jake says, hiding his blush. “We know.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

Another week goes by and Sunghoon is disappointed because not once did he run into you.

He doesn’t know if the universe has it against him or what it is about his conversation with his friends that has left him feeling so empty these past few days. Leaving the bar with alcohol and hope in his system had Sunghoon feeling like he was on top of the world and that everything would fall into place if he willed it enough. But upon coming home on Monday evening and the nights after that, he didn’t see you at your door.

Sunghoon wonders if his life was always supposed to be like this–stagnant to the point where he feels numb, like he's supposed to be a cog in the machine until the day he retires. Even then, Sunghoon wonders if he’ll be happy when he’s finally able to stop being miserable. His greatest fear is looking back at his life and seeing a plethora of unhappy moments instead of achieving what he wanted for himself. He’s afraid of taking his last breath, regretting the relationships he let fall through the cracks and not choosing a life that he wanted to live in favor of making his parents happy.

He wonders if there’s more to his life than feeling alone all the time. He wonders if he’ll regret marrying the person he spends the rest of his life with if he continues down this path, so aggravated by his mother’s inquiries about his love life that he’ll ask the first girl who shows interest in him to marry him. Sunghoon doesn’t know when he’ll stop feeling like an empty shell of a human being and he can’t remember the last time he was truly happy.

Everyday, Sunghoon feels like he’s on autopilot. It feels as though someone else has taken control of his life and he’s completing the orders of somebody else against his will. It’s hard to push back against his norm when he’s got nobody to stand behind him. Knowing his parents would be disappointed in him if he abandoned the life he worked hard for is enough for Sunghoon to remain afraid of changing anything.

He’s snapped out of his daydreams when he hears you come home. This is the first time that you’ve arrived later than he has, to his knowledge, and he wonders if you’ve had dinner. It’s a Friday night and he thinks about if you’ve got any plans for later in the evening.

Sunghoon stares at the television screen and lets the colorful animation fly right over his head as he contemplates his next move. He’s itching to invite you over with all of the unopened bottles of soju he has in his fridge, thanks to Jake buying a case for him at the start of the week. All of the thoughts about how his life feels desolate is enough to convince him that he might have enough courage to invite you over for drinks.

Without thinking too much about it, Sunghoon stands from his spot on the couch and grabs two bottles from his fridge. He pays no mind to the cold sensation against his palms, nor does he care that he’s walking in the hallway in his pajamas and slippers. Sunghoon shoves down any nervousness as he knocks on your doors and figures he has nothing to lose, even if you reject him. He hears your feet shuffling behind the door before you open it.

“Sunghoon?” you say with an uptick in your voice. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says, clearing his throat. Sunghoon holds up the soju bottles, where the condensation has begun running down the side of the glass and onto his fingers. “I, uh, have a few bottles because a friend bought them for me and don’t want to drink them by myself. I was wondering if you wanted to come over and have a drink with me.”

You peer up at him and Sunghoon feels like you’re inspecting him. He avoids running back to his apartment despite his mind telling him to hide. It’s at this moment that Sunghoon realizes he’s putting his heart on his sleeve.

“I’d love to,” you agree. “Would you mind giving me a few minutes? I want to change into something more comfortable.” Sunghoon looks at your attire and you’re still dressed like you’ve just come back from work.

“Yes,” he nods. “Of course. Take all the time you need. Just knock on my door when you’re ready.”

You give him a smile that makes him feel like his heart might burst right out of his chest.

He anxiously waits for you and pulls out his speaker, connecting his phone to play at an appropriate volume. Sunghoon sifts through his playlists until he lands on one that he’s satisfied with and pockets his phone, anxiously pacing around the living room until he hears you knock.

“You look cozy,” he comments, seeing your pajama pants and a sweater that looks a bit too oversized on your body. Sunghoon tries his best to keep himself from making you uncomfortable and steps aside to let you in.

“I hope it’s okay that I brought my own slippers.” He looks down to see your purple ones. “I felt kind of weird putting my shoes on when you’re only a few steps away from me.”

“I don’t mind at all.” Sunghoon brings out two shot glasses from his cabinets and sets them down on the coffee table in front of the couch. “Feel free to make yourself at home.”

You sit politely on the couch while Sunghoon opens a bottle of peach soju and pours a shot in both glasses. He’s slightly buzzed from previously drinking alone and chuckles when he sees your leg crossed over the other, handing one of the glasses to you. His usual, awkward demeanor is relinquished with the alcohol in his system already.

“Here, I think you’ll need a shot or two to loosen up.” You laugh when you hear the glass clink against his before drinking.

“Sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

He raises his eyebrow. “This?”

“Drink,” you clarify. “And get to know somebody completely off the bat.”

“Well, I’d say we’re pretty acquainted.” Sunghoon pours another shot for himself and beckons you to bring yours over. “We’ve been neighbors for a few months and we know each other’s names. I think we know each other pretty well.”

“Your definition of knowing someone well is different from mine. But maybe I’ll need to take a page or two out of your book.” The two of you clink glasses and drink together.

“You know, I was a little nervous about asking you to hang out,” Sunghoon confesses, sitting on the couch with a respectable distance between the two of you. “You’re the only neighbor I see regularly. It’s nice to see a familiar face from time to time.”

You take the bottle from Sunghoon. “I think you might be the only person I’ve spoken to, really. Well, except for the doorman.”

“Love that guy.” Sunghoon lets you pour liquid into his shot glass and the two of you take another shot together.

“I don’t feel like I’ve gotten to know a lot of the people here. But it’s a big building and so much is always happening. I feel like I’m playing catch up every time people greet me when we’re in the elevator together.”

“You get used to it. There are people from all walks of life who live here and sometimes it’s hard to remember who’s who.”

“I moved in a few months ago, as you know, and I feel like I’m just barely starting to get to know the neighborhood. Do you know Mrs. Kang from 31B? Apparently, her grandson owns a noodle shop just two blocks from here and she swears it’s a neighborhood staple.”

“It’s a small hole in the wall that gets the job done,” Sunghoon nods. “It’s pretty good but they close so early.”

You frown. “That’s a shame.”

“What do you do for work, if you don’t mind me asking? We run into each other at the same time most of the week so I figured you might have a night job, or something.”

“I work as security at the Seoul Metropolitan Library and I usually cover the night shifts because people rarely volunteer for them.”

Sunghoon pours more soju in the glasses. “Oh, really? That’s pretty cool. Do you like working there?”

“It’s a comfortable job that pays decently well. It isn’t the most exciting job but it’s a means to an end, you know?”

Sunghoon immediately drinks his shot. “I know it all too well.”

You follow suit. “Is your job really that bad?”

“I don’t want to bore you with the details, or anything. I invited you over because I thought we could be friends.”

You look at him, amused. “Sunghoon, it’s a Friday night and we’re both staying indoors to drink. This is the perfect time to bitch and moan about your job.”

“Well, shit. In that case, I think we’ll need to finish this bottle off and get another two.”

He leaves you on the couch when the two of you finish the bottle and brings out two more, along with some dry snacks he found in his kitchen. He brings them over on a stray to avoid cleaning a mess while he’s inebriated and sets it on the table in front of you. By now, you’ve taken the liberty to sink to the floor and rest your back on the couch. Sunghoon hides behind a grin at the notion that you might already be comfortable around him.

“Alright, I’ll need to be significantly more drunk to talk about work. You absolutely don’t have to drink more if you don’t want to.”

“Don’t be silly,” you say, grabbing the bottle from him before pouring yourself another shot. “It’s no fun to drink alone.” Sunghoon’s cheeks burn as he watches you swallow the liquid, forcing himself to focus on anything but you to avoid choking on his own spit.

Sunghoon’s mind is already hazy from the head start he had but he can’t deny that you look like the epitome of comfort in your oversized hoodie and pajama pants. He wonders if this is what you must look like when you get home from work and if you’re somebody who likes to sleep with the blankets tucked just underneath your chin. He wills himself to stop daydreaming when he hears you put the glass on the table.

“My job is soul-sucking,” Sunghoon begins. “Everyday is the same and I sit in my office contemplating on jumping out of my window if that means I stop being so miserable every time I open my eyes.”

“You work in finance, right?”

He nods, touched that you remembered. “I do. To sum it up, my job is basically to tell people whether or not they’re spending their money wisely to make a profit. It’s a greedy, immoral business that makes everybody miserable. Yet, everyone keeps a straight face and pretends to be happy by gloating about how much money they have or what liquid assets are in their possession.”

“Sounds tough.”

“I’m pretty good with numbers and my dad works in finance, too. I guess it runs in my blood.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to like it.”

Sunghoon shakes his head. “I know. But he’s set some pretty high expectations for me that seem pretty unattainable and it feels like the only way I can make him proud is by staying at this job and climbing the ranks until I become somebody’s boss.

“Sometimes, it feels like I’m living somebody’s else’s life and I’m watching from the backseat. Most days make me feel like my life runs on a loop because I experience the same kind of dread every time I wake up and get ready for work. I can’t enjoy coming home because I stay later than what’s expected of me and barely get a wink of sleep before I do it all over again.”

“I can understand that to a degree,” you say. Sunghoon watches as you fidget with the strings on your sweater. “Living for somebody else feels bleak when every day feels the same. It’s like there’s no beginning or end.”

He nods enthusiastically. “There’s no purpose in my life right now. I don’t care about our clients or that the rich are getting richer. They could give their money away to people who actually need it but don’t.”

“People who have power are greedy and that’s true no matter where you go. It doesn’t matter if it’s money or influence, politics or connections, it’s always the same.”

“I come from money too,” he admits, pouring himself another shot. Sunghoon stares at the liquid until it settles within the small glass and sighs. “My dad made a fortune in the economic boom just after he married my mom. He understands the struggle, to a degree, but I think he lost a lot of it when his career took off.

“I grew up in a gated community and never had to think twice about asking for anything because I knew I’d always get it. I was so spoiled as a kid and was always told to be grateful for what I have because not many people could say the same.” Sunghoon laughs incredulously. “God, I sound like a dipshit.”

“Maybe just a little.” The way you smile at him makes Sunghoon feel like his stomach is performing backflips.

“I realized a lot of people weren’t like me when I got to university. My best friends had part-time jobs to afford tuition while I didn’t have to. How fucked up is that? I realized the majority of the world works so hard for virtually nothing while people like me sit on power and do horrible things with it. The company I work for glorifies these kinds of people and it pains me to see who gets taken advantage of in the name of making a sale.

“I don’t say that to make you feel sorry for me, or anything,” Sunghoon says, looking at you. “Although, I’m pretty drunk at this point and can’t seem to shut up.” You pour yourself another shot and nudge your glass against his.

“The world might be a messed up place but that doesn’t mean you have to beat yourself up for it. Sometimes you need to follow what you’re told just to survive.”

“So we both know what it’s like to work in a corporate hell hole, huh?” Sunghoon asks. He chugs his shot and you follow suit.

“Something like that, yeah. In my experience, putting your head down can only last for so long. Being in that kind of environment makes a person feel like I’m a pawn in someone else’s game and I can’t speak up for myself without repercussions.”

“You fucking get it,” Sunghoon muses. He slaps his thighs like it’s a revelation. “I don’t have many friends other than the two guys I met in university because this job has cut into every part of my life. My colleagues are all people who care a little too much about their jobs and make it a mission to see who can yield the highest profit margin for clients across the board. It’s depressing, really.”

“Money makes people do crazy things. People forget their morals if that means they get a big payout.”

“I feel like I’m the only person at the company who feels like this. Everybody brags about their work. My boss always tells me I’m doing it right by keeping my success stories to myself but he doesn’t get that I feel ashamed to be doing the work that I do.”

You nod slowly. Sunghoon’s eyes are fixed on the way you shift your gaze to look at the coffee table in front of you and the way your mouth parts slightly ajar like you’re about to say something. He waits patiently for you, but you don’t say anything.

“Anyway, sorry for the rant,” he apologies, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or to talk that long.”

“You didn’t. You just made me think a lot about my life. I hadn’t realized that I felt the same.” Sunghoon gestures his hand, beckoning for you to continue. “Ah, my life is filled with chaos. Most days, I don’t know when to quit or when I'll be able to live a peaceful life. It feels right to hope for the best but expect the worst and I’ve grown quite tired of waiting on someone to rescue me.”

“I’m sorry you feel this way too.”

“Thank you. I didn’t know my parents growing up and I lived far from the city life up until I was sixteen. I feel like I pretend to be somebody I’m not to keep my sanity intact on most days. It’s almost like I’ll combust if I face the truth.”

“Makes you feel like a machine, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. It feels like I have no personality and that my opinion doesn’t matter.”

“My colleagues make me feel like I have no voice, either. If I don’t follow the rules the way it’s written to get a job done, then I fail, even if I secure success for my client. Do you ever feel like that?”

Sunghoon watches you nod with a tired laugh. “All the time. Individuality doesn’t matter if you’re doing something to serve the purpose of the ‘greater’ good. What matters is if everyone acts accordingly.”

“It’s a fucked up world we live in, Y/N, let me tell you that.”

“I guess I’m starting to realize just how unhappy I’ve been lately. Sometimes it feels like I’m not meant to amount to anything if it’s not to make other people happy by overextending myself.”

“Don’t say that,” Sunghoon says, knocking his knee with yours. “I’m sure you’re amazing.” He watches you bite your lip to keep from smiling.

“I bet you’re amazing too, Sunghoon.”

“I don’t want to be somebody who follows orders all the time, especially when I don’t believe in them. My boss is somebody who has no values as long as money comes pouring in. He gave me a box of documents to process a few months ago. It had a thumb drive with digital records but none of them made any sense because it didn’t match the payroll for anyone in the company. I tried to look into it on my own but nothing on that drive made any sense when I compared it to financial records we keep for transparency purposes.”

Sunghoon watches your eyes snap to him. “Financial records?”

He nods. “All the names were people who worked for the company but none of the paystubs matched what we keep on file. I think he must’ve given it to me by accident because he came back a week later and asked to look at the box.”

“What happened next?”

“Something felt off about these records so I took a spare thumb drive from the office supply room and put it in that box.”

“What did you do with the actual thumb drive?”

Sunghoon purses his lips. “It’s in my bedroom. I haven’t looked at it since that day because I’m worried that the higher-ups will trace company property back to my personal laptop. I know I shouldn’t have done it and I probably should’ve given it back to my boss, but my gut was telling me something was wrong.”

You look at him with curiosity and Sunghoon can’t fathom why you must be interested. He’s even more perplexed when he sees you sitting like you haven’t taken a sip of alcohol on an empty stomach, body planted to the ground. He’s impressed with how you aren’t rocking from side to side like he is. His body feels like it’s fidgeting where he sits and he feels his head spinning with the growing silence between the both of you. You must have a high alcohol tolerance.

“Well anyway,” Sunghoon says while clearing his throat, attempting to dissolve the tension. “I don’t think I’ll be in trouble if no one notices it’s missing. I’ll probably forget about it tomorrow morning or fess up and give it to my boss when I go into work next week.”

“You should probably keep it a secret until you’re ready to provide evidence.”

He tilts his head and looks at you. “Yeah…You’re right. I’ve never told anyone this before. It’s been a secret I’ve kept for so long but I can’t trust anyone.”

“And you feel like you can trust me?”

Sunghoon shrugs. “You seem loyal. That, and I’m really drunk.”

“I don’t know about you, but my head feels like it’s spinning.”

“Y/N, you look completely sober right now.”

You laugh, the kind of laughter that comes from deep within until it bounces against Sunghoon’s walls until you’re covering your mouth with embarrassment. He wouldn’t mind hearing that again.

“Believe me, I’m pretty drunk. I just conceal it well.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Sunghoon teases. “I thought I was drinking alone.”

You shake your head. “If you need a drinking buddy any time soon, you know where I live.”

“Yeah? You’d be down to do this again?” He watches you tilt your head with a smile he can’t quite decipher, but it hits him right in the chest and the alcohol in his body starts to make his neck feel warm.

“I would love that,” you say. “I can bring the alcohol next time.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

Things are going well. Too well. Sunghoon can see the sun’s departure as he makes his exit from his office and down to the lobby, where the sky is turning a shade of purple. The car ride home is even more beautiful, so much so that Sunghoon doesn’t mind getting stuck in a spot of traffic on his way home. For the first time in a while, he’s had a good work day.

He thinks back to the night you were in his apartment and the excitement of a budding crush comes back to him all over again. Through his own glossy, alcohol-fueled eyes, he swears you might’ve been flirting with him when you suggested spending time with him in his apartment again. Sunghoon wonders if he’s your every waking thought like you are to him. He then wonders if he should’ve asked for your phone number before you said goodnight and retreated to your apartment.

Despite this thought, Sunghoon reckons that he’s buzzing from the excitement of getting off of work early. There’s still time for him to engage in whatever he wants to do to unwind after work. He plans on taking extra time to cook himself a big dinner and maybe catch an episode or two of the anime he’s been meaning to finish. When he’s sure you’re back in your apartment, Sunghoon considers asking if you’d be up to hanging out.

He grips his briefcase as he steps into the elevator on his way up to his apartment with a hop in his step. Sunghoon loosens his tie around his neck with his free hand and pushes his clear specks up the bridge of his nose as the elevator door opens. It’s only when he’s about to fish for his keys does he notice your apartment door slightly ajar.

Your lights are turned off. Sunghoon’s arm is still in his pocket as he reaches for his keys and the metal grows warmer as he holds it in his palm. He stands before his own door, a feeling of uncertainty ringing in his ears as he beholds the unusual sight before him. For the months that you’ve lived next to him, you have never been careless enough to leave your apartment unlocked and available to anyone who might be curious enough to enter. Your door being unlocked makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

But Sunghoon tries to rationalize with himself. You could be in your apartment with the assumption that you closed your door when you didn’t. Maybe you were in too much of a rush to get to work and didn’t take the time to close your door properly. Surely even an astute and organized person could slip up from time to time, right?

Or, maybe something is terribly wrong. Maybe you’re in need of help and can’t reach your phone. Sunghoon’s mind runs through a million scenarios, none of which make him feel any better about knowing your door is unlocked. He can partially see inside of it but he can’t see anything else inside. Sunghoon can’t see nor hear you moving in your apartment. Something must be wrong.

Fighting the comfort to dismiss it and retreat back into his apartment, Sunghoon grips his briefcase and shoves his keys back into the depths of his pocket. He takes a careful step forward and feels his balance faltering, wondering if you really did forget to lock the door on your way to work. Still, he thinks it’s better to check if you’re okay before closing your door and telling you about it when you come home. Slowly, Sunghoon uses his free hand to open the door slightly. He pushes his head in and takes a look around but sees nothing out of the ordinary.

“Y/N?” he calls out, opening the door enough to let his body through. “Are you in here?”

Sunghoon talks into your apartment and peers around the corner by the hallway when he feels arms around his neck.

His life flashes before his eyes when he realizes he isn’t alone. The arms around his body feel far too big and muscular to be yours. Sunghoon tries to hit the stranger with his briefcase, but the angle falters and causes him to drop it onto the floor. He grips the assailant’s arm with his fingers in an attempt to pry them off of him until his own fingers feel close to numb. Sunghoon’s attempts prove futile, however, as the strength of the man overpowers him. He feels his breath constrict while his feet shuffle against the hardwood floor, his own voice sputtering out coughs and nonsensical phrases to get the assailant to let him go.

A force makes it so both he and the attacker stumble forward. Sunghoon falls to the ground as he coughs to regain his breath now that he’s free from the chokehold he was put in, the sound of violent gasps seeping in the air amongst the chaos behind him. As he coughs, he looks beside him and sees you land a punch to his face.

You’ve managed to close the door as you dodge the stranger’s attempts to hit and kick your body. You move expertly like you’re dancing at the same frequency, anticipating the assailant’s next move like it’s nothing. It looks like a choreographed sequence with the way you’re maneuvering to block yourself from getting hit while landing punches to the assailant’s chest until you’ve hit a sore spot, kicking the popliteal to make him surrender.

You waste no time and place the stranger’s neck between your arms. Sunghoon watches as he tries to push you off of him to no avail. He thrashes and pulls at your arm but you don’t relent, choosing to wrap your legs around his back when he stands in an attempt to rid you from his body. Sunghoon moves to where the two of you aren’t to stay from the action.

Eventually, the assailant manages to back you into a wall until you shout in pain. The small distraction allows the stranger to pull away from your grasp and run towards your window, bracing himself before breaking the glass and making a run for it.

It’s over as quickly as it began. The sound of glass shattering rings in Sunghoon’s mind as he stares at the shards littered around your floor. He rushes next to you when he notices you walking towards him. Sunghoon watches as you peer out of the window and hastily grabs onto your arm to prevent you from following the assailant out of the window.

“Are you okay?” you ask when you finally look back at him. He’s got a red patch on his jaw from being knocked in the face by an elbow, but Sunghoon’s doing well with the adrenaline that’s coursing through his veins. It's you he’s worried about.

“I’m fine. Are you okay?” Sunghoon lets go of your arm. “What the fuck just happened?”

You talk away from him to turn on the overhead lights to assess the damages to your face on your wall mirror by the door that managed to survive the attack. With a split crack down the middle, you stare at the faint purple bruise on your left cheekbone and the swelling of your bottom lip. Sunghoon watches you from where you stand and uses this opportunity to catch his breath. He watches as you tilt your head to look at your once-bruiseless face, now littered with scratches, and feels an ache in his chest along with confusion.

When he looks around the room, he’s perplexed to see how empty it is. You have a single loveseat facing towards the door with your television mounted in front of it. You have a single chair and a small dining table and the walls are completely blank with no photos held up by picture frames. The open kitchen is barely functional and it seems like all you have is one of everything–one pot, one pan, one set of utensils, one plate, and one bowl–while the rest of the living room has none of your personality.

Sunghoon questions all of it. He wonders if this is the reason you’re always in a rush to get inside when he sees you unlocking the door. He thinks back to all the times the two of you have walked together and can’t recall a single time he ever saw anything other than white walls. There’s nothing on your wall except the mirror you’re standing in front of.

“What the hell just happened, Y/N?”

You turn to look at him and Sunghoon feels as if you’re trying to tell him something. He’s never seen you look like this before, so hard and controlling. He’s used to your soft laughter and easy eyes, not the sharp daggers in your irises.

“There are very bad people in the world,” you tell him cryptically. “You need to learn how to be more careful with things that aren’t yours.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

You turn around and look at Sunghoon, averting your eyes to the mess around you both. He follows your line of sight and hears as you curse underneath your breath. The curtains that have been pulled back flutter in the wind as it starts to pick up, and suddenly the apartment starts to feel much colder because of it. While Sunghoon is visibly panicking, he’s confused as to why you aren’t.

“I’m sorry, Sunghoon, but for me to tell you that, I’m going to need you to leave with me.”

“Leave with you?” he asks, stepping away from the glass shards. “What are you talking about? Why do we need to leave?”

“Because of that.” You point at the broken window. “Whoever that was will come back and finish the job if you’re not careful. If you want to live, you need to do as I say.”

“Y/N, I know we’ve been neighbors for a few months, but you’re asking me to blindly trust you after someone tried to kill me.”

“He tried to kill us, actually,” you correct. “But I see your point. Don’t leave because you trust me, then. Leave because he knows who you are and where you live, and won’t hesitate to come back.”

Sunghoon gulps. “He’s gonna come back?” You tilt your head and look at him in a way that makes him believe you can sense his confusion. You don’t step closer to him with the fear that he’d attempt to pass through you to get into the safety of his apartment. Instead, you take a deep breath.

“I’m asking you to value your life and keep living,” you say. “I saved you, Sunghoon. I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“I can’t believe this.” He shakes his head and looks away, averting his gaze to the broken window. “I can’t believe someone broke into your apartment and tried to fucking kill you. At least have the decency to act scared.”

“I’m petrified.” Sunghoon’s eyes are back on you when he hears the upstick in your voice. “But things don’t surprise you when they happen often.”

The apartment is quiet, save for the soft hum of the wind from outside and the tree branches knocking against the window frame. Sunghoon still feels like his ears are ringing and that his veins are pumping with adrenaline as he looks at you with a pained and confused expression. If you’re someone who’s had to fight men twice your size to survive, he doesn’t want to know what would happen to him if he chose to stay behind. He also doesn’t want to think about how your life likely did depend on it at one point or another.

The crush he’s harbored for you since he first saw you move in makes this whole ordeal that much more confusing. To the untrained eye, you look incapable of jumping into a fist fight nor do you look strong enough to pry a grown man off of another person. The idea of you in his head is unlike the person he sees standing before him. To Sunghoon, you are someone who likes to walk on the slow path, letting life take you wherever it sees fit. He thinks of you as a quiet, unassuming individual who accepted that, like himself, the kind of quiet life you were living was one you’d live for the rest of your life.

But he’s scared out of his mind when he sees the bruise setting on your face and the way your lips are swelling up. He watches you look around the room before heading into your bedroom, and he wonders what you must be looking for.

Your bedroom is just as bare and desolate as your living space. A single twin bed faces the door and a small nightstand with an equally small lamp sits beside it. There’s a book in one of the hollow spaces and your closet area is small, tucked away behind a door mirror that serves to cover your hanging clothes. You have nothing on your wall. No photo, no artwork, nothing that could tell Sunghoon anything about you. Sunghoon gets a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Y/N,” he pleads, voice cracking when he speaks. “What’s going on?”

You just look at him. “I’m sorry, Sunghoon.”

“Sorry? Why are you sorry? What’s there anything to be sorry about? Someone broke into your apartment and then tried to kill us.”

Your posture sinks as the weight of reality overcomes your perception. Sunghoon watches as you hold yourself back and averts his eyes when he assumes you’re about to cry to be polite. His heart lurches in his chest and he feels like he might cry too.

“I really need you to trust me.” You sound helpless and he wonders if you feel that way too. “I would never ask you to do something if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Your life is in danger, Sunghoon. I don’t want to see you die.”

“Woo says I’m going to die?” he asks. Why should I trust you? Who the fuck are you and how do you know how to fight like that?”

“You need to trust me because there is no one who can protect you from what you witnessed and I’m somebody who can protect you if this happens again.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“That’s the only answer I can give right now.”

Sunghoon sighs. “You’re asking a lot of me, Y/N.”

“Fine.”

Sunghoon watches you pull a backpack from your closet and haphazardly throw in shirts, undergarments, and other items into it. It’s when you pull the vent cover from the wall that Sunghoon starts to panic. You pull out a large ziplock bag with stacks of cash and other items he assumes are credit cards and passports. When you pull a gun from your nightstand and push into your backpack, you look at him.

“You can stay. But know that I will not come back should anything happen to you or the people you care about.” He doesn’t know if this is a threat or not. But his heart is beating erratically and the thought of being without your help doesn’t make him feel better.

He doesn’t want to go. He wants to retreat back to his apartment and pretend this never happened. Sunghoon wishes he would’ve ignored that gut feeling in his stomach to check if you were okay and live his life blissfully unaware of what life you must live to attract people who are out to kill you. But thinking like this makes Sunghoon feel guilty because despite your unusual talent for warding off men twice your size and height, he would be damned if something serious happened to you.

Even so, leaving his life behind feels unfair. The idea of leaving his friend and family behind makes his stomach churn. Will he ever be able to see his friends again? What about his mother, father, and sister? What of them? Will they have to wonder where their son is and deal with the aftermath of not knowing that Sunghoon’s gone missing, let alone why? Sunghoon can’t think of the last time he talked to his family on the phone. His poor sister, too, will have to continue growing up without a brother to protect her.

But none of that matters if what you say is true. Even if Sunghoon chose not to follow you and remain as clueless about your life as he does now, the chance that he’ll be safe doesn’t seem like a risk worth taking. The strange man still knows where he lives and what he looks like. If what you claim is true, then this man will eventually find Sunghoon and kill him. Whatever “bad” means to you must really be bad if someone was aiming to murder you.

“Okay,” he says with a trembling voice. “I’ll go with you.”

“You’re making the right decision,” you explain with your arms gesturing to the space around you. “The life you have…whatever it means to you, it will never be the same. There is a very bad man who works for someone equally worse. They’ll always find you.”

“I understand, I think.”

“It’s a lot to ask of you. I know,” you nod. “That man knows what you look like now and will be able to find you no matter where you go.”

“So that’s it? I just leave?”

“Well, you’ll need to do some packing first. Do you have a backpack?”

“I have one I travel with, yes,” Sunghoon says.

“Good. Let me gather some things and then we’ll head to your place so you can pack.”

As you continue gathering last minute belongings, Sunghoon takes the time to comprehend just how strange this situation is. Why is your apartment so empty? It looks as if no one is supposed to live here, like this space is just temporary. It barely looks like a functioning living space. How do you entertain yourself? If you’re able to afford living in this apartment, how come you don’t have any furniture to fill the space? And what about decorations? Why don’t you have any photos of yourself, your friends, or your family hung up on the walls?

The harder he thinks, the more his headache returns. You live in isolation to the point where he starts to question everything he knows about you. All of your belongings could fit into the backpack you’re carrying and he wonders if this familiar experience is something you’re running away from.

Sunghoon can only stare in utter shock as you pull out a plastic bag filled with things he's only seen in movies. More passports, more cash, more credit cards, and what he assumes to be more fake driver’s licenses. Your supply seems endless. Underneath your sink contains knives stashed away in protective bags that you shove into the backpack with one tucked behind you. The way you touch these weapons without flinching scares him.

He knows he shouldn’t be naive to find normalcy in your actions, even if you look eerily calm and composed.

“So this is it?” Sunghoon asks when you walk past him, following you to the living room.

“Mhm,” you mumble, looking at your broken window. He watches as you sigh before you turn all of the lights off and lock the door behind you.

Walking into the well-lit hallway feels weird. It’s too normal.

“What should I bring and how much of everything?” he asks after he’s let the both of you inside of his apartment.

“You’ll want to change out of your clothes and get into something more comfortable,” you say, gesturing at his work attire. “Wear comfortable running shoes. Bring as many shirts, pants, and underwear as your backpack can fit. Make sure to bring a toothbrush and toothpaste, too. Bring only one jacket. You won’t need more than one. You have fifteen minutes. I’ll wait in the living room.”

Sunghoon watches your figure disappear down the hall and gets to work immediately, changing out of his suit and into comfortable pants and a t-shirt. He doesn’t bother putting away his suit jacket and slacks. Sunghoon shoves what he assumes to be necessities into his backpack and rummages in his bathroom for things he’ll need until the two of you need to stop to buy the essentials. He feels like he’s got tunnel vision, focusing on the task at hand to prevent himself from losing his mind over the situation he’s found himself in.

But a photo on his nightstand stops him in his tracks.

It’s a picture of his family and the first time Jay and Jake made the trip to his hometown after graduating college. They’d embarked on a road trip and spent some time in his parents’ house before the week-long adventure of exploring the nearby area before the reality of work and responsibilities sunk in. His father had Sunghoon set up a self timer photo to commemorate the bond between his friends and adulthood before his career would eventually begin in the fall. Sunghoon and his friends sat on the picnic table with their bodies facing the camera as his parents stood around him. His sister held up a peace sign next to Sunghoon. The memory feels distant.

Sunghoon puts the photo down and makes his way back to the living room eventually, forcing himself not to pick up anything that isn’t a necessity. He puts his wallet on the coffee table and you turn around to see his backpack in his hand while he witnesses you looking at the decor on his wall.

“You have a nice apartment.”

“Thanks.”

You pick up his wallet. “Do you have your birth certificate on you? Maybe a passport or any other identification?”

“Just my passport.” Sunghoon runs back into his room to grab it before handing it to you, then pointing at his computer on the couch. “And my laptop.”

“We’ll need to bring both of those.”

“What for?”

You give him a look that gives him a bad feeling. “We’ll need to destroy them as soon as we can. I can’t have them finding you that easily.”

Sunghoon sighs and grabs his computer. “If it’s for the best.”

“I wouldn’t ask this of you if it weren’t necessary. I’m sorry, I really am.”

Sunghoon thinks he hears your voice waver. Choosing to forego any more pleasantries, you allow him to lock his door before beckoning him to give you his keys.

“I assume we need to get rid of these?”

“You’re catching on pretty quick,” you say. “We’ll bury these somewhere far from here so no one can find them.”

“I think the adrenaline is getting to me.”

You look around his room. “Where’s the thumb drive that your boss gave you?”

Sunghoon looks at you quizzically. “What?”

“The thumb drive with financial records on it. Where is it?”

“In my bedroom. Why are you asking about it?”

“Bring it with you.” You push Sunghoon back to his room with a little more force than he expected. He stumbles over himself and pulls it out his desk drawer.

“Why is this so important? Why were you asking about it when you were here?”

“There’s no time to explain right now, but we need to bring it with us and keep it safe. It’s best if I hold onto it.” He’s skeptical. You sigh when you see his expression change into something unpleasant. “Sunghoon, I’m being completely honest with you when I say both of our lives depend on what’s on that thumb drive. If this disappears or if it’s destroyed, we’re both dead.”

He hesitates but hands you the thumb drive away. Sunghoon looks around his apartment once more, memorizing the sight of the coffee mug on the counter he neglected to wash because he was rushing and the remote that he’d thrown haphazardly on the couch the night before. All of this makes him want to cry. The thought of never returning makes him feel like throwing up.

You lead him out of the building and lock his door with the keys before pocketing them in your pants. He follows you down the stairs to avoid the elevator and assumes you’re leading him down the back route where you don’t have to run into the doorman, who will likely strike a conversation with the both of you and find it odd that you’re rushing out of the building at this hour.

“You’re scaring me with how much you know about what we need to do next,” Sunghoon comments.

“It comes with the job description,” you explain vaguely. “I was trained to think quickly in these types of situations and what to do if someone tries to kill you in your own home.”

“Trained?”

Sunghoon chokes as he looks at you but you’re too busy looking elsewhere to see the shock on his face. It feels like he’s sucking in his breath before you finally turn to look at him.

“Let’s find a secure place before we talk.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

The two of you avoid taking the metro. When Sunghoon asks why, you tell him it’s best to keep yourselves from any places that are under heavy surveillance to avoid being tracked. It’s best to keep yourself out of the public eye as much as possible.

The stillness of the night doesn’t match his erratic heartbeat as he walks through familiar streets that no longer feel like home to him. Every light post feels like there might be someone hiding behind it and every quiet neighborhood makes him feel out of place. Sunghoon wills himself to be calm like you are, but he can’t stop himself from replaying the events of earlier that night in his head.

Who are you? Why do you know so much about being on the run? What kind of life do you live that forces you to be somebody who looks over their shoulder?

Sunghoon wonders if this is what he’ll have to deal with for the rest of his life. He isn’t sure whether he can trust you the way you say he can, but he figures it would be better to take his chances with you and die trying instead of waiting for someone to come and kill him. Even if he has to leave everything he loves behind.

The two of you don’t walk for very long. Dodging metro lines and public transportation feels like the journey takes forever, but you tell him you’ve only walked for roughly an hour and a half in dead silence. Sunghoon doesn’t dare ask a single question for the fear that you might abandon him.

Soon after you lead him out of your shared neighborhood, Sunghoon finds himself in a small hostel just on the edge of Seoul with two twin beds across from one another and a small bathroom. He watches as you pay in cash and accept the key to the room from the desk employee without so much as a word. The space isn’t the luxury apartment he’d found himself living in for the past three years, but it’s better than sleeping with one eye open in his own bed where anything could happen. The twin mattress is decent enough but he feels like a giant when he lays down after setting aside his belongings.

You don’t unpack your bag or relax like he thinks you will. Instead, you double check to ensure the door is locked and immediately check the bathroom and living area from top to top, corner to corner. Sunghoon watches you pull a nightstand from the corner. He nearly yelps when you dare step on the small, unsteady piece of furniture.

“What are you doing?” Sunghoon asks, sitting up on the bed.

“Checking for any potential listening devices,” you say as you pay him no mind, hand touching the small crevice near the window sill. “I highly doubt it, but you can never be too careful.”

“You mean bugs? Like those things from the movies?”

You hum. “Yeah, those are the ones. I need to assess the room before we can talk freely.”

“Oh. I didn’t think people used those in real life.”

“People do, unfortunately. You have to look at every inch of the room from floor to ceiling. Check the lights, the phone, the back of any objects like picture frames or wall decor, even underneath the toilet seat. Anything you can reach by hand, so can they.”

Even though Sunghoon doesn’t know the first thing about you, it feels odd to see you like this. You always look somewhere in between disheveled and put together, but the version he's staring at looks nothing like what he’s used to.

Sunghoon is a man of few words hidden behind a million thoughts. He reserves himself for people he feels comfortable around to play it safe, unleashing his loud and extroverted tendencies when he becomes well-acquainted with certain people. Despite uttering a few sentences to you throughout the time you’ve moved next door, Sunghoon has daydreamed about you plenty.

When Sunghoon closes his eyes, he swears he can see himself asking you on a date. He can picture you saying yes and wearing an outfit that will make his jaw drop until you become bashful under his stare. He imagines getting to know you well enough that when he drops you off at your apartment door, where the two of you become too reluctant to say goodbye until the evening ends with a kiss. His favorite scenario, though, is picturing you sleeping on his chest. His pillows can only help so much.

Sunghoon can’t pinpoint just why he was so fascinated by you. With a single glance, you turned his world upside down and he thinks he’ll never feel anything like that ever again.

Deep down, Sunghoon assumes part of his thoughts about you is because you’re a disruption in his mundane, boring life that feels like an endless loop. There was nothing for him to look forward to once his life and career became monotonous. But somehow, your honey-like voice and warm smile intrigued him. You’re an enigma he can’t quite seem to understand. It entices him to unravel who you are and what you could mean to him.

But none of that matters now. Watching you search the perimeter of the room for listening devices is enough to pull Sunghoon’s head out of the clouds.

“Oh God,” Sunghoon exclaims in a panic, as if the thought of his reality crashes down on him all at once. “My job. What the fuck am I gonna do about my job? My boss will report me missing if I don’t show up two days in a row. Fuck, what do I do?”

“There’s nothing you can do now,” you tell him. “Going back will only increase the risk of getting hurt. Don’t you understand that?”

“I can’t just leave my fucking job. I’m responsible for training entry level interns. I have so many unfinished reports due at the end of the week. Fuck! What if they call the police because I haven't shown up?

You sit next to him. “I understand this is a stressful situation, but your life can never go back to the way it was and we have to roll with the punches as they come. If everything goes according to plan, we’ll be too far from Seoul for anyone to find us.” Sunghoon swears he hears a bit of melancholy in your tone. “I’m very sorry:

Somehow, he believes you. “It’s okay. It’s not technically your fault.”

You don’t meet his eyes.

“This room is clean, by the way. No audio or video devices.”

“That’s probably the only good news from today.”

“We should probably talk about the next steps,” you tell him as you rise from his bed. “We’ll need to get some rest tonight. The hardest part about survival is the first few days and mapping out where we need to go next.”

“So where do we go?”

Your shoulders sag. “There might be somebody who can help us. It’s a long shot…but I think if we’re able to reach Jinju in the next few days, then we might be on the right track.”

“Jinju? Why Jinjiu?”

“I have a friend there who might be willing to help us.”

“So why don’t we call them and see if we can crash in the meantime?”

You shake your head. “It’s not as simple as you make it seem.”

“I’m struggling to keep up.” With pursed lips, you sit on your own bed and face Sunghoon. He watches you tuck your legs underneath yourself until you’re sitting criss-crossed and look down at your lap where you play with your fingers.

“There are people out there who do bad things for a living,” you say. “Really bad things. Worse than whatever imagination your mind can conjure up.”

Sunghoon’s heart palpitates. “Like what?” You look up at him.

“Like carrying out a hit.”

His stomach plummets.

“Y-You mean to tell me someone was trying to kill you? What for? What sensible reason does anyone have to kill an innocent person?”

You go back to playing with your fingers. He watches you look at him before biting your cheek and looking at the floor. “There are things in this world many people will never know. Few find out and live to tell the tale. I’m telling you this because I need you to understand me when I tell you things are getting serious, not because I’m trying to hide things from you.”

“Can you at least explain to me what the fuck is going on? Everything you say is cryptic and I know you’re not telling me the whole truth.”

“There’s a time and place for everything. I promise I’ll tell you everything. You deserve that at the least.”

“You owe me more than that.”

“I know, Sunghoon. Believe me, I do. But right now your adrenaline is wearing off and neither of us are thinking straight.”

“This is crazy,” he says. “I go to work and come home just to do it over again the next day. I barely have a social life and don’t go out on the weekends as much as my friends want me to. I’m just a normal guy living a normal life. Then, you showed up.”

Ultimately, Sunghoon knows you’re right. The bright lights of the hostel are suddenly too bright in his vision and they aren’t helping his headache. The mattress he’s sitting on top of suddenly feels too uncomfortable and sharp with the metal springs and rods beneath him. His body is calming down as his breathing returns to a normal rate and his eyes begin to feel heavy.

He looks at you and finds that you can’t meet his eye. Sunghoon immediately regrets his words and imagines what it must be like for you to carry the weight of knowing someone tried to kill you, coupled with the fact that you have to babysit somebody who has no idea how to fend for his life. Awkwardly, Sunghoon rises from his mattress and mutters about how he’s going to get ready for bed.

He splashes cold water onto his face to calm his face from the rushing heat creeping up his neck. Sunghoon doesn’t know what to think or how to feel. His bones are starting to feel heavy and his mind is telling him to go back home and pretend everything’s fine. He wants to be wrapped up in a blanket his sister got him for Christmas watching reruns of American television he can barely understand.

But his gut is telling him to stay with you. He can’t delude himself into thinking his life can go back to the way it was after everything that unfolded. He very well could remain looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life without someone who’s knowledgeable about this side of life. He can’t imagine leaving you without somebody to protect you, even if you seem like you can handle yourself. The least he could do is listen to your orders and follow your instructions until the both of you can live your lives without the fear of imminent danger. These thoughts haunt him as he washes his face and brushes his teeth.

When he emerges from the bathroom, he notices that you’ve changed into sleeping attire and tries to avoid looking at your bare legs when it registers that you’re wearing sleep shorts and a sweater. He feels somewhat remorseful of what could have been if the two of you get to know each other under different circumstances. You brush past him into the bathroom and he can hear the sound of the faucet running when you close the door.

Everything seems too calm compared to the few hours he spent with you. His ears are no longer ringing and his heartbeat isn’t beating as erratically as before. This is the first time that Sunghoon’s had a few minutes by himself where nothing distracts him from his thoughts. He’s too exhausted to push them away.

Soon, the two of you are tucked in your respective beds with the moonlight from the window illuminating the shared space. It’s bright enough for Sunghoon to see your figure laying still and facing the wall. You look so meek like this and he wonders how anyone could ever hurt you. He wants to say something, to apologize or thank you for caring about him.

“I can’t say I’m too sad about leaving my job,” he blurts out. Sunghoon’s about to chastise himself for saying something opposite of what he intended until he hears your bed creaking and looks over to see that you’ve turned to face him.

“Why’s that?”

Sunghoon crashes.

“I’m not happy. I feel like I’m working for nothing and I hate the life I have. People always need me for things and I never get any recognition for the work I do to save everybody’s asses.”

“You sound like you’ve given it a lot of thought.”

Sunghoon stares at the ceiling. “I haven’t been happy with my life in a long time. My friends tell me I keep fooling myself into thinking I have it all because my job pays well and I live by myself. Total autonomy.”

“But your job keeps you from that freedom.”

“Yes,” Sunghoon says, exasperated. “It feels like I’m living on someone else’s dime. Everything I do at my job is to make people happy because they tell me what to do. It doesn’t matter if I have my own principles. If it doesn’t align with the people who hire me to do my job, my voice doesn’t matter.” You don’t say anything for a moment but Sunghoon’s too caught up in his own thoughts to think about it.

“I can’t believe I just admitted that out loud.”

“Sometimes it takes a stranger to say what you really feel.”

Sunghoon turns to look at you. “You were always the most unpredictable part of my day.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. You moved into the apartment next to mine and running into you a few times a week kept me on my toes. I don’t know. I guess I saw you as someone I would have potentially befriended. I could at least pretend I was coming home to talk to someone who cared.”

“That’s…very sweet. You’re a nice person, Sunghoon.”

He sighs. “I don’t feel that way. I don’t know when I’m gonna see my family and friends again and explain all of this, but I'm starting to get the feeling that they’ll never hear from me and they’ll never know what happened tonight.”

“You know,” you begin, “a lot of my life was spent moving from place to place and never having anything or anyone to call home. I can’t imagine what it must feel like for you to leave everything behind. For that, I truly am sorry.”

“It’s really not your fault,” Sunghoon says dryly. “Whoever tried to kill you should get a bullet to his head.” He hears you laugh awkwardly.

“Yeah, well that likely wouldn’t solve our problems.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think that man acted on his own accord. It’s too professional to assume he’s working alone.”

“You’re saying he’s working with someone else?”

“Or, he’s working for someone.”

Sunghoon gulps. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“The price of freedom is high. Remember that.”

“You know, none of this explains how you know what you’re doing. If you know, for that matter.”

He doesn’t hear you move for a short while and closes his eyes shut. Once again, he’s found himself slipping up and saying things that don't translate well. Too afraid to speak, Sunghoon considers sleeping and dealing with his actions in the morning.

“I know what I’m doing because I’ve done it before,” you say through the darkness. “When your whole life revolves around survival, you adapt to the best of your ability and do anything to stay alive. I’ve learned a few things from my time on the run so please know that I know what I’m doing.”

“Who are you?”

The room is silent.

“Someone you can trust.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

Sunghoon’s surprised when you wake him up as the sun rises to vacate the premises. He gets dressed as quickly as he can and he knows you can hear him yawning as he prepares himself for the day ahead of him. After freshening up and a quick breakfast consisting of leftovers from yesterday’s convenience store run, the two of you return the hostel key and leave as quickly as you came.

Sunghoon watches as you destroy his phone and laptop, which ultimately makes his soul wince at his personal items deemed unworthy and unsafe. It makes him feel like this new lifestyle is set in stone and the physical burial of his worldly possessions feels like he’s burying his normalcy and trading it in for life on the run. You bury it in a plot of land somewhere and let him mourn before he’s ready to pack it up and leave.

The two of you travel on foot again, stopping by another convenience store to grab more water and food for later. The sun isn’t as warm as it was the day prior and Sunghoon’s grateful that he doesn't have to walk under the sweltering heat with all he’s carrying on his shoulders. He doesn’t know where the two of you are headed and prevents himself from asking more unnecessary questions because he’s met with a wall whenever he speaks about the next steps. In the hours he spends with you, he realizes that you barely know what’s to come.

Eventually, the two of you have found refuge at another hostel, miles away from the first one. Sunghoon doesn’t understand the method to your madness. He’s tried to make small conversation and ask you about your expertise, but you shut him down every time. You keep saying that “now” isn’t the right time to explain things to him because you’re too wrapped up in making sure you both manage to live until the next day. He’s starting to think you're not the person he once imagined you to be.

Sunghoon tries his hand at scaling the hostel for any listening devices at your suggestion. He follows you and watches as you inspect the bathroom–behind the toilet bowl, inside of it, in the shower drain, and behind the medicine cabinet–before he takes a stab at the living area. He feels awkward when you watch him but follows your pointers when you notice that he neglected a few spots.

One thing he realizes about being on the run is that sometimes, it’s very slow and extremely boring. With no phone or laptop to keep himself company, Sunghoon wishes he remembered to pack a book or two before leaving his apartment for good.

Realistically, you tell him it’s better to get as far away from the origin point as possible in the shortest amount of time. To pass the time, Sunghoon asks you questions he thinks are silly, ones that he’s seen movie characters from spy thrillers ask their partners.

Can we call anyone for help? No.

How about taking the bus instead of walking? No.

Is there anyone who can help us get into another country safely and quickly? Probably not.

It seems like you’ve been leaving Sunghoon with more questions than answers. You leave him in the dark, pondering on his own as you try to come up with a plan and he does his best to be patient with you because he can’t imagine having to care for someone who has no idea how to keep himself alive. Sunghoon daydreams about who you must’ve been in order for someone to attempt to kill you when the two of you are traveling. It keeps him occupied and what prevents him from complaining about walking too much.

Sunghoon pictures you as someone who knows a little too much. Perhaps you stumbled upon a classified piece of information or made a shady deal with bad people in your past life and moved to Seoul to escape. Maybe that’s why you know so much about being on the run.

He also thinks you might be some sort of spy dabbling in espionage, and the man who assaulted you is someone who works for your arch nemesis. This idea seems silly because it reminds him of a k-drama his sister used to obsess over but he can’t lie when he thinks about how this theory might be the only one that makes sense.

Even so, Sunghoon comes to the realization that you are truly, utterly alone.

He wonders if you have any friends or family that you had to leave behind. You know so much about him because he’s been open about his feelings after the startling realization that his life is something he will never return to. But you’ve kept quiet about who you are up until the point where you moved into the apartment next to his. So caught up in his own miseries, Sunghoon neglected to consider that you would have to leave people behind as well. Do you have loved ones in Seoul? Do you get drinks with your colleagues after work? Is there anyone who would notice you missing?

He falls asleep with these questions ruminating in his own head.

The next time Sunghoon opens his eyes, he’s not surprised to find you already packing. Like clockwork, the two of you set out on foot again and walk for miles under the sun until you’re farther away from Seoul. There’s a small noodle shop by the newest hostel and he’s more than shocked when you ask if he’s up for eating dinner there.

The two of you wear masks and a cap to conceal your identities to the best of your abilities. Sunghoon lets you pay for the noodles upon realizing his own wallet is buried in a plot of land somewhere. The money you have was a stash for a rainy day and he’s wondering when it’ll run out.

“It’s crazy that you think about this stuff,” he says as the waitress hands off his noodles. “I still don’t understand why you insisted on picking this table.” You nudge your head to the window.

“Being visible from the outside means bad business. Anyone can see in the window and spot you if the lighting is good enough. I chose this table because it’s concealed the most and closest to the door in case we need to make a run for it.”

“So what, do we just leave without paying if someone comes in and tries to kill us?”

You shrug. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”

“That’s so unethical,” Sunghoon huffs in disbelief.

You laugh into your spoon. “Well that’s the life we have to live now. You learn to put aside your conscience and morals when trying to survive. Neglecting to pay for a meal is a small act of ungratefulness compared to saving your own life.”

“I don’t even want to ask how many times you’ve had to do that.”

He watches you lament. “I’ve been living like this for a long time, Sunghoon. That's all I know. I can’t afford to think about the what ifs because the future happens quicker than you expect it to. Knowing I get to sleep at the end of the day is the goal, but then I have to worry about what’ll happen when I open my eyes.

“Becoming your neighbor was my first taste of normalcy, in a sense. I still slept with a gun under my pillow and kept my door bolted shut with a cane underneath the handle. Every room in my apartment had a weapon in it should I ever need it.”

Sunghoon winces. “I’m sorry it came to that.”

“Me too,” you say, sipping from your spoon. “But that’s my life.”

“If you hate it so much, why did you choose it?”

You look at him. “I didn’t.”

“I assume this is a story for another time.”

“You’re assuming correctly.”

Sunghoon watches you slurp on your noodles. The soup is splashing inside the bowl and the steam is burning your tongue but you push through it, forcing yourself to chew and suck cool air into your mouth. You seem normal like this and Sunghoon’s heart softens when he thinks about what life would be like if the two of you weren’t on the run.

“Tell me about yourself.”

Sunghoon’s taken aback by your sudden question. “Myself?”

You nod. “Who are you, Sunghoon?”

It’s a loaded question and one he wasn’t expecting to hear from you. You’ve seldom made conversation in the couple of days since you two have been together, only asking him about the necessary things as they come up. Sunghoon’s the one who initiates small talk and shares what he’s thinking with you when the conversation falls flat. He’s learned to be okay with your silence.

Hearing you ask him such a question sends him into deep thought. For a moment, Sunghoon imagines that the two of you are on a first date. He pretends you both agree to forego the fanciness of a five-star restaurant in favor of dressing comfortably and having no expectations other than good food and good company.

You look so innocent in this light, so far removed from a world of danger that Sunghoon nearly deludes himself into thinking this fantasy of his is real. Your cheeks are full of noodles and your body is hunched over the bowl like any normal person would be. He pulls himself back before he could mourn his past.

“I don’t really know where to begin. I have two parents, a mother and father, and a younger sister. I grew up in Suwon until I moved to Seoul for university. I hate my job and I really want to open a coffee shop one day.”

“Why a coffee shop?”

“It’s the exact opposite of my life right now,” Sunghoon explains. “I won’t hear telephones ringing or be pulled into budgetary meetings for clients every second of the day. I’ll work for myself. I won’t have to stay later than I want to and I can talk to real people who I’ll actually give a shit about.”

“That sounds like a really nice dream.”

“I’d probably call it ‘Soul Coffee’ because maybe I’ll have a soul by then,” he says with a short laugh. “I think I’d be happy waking up to work in a place like that instead of in finance. It feels like I’m living the same day over and over again. There’s no variety in my life because everyone expects you to stay later than the typical workday. It’s a shark-eat-shark world there. I’m sick of it. I’m tired of pretending to care about our morally-grey clients. Nothing about it feels…me.”

“Listening to commands is tiring, don’t you think?”

He sighs, exasperated. “You’ve read my mind. It’s like I’m a cog in a machine. I serve to benefit high society and make the rich, richer. There’s no morality in what I do. I have to look at the numbers I see pile across my desk everyday and pretend they mean nothing to me. If I start to think about how much money is being used to do ungodly things, I start to lose my mind.

“None of my clients and colleagues seem to care about anyone but themselves. They compete with each other to see who can make it out on top the fastest without caring about who they hurt. It’s like they’ve lost their humanity.”

“Survival of the fittest is everybody’s weakness. When the consequence of falling behind is termination, that alone can make people do things against their own will.”

“They all seem like they’re running on autopilot, like they’re so used to it that they’re numb.” Sunghoon shakes his head. “I always thought I’d do something more creative with my life like photography, or something. I wasn’t too half bad at painting. I considered majoring in fine art but coming home for winter break was enough for me to reconsider that.”

“Why’s that?”

“My father's well connected in finance. He’s respectable and has set a lot of expectations for me. He wouldn’t hear it when I told him I wanted to be a photography major. He said it was nothing compared to having a stable job that you can depend on. It shattered my wellbeing and I knew there was no chance I could ever convince him otherwise.

“Living under your parents’ expectations is difficult. I have a younger sister who’s starting college soon and she wants to become a professional dancer. I can only imagine the conversations she must be having with our parents now. But I guess it’s all for the best, right? I have a good job that pays decently and a roof over my head. I can’t complain, really.”

“You can still mourn the life you could’ve had,” you tell him. “Just because you chose one path, that doesn’t mean you can’t be sad about a future that never was.”

His eyes flicker to you when he hears an uptick in your voice. You look back with a melancholy gaze that's hard for Sunghoon to figure out. He watches as you divert your eyes from him when silence has passed and he thinks that’s peculiar.

“I guess so.”

The two of you finish your meal without a word spoken. He’s done eating just a minute quicker than you do, and patiently waits until you��ve discarded your utensils into the bowl in front of you. Sunghoon wonders if what he said must have made you uncomfortable, but the voice in his head is telling him you know more about what he’s feeling than you let on.

With your expertise about being on the run and evading assailants, Sunghoon truly begins to wonder what your life must have been like prior to moving next to him.

You break the silence.

“You’re a very resilient person, Sunghoon. I think your friends and family are very lucky to have you.”

Sunghoon is speechless.

“T-Thank you. I hope I can get to know you well enough to say nice things about you too.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

The two of you decide to make a trip to the only convenience store in town before heading back despite it being farther away from the current hostel. It’s dark outside and even Sunghoon is starting to feel spooked when walking through the dead of night, distant lamp posts illuminating the night sky. He can’t tell what you’re thinking either. Most times, you wear the same expression and remain stoic until it’s time to go to sleep. It’s then Sunghoon can truly see just how tired you are. He wishes he could spearhead the planning to give you some time to rest.

He learns that you’re resilient too. You push your body to its physical maximum. You’re able to think ahead and prepare everything you need before your head hits the pillow because the next day is never promised. Sunghoon, too, starts to push himself towards his breaking point and only thinks of surviving.

Sunghoon catches you yawning as you shuffle items into the basket. He offers to hold it for you and picks out items he’s seen you purchase before. The cashier bids you farewell once the tab has been paid. The two of you make the trek back to the hostel under dimly lit lights in the middle of nowhere when you push Sunghoon forward until his face meets the ground below him.

Already, the sound of a bullet piercing the air interrupts the tranquil atmosphere of the environment. He looks up to see a man inside of a car aiming his gun in his direction and covers your body with his when he realizes the armed stranger is about to take another shot. Sunghoon’s heart rate quickens when the bullet casings fall to the ground beside him. You clutch onto him until you’re able to find leverage and push him off of you to a spot you deem safe enough.

There’s a single driver; no designated person as a gunman sitting shotgun and you’re sure this is an inexperienced soldier who’s out for blood. If not for the reckless aim, then for the insults he shouts at you when the bullets hit everything but you and Sunghoon.

Sunghoon reckons your body is a mixture of adrenaline and strategy from your years of experience. It’s almost as though you move on autopilot and maneuver your way to the safest vantage point. He, on the other hand, is the polar opposite. He’s frozen in his spot and his body feels heavier than it is when you try to pull him to safety. Because of this, the last bullet from the gunman’s device ricochets off of a hard surface behind you and a small fragment of it becomes lodged in your arm.

You yell in pain and clutch yourself when the metal touches your skin. When the gunman realizes his ammo is depleted, he swerves the car until his headlights blind you. Without a moment’s notice, you grab onto Sunghoon’s sleeve and pull him along with you, running until you see a crevice that’s small enough to fit the two of you.

You run and run, ducking behind buildings and keeping Sunghoon close to you as you take cover behind dumpsters and other large objects that could shield you from the gunman’s vehicle. Your arm is in immense pain and you can feel your blood start to trickle out of your wound and down your elbow.

When the gunman ceases his attempts to run after the two of you, you exhale.

You check to see if the coast is clear and slide down the hard wall behind you until you’re perched upright when you deem it safe enough. The jacket you’re wearing does nothing to shield your arm from the bullet fragment and your skin looks like a bloody massacre when you take it off.

Sunghoon can only stare at the wound. He’s at a loss for words when he sees your face contort in pain as your head hits the brick wall behind you. The tears pricking at your eyes damage his psyche and he feels utterly helpless.

He watches you rummage through your backpack and tear off a portion of an unused shirt and as you wrap it around your arm. The blood’s soaking through the grey fabric and it causes him to panic. You aren’t screaming the way Sunghoon wants to. It scares him half to death.

“Direct pressure on the wound cuts off the blood supply,” you tell him with a huff. He wants to help, but the sight of your blood dripping down your arm and onto the pavement below makes his feet stay planted where they are. Sungoon watches as you pull it tight with your teeth and secure it to the best of your ability.

“Blood,” Sunghoon stutters. “There’s so much blood. We need to get you to a hospital.”

“No,” you immediately refute. “No hospitals. Going to a medical center means I’m documented, Sunghoon. They have to take my name and identification. Maybe yours too. We can’t risk going somewhere with security feeds to avoid being caught.”

“So what do you propose we do, then? You’re fucking bleeding because you got shot!”

“It’s just a graze wound,” you say through your teeth. “It hurts like hell, but I’ll be fine.”

“Where do we go from here?” Sunghoon asks.

“Back to your apartment.”

“But you said it’s dangerous if we go back.”

“It’s less dangerous than going back to our hostel or finding a new one. People who see my arm are going to call the cops and going to a medical center is out of the question. I just need a safe place to fix myself.”

Sunghoon knows better than to suggest hailing a taxi or using the metro to get back to his apartment. He pushes all morals aside when you instruct him how to hotwire a car from the street when he sees your bloody arm. When he successfully gets the engine to run, you climb into the passenger seat and he’s off retracing his steps to take him back to his apartment as best as he can.

You try to stay awake. It hurts Sunghoon to hear you gasping in pain with your high-pitched cries when he hits a road bump. From the corner of his eye, he can see you biting your lip to keep your tears at bay as best as you cany. Your head rests against the car door as you watch the lights pass by you and he wonders what you’re thinking right now. For all of your reassurance that this is a normal part of your life, Sunghoon wishes it wasn’t.

Eventually, Sunghoon finds his way back towards Seoul. As he approaches his former neighborhood, he can’t help but feel displaced. It’s odd to see familiar streets and department stores he frequents after making peace with the fact that he’ll likely never return. The lights that keep each billboard sign on feels foreign after spending days looking at wastelands. Sunghoon never imagined that he’d get the chance to see his old haunts. Not in this lifetime, anyway.

It’s the dead of night and the lights surrounding the apartment are dimmer than usual. He’s grateful, in a way, because it means you two can get into the building from the back without being detected. Sunghoon leads you up the stairs, leading you by the sleeve of his jacket that he’s letting you wear. It’s soaked with your blood and you’ve had to use the fabric to prevent any more bleeding. He avoids looking at it, hating that you’re in so much pain and that you don’t even show it.

“Hang on,” Sunghoon says when the two of you approach the door. Your face is growing weaker but he can hear voices coming from inside the room. “I hear someone inside.”

They’re just loud enough for Sunghoon to recognize them.

“Shit,” he mutters. “My friends are inside.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you say, stumbling over your feet to press your forehead against his back. “I need to get in there and fix my arm before I pass out.”

“Okay,” he says with a final nod before pushing the door open.

Sunghoon’s guilt and shame wash over him when he sees Jay and Jake sitting inside. They look at him with anger and disappointment flashing across their faces as they see him standing in the threshold of his doorway. They don’t comment on the spattered red blood that’s halfway dry on his sleeve. Seeing his friends look at him with such betrayal makes Sunghoon feel like the worst person in the entire world.

“What the actual fuck,” Jake speaks, cutting the silence. “Where the fuck have you been, Sunghoon?”

“We’ve been worried sick,” Jay adds. “You’ve been gone for a week. Where the fuck were you and what happened?”

“How did you guys get in here?” Sunghoon asks quizzically.

“You gave me your spare key.” Jay fishes it out of his pocket and throws it on the counter beside him. “For emergencies, remember? We come in here to see your apartment is a mess. I’d count this as an emergency.”

“Guys, I can explain–”

“You fucking better!” Jake exclaims, raising his voice a notch. “We were worried sick about you! Didn’t you check your texts? Why didn’t you call us? Are you in trouble?”

“Guys—”

“Cut the shit, Sunghoon. Friends don’t do that to other people, especially when we came here and saw your bedroom. It looks like a storm blew in here.” Jay shakes his head. “What the hell happened to you?”

Sunghoon tries to apologize amidst the chaos. “You guys, really, I’m sorry–”

“You better be fucking sorry!” Jake shouts back at Sunghoon, who has dared to inch closer to the angry man in front of him. “Sunghoon, I swear to God. We’ve been brothers since college and I’ve been by your side through everything. The least you could have fucking done was let us know that you’re okay and–”

“All of you better shut up unless you want to deal with me passed out on the floor,” you warn, slamming a gun on the table. It makes a horrendously loud noise that startles all three of them but it’s enough to garner their attention.

Jake’s eyes are first to see your arm. You’ve taken off Sunghoon’s jacket and discarded it on the chair beside you, revealing the blood-soaked spectacle underneath. He sputters over his words, while Jay remains frozen in his spot.

“Sunghoon,” you speak, voice heavy with your eyes shut together. “Do you have any alcohol?”

“I-I have vodka” Sunghoon stutters. He stumbles backwards and grabs all of the bottles he can find.

“Sunghoon,” you say again through broken words and heavy breaths, “can you please get my backpack and the medical kit sashed underneath your touch?”

“What the fuck?!” Jay exclaims. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

“No hospitals,” Sunghoon answers, putting the backpack on the table in front of you. He pulls out the kit and opens it for you. “Too much attention. We can’t afford that right now.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” Jay retorts. “She’s clearly bleeding out! Y/N needs to see a doctor to get her arm patched up. She’s bleeding all over the fucking table!”

Jay averts his gaze from Sunghoon when he hears you fish out a needle and thread. The gauze from your kit sits atop the counter and he winces when you peel back the fabric to reveal the wound.

“Holy shit,” Jake mutters. “How are you still alive?”

“It’s not fatal,” you explain. “It’s a flesh wound at best. Hurts like hell, but at least the bullet fragment didn’t lodge itself inside of me.”

“Bullet?”

“Can you make yourself useful and get me a cup?”

Jake moves to the kitchen, too afraid of what you’ll do if he doesn’t obey your command. The sight of your bloody arm is enough to make him equal parts sick and panicked. The three boys in front of you are silent as they watch you unpack what you need. The room smells of sweat and iron, but neither of them dare to take their eyes off of your arm.

“Do you have any spare towels I can use?” you ask Sunghoon. He wordlessly grabs them for you.

“This is crazy,” Jake mutters.

“It’s about to get crazier,” you mumble, patting the blood on the skin that isn’t damaged.

“Don’t tell me–”

“Yeah,” you say, unscrewing the top to the vodka bottle and pouring yourself enough liquid to temporarily calm your nerves. The boys watch as you tilt your head back to consume the vodka. “Somebody please put my hair up.”

“How’s this gonna work?” Jake asks as Sunghoon ties your hair for you.

“Whenever the alcohol starts to kick in, I’m going to use the vodka to disinfect this arm and clear it to the best of my ability,” you explain. “Then, I’m going to stitch myself up.”

“What the fuck.”

“I’ve been in worse situations. I’ll be fine.”

“You…You’ve done this before?” Jake asks.

“Too many times to count. Now, I ask that you keep quiet and do as I say unless you want me to pass out. Do you understand?”

Jay and Jake mumble agreements under their breaths. Sunghoon only nods.

When you feel your shoulders start to relax, that’s when you force your body upright and grab the vodka again. You’ve done this enough times but the searing pain of alcohol being poured into your wound still hurts. Everybody hears the sound of the liquid dripping onto the floor mixed with your short whimpers of suffering.

The boys feel helpless as they stare at you cleaning yourself up without assistance. It kills them to sit so immobile as you fight your pain in front of them. Your composure starts to crumble as the alcohol cascades down your arm and everybody is shocked to see you aren’t doubling in pain.

It kills Sunghoon to sit so powerless like he did when you first convinced him to leave with you. He can barely look at the blood spilling from your arm onto his table. His friends try to look away but can’t, eyes glancing back at you every so often. Sunghoon hates seeing you in pain like this and he resents that there’s nothing he can do to help you. He decides that he should look around his apartment for any listening devices in case the assailant comes back to finish the job.

He comes back a while later after searching the entire place, overturning even the smallest piece of decor he owns. His limited experience follows him from room to room, searching for audio devices in unassuming crevices and obvious places. When he feels confident that he did a thorough job, he returns to the living room to find the blood-soaked towels on the table and Jay holding a roll of paper towels.

“I searched my place,” Sunghoon informs. “There should be no bugs or anything.”

“Bugs?” Jake asks quizzically.

“Audio devices or anything that could be used to listen in on us. You can never be too sure.”

“Good,” you comment weakly. Jay does his best to throw away everything he can in the trash and clean up too.

The three boys sit in silence once more. Your winces short pained breaths are the only audible sound in the room. Sunghoon looks away every time the needle pierces your skin and wonders how you’ve built up a tolerance to this type of pain. His heart aches when he thinks about you doing this alone.

“I need to eat or else I’m going to pass out. Do you have anything?”

“All the food in the fridge is probably rotten by now,” Sunghoon mumbles. “One of us should get some food for tonight.”

“I’ll go to the store across the street and get something,” Jake volunteers, his stomach churning from the sight before him.

“Take Jay with you,” he hears you instruct. “From now on, we need to stay in pairs.”

“Sure thing,’ Jay nods.

The two of them come back in record time. Sunghoon helps you sit upright when you fail to compose yourself and tries not to think anything of it when your head leans on his body. Your mouth quivers like you’re trying to keep yourself from crying in front of him.

Sunghoon opens a few of the packaged foods that his friends had bought, setting it far from where your arm is on the table. He beckons you to open your mouth and feed you flavorful crackers and other dry foods that won’t distract you from stitching yourself up. He feels your lips touch his fingers when he feeds you and Sunghoon feels like his body is on fire.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “I’m sorry you have to see this.”

“So this is why you’ve been gone?” Jay asks Sunghoon. “What the fuck happened to the both of you?”

“I guess now’s the best time to explain,” you say after a long beat of silence. “I owe you guys that much.”

“That would be nice.” Sunghoon glares at his friend but you put your arm on him and shake your head.

“Maybe we should let her concentrate so she doesn’t injure herself any more than she already is.”

“Talking distracts me from the pain.” They sit in front of you quietly. Jay anxiously bounces his leg in his seat when you pull the needle through.

Jake stares at your arm before looking up. “Who are you?”

“There are a lot of bad people in this world who want to acquire power to the point of being drunk off of it, and there are bad people who carry out orders to ensure this power is transferred from one entity to another.”

“Which one are you?” Sunghoon stands from his seat when Jay looks at you with a hard expression but you shake your head. He backs down, sitting in his seat without a word.

“The latter,” you say honestly. “I’m an independent contractor, of sorts. I’m somebody who has the physical means to push power in any direction my Command tells me to without question.”

“Command?”

“Command is the organization that employs me.”

“None of this makes sense, Y/N. Who are you working for? What line of work puts you in this kind of danger?”

“I do things that get the job done,” you say, gritting your teeth as you pull a stitch taught. “I fight, steal, and harm anyone who gets in the way of a successful mission. My job is to succeed, Jay. My purpose is to win.”

“H-Harm?” Jake chokes on his words.

“By any means necessary.”

“You’re not serious,” Jay comments. “None of this is real.”

“All of it is real and it’s my life. It’s all I know and it’s what I grew up with.”

Jake shakes his head. “All of this is so confusing to me. You’re saying that there’s an organization called ‘Command’ and you’re an independent contractor that carries out orders to complete a job. Just what kind of job do you have?”

“Do you see the state of my arm?” Jake nods. “What I do in my day to day life is serious business. My job changes everyday and there’s nothing I can’t accomplish. I do whatever is necessary to ensure that Command gains as much power and money as possible to keep a balanced order as we know it. I do bad things for bad people. Did, I should say.”

Sunghoon quirks an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

The last stitch stings. You tie it to the best of your ability and clean the wound until you can’t bear to stand the pain anymore. The boys in front of you gawk at you.

“I used to harm people if it meant serving the greater good according to Command.”

“What does that mean exactly?” Sunghoon’s voice quivers and you cast your eyes to the table.

“I think you know.”

“That guy who broke into your apartment and tried to strangle you to death works for Command too, doesn’t he?”

“I assume so. I didn’t recognize him but his combat style is similar to mine. I can only assume we come from the same place.”

“That doesn't explain why he tried to kill you.”

You shake your head. Sunghoon watches as your eyes become wet as you pat your wound dry, throat constricting from the pain in your arm and within your heart.

“He didn’t try to kill me. He was trying to kill you.”

“Why me?”

You speak above a whisper.

“Because I was taking too long.”

The gears in his head turn as he looks at you from where he sits. Sunghoon feels like the reality around him has shattered into a thousand pieces. He can't seem to stitch back together as he looks between your arm and your face. For the first time since he’s known you, you can’t look him in the eye.

It clicks for him.

“Me?” Sunghoon asks incredulously. “You were sent to kill me?”

You bite your lip. “That thumb drive your boss gave you contains years worth of documented payroll. Your colleagues and investors have been diverting funds from the company into a shell bank account for decades. This portion of money is used by Command to fund our missions and carry out any necessities to ensure anybody who petrays this organization sees the end of their life.”

“That’s fucking crazy.” Sunghoon stands from his chair and walks around the living room. He looks at you like you’ve shattered his heart, as if the pieces are scattered onto the floor before him. “You tried to kill me?” The crack in his voice brings tears to your eyes.

“I wasn’t going to. I’ve been like this since I was thirteen and didn’t know any better. If I wanted a roof over my head and food to eat, I needed to work for it. But you, Sunghoon…You are somebody I could never hurt.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to believe that when you lived next door to me for months, waiting for the right time to kill me? What, were you gonna murder me in my sleep?” He runs his hands over his face. “Oh god, were you going to do something to me the night you came over? Is that why you agreed to hang out with me?”

“No!” you exclaim. “You were my daydream too, Sunghoon. You were the most normal part of my life where I didn’t have to think about my fake job as a security guard or mission updates on your wellbeing. You were my friend. You were somebody I wanted to trust.”

Sunghoon shakes his head. “I-I don’t believe you.”

“I’ve wanted out for so long,” you plead. “I don’t want to live this life anymore. I was sent on this mission with the hopes of acquiring that thumb drive but I don’t give a shit about that anymore. I don’t care about obeying orders. I don’t care about who holds power because only the worst of the worst are the ones who run the show.”

“You’re the worst of the worst!” Sunghoon exclaims. “God, I actually let myself fall for you even though we barely knew each other. I let myself trust you when we were on the run, and now what? Are you gonna rat me out to your Command? Are you going to bring my head on a silver platter to your master?”

“I would never,” you plead, hot, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks and the side of your face. “I don’t want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Yeah, well you’ve hurt me. Congratulations, Y/N.”

Sunghoon walks into his bedroom with his back turned to you. Jay and Jake watch as you aggressively wipe the tears from your eyes and wince at the pain in your arm now that the alcohol is starting to subside.

“That’s really fucked up, Y/N,” Jake says. “You were going to murder our best friend. How did you think Sunghoon was going to react?”

You shake your head. “My entire life is order after order. I never make decisions for myself. I don’t live for myself. You have to understand that disobeying orders means you get killed and saving Sunghoon was the biggest risk I have ever taken in my life. It’s the first choice I’ve made for me, not for Command. The person who tried to kill us probably knew I went rogue. There’s a reason why he was shooting at both of us. I’m a target too.”

“Wait, so someone tried to kill you tonight? For real this time?”

“Yeah, well you’ve hurt me. Congratulations, Y/N.”

You nod. “It won’t stop either. They’ll come looking for me and Sunghoon. He’s somebody who saw something he shouldn’t have and I’m a rogue assassin who betrayed her people. My head is on a platter too. The last thing I want to do is see Sunghoon dead.”

Jay sighs. “This is really hard to believe. You can’t seriously think any of us will trust you after what you just told us.”

“You have to,” you croak. “I wouldn’t risk my life by betraying Command to save Sunghoon and bring him out of town if I wanted to see him dead.”

“You have a point. But this all seems…far fetched.”

“It’s a lot to take in, I know. I don’t expect either of you to think positively of me or to believe in me. But I’m asking you to trust me if you want to see Sunghoon live. I can’t protect him if he doesn’t want my help.”

“What makes you think you could protect him? Your arm is damaged and you don’t even know what you’re doing.”

“I know people,” you tell them. “I have contacts all over the globe for doing favors and spending time in places for months at a time. And in the meantime, I have a friend who might be willing to help us start escaping Korea and find refuge where Command won’t find us.”

“How do we know this person is trustworthy?” Jake asks.

“We talk about this life, Heeseung and I,” you explain. “We grew up together. We’ve known each other since we were four and grew up learning how to fight hand-to-hand combat together. He’s seen me bloody and broken far too many times than I can count. You can’t trust many people in this line of business, but he’s saved me too many times for me to not trust him.”

“This Heeseung person, is he close by?”

“There’s an abandoned warehouse in the most southern part of Korea. Heeseung was supposed to oversee its demolition but told me he never did in the event that somebody needed refuge. As far as I know, the warehouse is still functional and he still operates from over there.”

“So, what, are you and Sunghoon going to meet up with Heeseung and life will suddenly be fine?”

“I don’t know.” You swallow harshly. “But I know that Heeseung is good at fixing wounds and funneling people and hiding. He is the only person I would risk my life to save and I know he’d do the same for me.”

“You saved Sunghoon’s,” Jay comments.

You bite your lip. “I would risk my life for him too. He was the first person that made me feel like a human being, like I didn’t have to be ashamed of my flaws or shortcomings. Everyday I imagined a life where we could be friends instead of leading the life that I do. Talking to him made me feel like I finally had the privilege of freedom. But then someone broke into the wrong apartment and involved both of us. I risked my life by saving him and now that Command likely knows I’m on the run with him, they’re out to kill us both.”

“Be honest with us. Are you willing to sacrifice your life to protect Sunghoon?”

You meet Jay’s eye and answer him without hesitation.

“Yes.”

“I don’t know if we can really trust you fully,” Jake stars, “but it sounds like you’re in trouble too. Killing Sunghoon now wouldn’t save your life, would it?”

You shake your head. “Once a traitor, always a traitor.”

Jay sighs. “Well, it’s not like you could kill any of us with a damaged arm. You should probably get some sleep and disinfect the arm. Sunghoon’s shower is just down the hallway. The towels are in the cabinet beside it.”

They watch you stand up and bow in a ninety-degree angle despite the pressure it puts on your arm. You stand up to look at them with eyes full of sorrow and regret, the kind that has your lips trembling and eyes watering.

“For whatever it’s worth, thank you for listening to me.”

“Yeah, well we needed answers.”

You let a tear fall. “I’m sorry.”

“Answer this for me,” Jake asks. “Why did Heeseung keep the facility and what’s he using it for, really?”

You bite your lip. “I heard through the grapevine that there have been talks about an uprising to take down Command. There are dozens of people like me, people who are tired of being ordered to kill and perform other horrendous acts against humanity. Heeseung and I often talk about abandoning our post but neither one of us had the courage to actually do it.”

“But you did.”

“After I met Sunghoon, yeah. I’ve never lived in an apartment before. It’s always small hostels or hotels until the job is over, and then I return to base camp where everything feels like a prison. Living next to Sunghoon let me develop a routine where I deluded myself into thinking I could have a future like that someday.”

“So you just…gave up that life?”

“I suppose so.”

“This uprising,” Jay says, “what’s it going to accomplish?”

“If done right, then Command will be wiped out of existence. This means no paper or digital trail. All backlogs are demolished and everyone who wants to be free, will be free.”

“That’s a lot to ensure no one targets your back.”

“There’s only one person who gives out orders,” you explain. “Everyone else are pawns who’ve been kidnapped and bred to become the type of people we are today. Nobody wants to live this lifestyle. Nobody wants to die a killer.”

“Okay,” Jay says after a moment of silence. “But I think it’s best if you freshen up and get some sleep.

Jake sighs when he hears the bathroom door close.

“What are we gonna do? If Y/N hadn’t stitched herself up in front of us, I’d call bullshit and tell Hoon to move out of this building.”

“I don’t know what to feel either,” says Jay. “I don’t trust her because she just told us she was sent to kill him but you saw how well she kept herself together just now. She could’ve killed him and gotten that thumb drive whenever she wanted to.”

“I don’t trust her either, but she said her life is on the line whether or not Sunghoon is dead. She could’ve done something to him but she hasn’t. I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

Jay sighs for the umpteenth time. “For now, let’s just try to make sure Sunghoon and Y/N aren’t anywhere near each other tonight. I know she could probably kill us all in our sleep but we would’ve been dead by now if she didn’t trust us.” The two boys look at your gun, which is still sitting on the table.

“You’re right,” Jake agrees. “She should take Hoon’s guest bedroom and rest up. I can’t imagine how much pain she’s in. You should probably be the one who talks to him, too. He always listens to you.”

Jay laughs humorlessly. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s stay the night just in case. Lord knows we don’t need those two killing each other.”

Jake leaves to prepare the guest bedroom and calm his nerves away from the bloody table. Jay walks to Sunghoon’s bedroom door and raps his knuckles against the wood.

“Hoon, open up,” Jay beckons. “It’s me.”

It’s quiet for a moment until he hears Sunghoon’s feet shuffling behind the door.

“If you’re going to tell me to forgive her and move on, forget it.” Jay walks into the room when Sunghoon doesn’t close the door in front of him.

“I wasn’t going to. You have every right to feel the way you do. I wanted to check in and see how you’re doing.” Sunghoon bites back a snarky comment, knowing his anger isn’t redirected at Jay.

“I feel so fucking betrayed. I feel like my life is over and there’s nothing I can do to get back the time I had. I wish I never met Y/N and I wish I never opened that stupid fucking thumb drive because then I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Take is easy, okay?” Jay says. “I know that’s virtually impossible given the circumstances, but there’s nothing you can do right now. Y/N’s in the shower and Jake’s preparing the guest room for her now.”

“I want this to be over. Or better yet, I just want someone to end my misery.”

Jay sits next to Sunghoon on his bed, knocking his shoulder against his. “Don’t say that. You’ve survived and gotten this far. It’s only fair that you see it through and make it out alive.”

“But what does that even mean?” Sunghoon asks, exasperated. “The end could be years from now. I don’t even know what I’m fighting for. I can’t stay here long or they’ll find me and murder me. I don’t even know what Y/N’s end goal is. We’ve been running for so long and I didn’t know any of her intentions until tonight.”

“I can’t speak for her and I won’t because who she is, isn’t someone I’d want in your life,” Jay begins. “But she’s dead whether or not you are. If you die and the mission is complete, her head is still on a platter because she disobeyed her orders.

“I’m not telling you to trust her because of who she is, but I’m telling you that it seems like she truly doesn’t want you to get hurt. She waited for months to even talk to you and never made a point to involve you in any of this before you disappeared. Y/N told us she has a contact that could potentially help the two of you with your predicament, and that’s the best that I can see for the time being. Part of me thinks she means what she says.”

“What if she’s lying?”

“No one can be sure of that. But what I know is that it’s late and you look like you haven’t slept in ages. Take a shower once Y/N’s done and get some shut eye. Jake and I will be here when you wake up.”

“I hate that she’s using my shower,” Sunghoon grumbles.

“What you hate is that you still like her, even after all of this.”

Sunghoon groans. “Stop reading me. You’re a freak for always being right.” Jay laughs.

“I’m really glad you’re okay. You had us worried sick and we thought we’d never see you again.” Sunghoon opens to talk but Jay shakes his head. “You don’t need to explain anything to me after what we just went through with Y/N and her arm. Get ready for bed and then get some sleep.”

Jay departs from Sunghoon’s bedroom, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He can hear the sound of their feet shuffling outside when the impending tiredness overwhelms him unexpectedly. When he’s sure you’re not occupying the bathroom, Sunghoon takes a quick shower and relishes being in his own bathroom with hot water. He lets the steam soak into his skin before drying himself off and brushing his teeth.

Sunghoon chooses to slip underneath the covers in his bedroom. You’re out cold in the guest bedroom next to his while Jay and Jake volunteered to take watching shifts. The only thing he can hear is the soft hum of the wind from outside. It feels peaceful and serene. But this tranquility makes him uncomfortable. He’s starting to understand why you work well under pressure.

As he melts underneath the covers, Sunghoon allows his heavy eyes to close shut. He dreams of nothing.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

The smell of sausages brings Sunghoon out of his slumber. Being somewhat well-rested feels foreign to him as he walks out of the bathroom performing his morning routine like any other day. It feels odd to look at himself in his mirror, putting on face products that have sat untouched for a week.

Jake is frying eggs when he walks into the kitchen area while Jay is prepping the bowls and utensils. Sunghoon watches silently as the two work in tandem to prepare gyeran bap with sausage on the side. The scent makes his mouth water.

“Morning,” Sunghoon croaks. “Is Y/N still sleeping?”

“Last I checked,” Jay says with a nod.

“Good. I don’t know if I can face her right now.”

“You’ll need to eventually.”

“I know.” Sunghoon sits in a chair and slumps over the table, which is significantly cleaner than when he last saw it. “Everything feels too fresh.”

“Y/N probably feels the same,” Jake says. “She sounds like she wants out of whatever business she finds herself in. I’m not defending her or anything, but you heard her. She grew up in this lifestyle so I can’t imagine how hard it must be to break away from something you’ve always known.”

“Still.”

Sunghoon eats his breakfast in silence with Jay while Jake volunteers to wake you up and help you with changing your bandages. They’re done eating by the time you emerge and Sunghoon can’t find it in himself to look at you, keeping busy by playing with his fingers. He feels your eyes on him and ignores the guilt that gnaws in his chest when he pretends you aren’t there, eating your breakfast next to him.

“We need to talk about next steps,” Jake says, cutting the tension. “You two obviously can’t stay here since it’ll be a liability for your safety. Hoon, you probably can’t go to your parents’ and neither Jay or I have enough space for you guys in the long run.”

“Y/N mentioned an abandoned warehouse that was salvaged and is fully operational,” Jay tells Sunghoon. “She knows someone there she trusts that might be able to help you two escape Korea or stay hidden long enough.”

Sunghoon huffs. “Trust. Sure.”

“It seems like your best bet.”

“Please Sunghoon,” you beg. “Please choose to continue living.”

He sighs. “It’s hard to hear you, of all people, say that to me.”

You nod. “I know. I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ll ever say anything that will make things better but being on the run is what I’m good at and this isn’t an opportunity we can pass up”

He looks up at his friends. “So this is it, huh? I’m just…never going to see you guys again?”

Jay and Jake share a look.

“Well…” Jake draws out, rubbing the back of his next. “Not quite.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re coming with you,” Jay says.

“What?” Sunghoon says incredulously. “No you’re not. You guys can’t risk your lives just to save mine.”

“Y/N told us about this uprising,” Jay explains, “to take down Command and end this organization for good. I’d be a fool not to be part of it after knowing what they put you through.”

“Our lives truly mean nothing if we ignore this and pretend people aren’t suffering,” says Jake. “Y/N can’t carry the burden alone.”

He finally looks at you. “You’re going to take down Command?”

“I’ll probably die trying, but yes. We can leave Korea but I can’t in good faith leave it here where more people die and suffer every single day.”

“This person she knows is someone who’s all for the uprising too,” says Jake. “If your next logical step is to hide away in his warehouse until life becomes more quiet, I think we should go too.”

“You can’t,” Sunghoon says, shaking his head. “You two have lives here, for God’s sake.”

“None more than you did.”

He looks at you. “Why are you encouraging them?”

“I’m not,” you say. “But I know two ambitious people when I see them. If they’re willing to help me with my mission, I’d be stupid to turn them down.”

“This is batshit. You can't just leave everything behind for me.”

Jay smiles. “It’s what friends are for, right?”

He knows there’s no use arguing when his friends are looking at him like they’ve already made up their minds. Sunghoon averts his eyes to see you with your arm slung on the table and then back to his friends, and sighs.

“Welcome to the team. Let’s pray we don’t die.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

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greyminyoon1 · 11 months ago

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𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝟕𝟖𝟔 44. dangerous entanglements

content warnings: smut, dirty talk, lots of teasing, praise, fingering, oral (m. receiving), oral (f. receiving)

YOUR FATHER WAS A GREAT MAN.

You knew he had his faults, like any other parent, you supposed. Maybe sometimes you felt pressured by the expectations that weighed on your shoulders, but your dad deserved some credit for consistently making an effort for your sake.

For your fifth grade promotion, it was your dad in the very front row, beaming brightly with his camera even though your mother was nowhere to be seen. It was your dad that attended each and every single science fair and spelling bee that you participated in, and even if you didn’t win first place, he would celebrate each one. It was your dad that helped you pick out clothes for your first date, which you were extremely nervous about and ended up swatching three different eye shadow palettes on his arm.

It was perhaps the lack of effort from the parents around you that made you appreciate your father just a little more. You were well aware that Sunghoon’s parents weren’t the same; they hadn’t even sent flowers for his graduation. The only time they celebrated his accomplishments was for events where they could use publicity to their advantage.

So who were you to complain about your path being carved for you when it had been so generously laid out at your feet? How could you protest when you were promised realities that few could only dream of?

Maybe dreams were just dreams. Foolish idealizations that you were meant to bury under the sand and forget about. When it came to your purpose, a dream was worthless. That was why you pushed it down your whole life, suppressing every selfish desire until it curled around your ribs and made it hard to breathe.

And you supposed that Jay was the one who left you vulnerable enough to slip back into those dangerous dreams.

But things were different now. Sure, your dad hadn’t yet accepted the future you wanted for yourself, and you were far too scared to confront him about it, but he had already given you freedom for the summer. You just had to get him to warm up to the idea, that was all.

When he called you to his study, you weren’t sure what to expect. Maybe he would talk about the ceremony for Sungjin, or maybe he would tell you about how golfing went. Regardless, you were itching to ask him what he thought about Jay; it was his approval that you sought out the most, after all.

As soon as you walked inside, your dad glanced up and closed the folder he was reading from. You were greeted with a warm smile. You realized you were still by the door, twiddling with your fingers before walking over to his desk.

“Is Jay settled in the guest bedroom yet?” he asked. “You should bring him an extra blanket. I heard it gets cold in there.”

He was asking about Jay out of his own accord. That had to be a good thing, right? You were afraid that your dad wouldn’t think Jay met up to a certain socio-economic level that he expected, but you had hope that Jay’s personality would blow all of that out of the water.

“Yeah, he said it’s great. I’ll—”

“Did you bring your notebook?”

An all-too-familiar chill traveled down your spine. You placed the moleskine notebook on the desk, as he requested, and you sat at the chair across from him. None of your memories associated with this notebook were fond, and you attributed most of your bad memories with your father to the very object.

You were given the notebook at a very young age. The instructions were quite clear; all you had to do was jot down whatever your father asked you to, follow it religiously, and never lose the book.

It was a strange practice, but you never complained. Something about writing down information to remember it better, but you weren't quite convinced that was the whole reason. It felt more to do with your father wanting to feel as if he had some control over your life, like the notebook was his tool to set you on the right path.

Initially, it was simply a resource for you. At a young age, you often struggled with social anxiety whenever you were dragged along to some upper crust event. The notebook was a gift from your father after hours of being scolded by your mother for your shy behavior and awkward responses. He provided pages of generated responses for you to practice and certain important names you had to remember. It was helpful in the beginning.

Then, he added more to it. You suddenly had a section of people to avoid, people who were of no value to you. There were only a few names there at first—people who had gotten involved in scandals, people who had the intent to scam, people who had a bad reputation—but then your father had you write in a name that threw you for a loop.

Kim Sunoo.

It was around high school when you started feeling worse about the notebook. You were always encouraged to associate with Park Sunghoon, so your dad was naturally pleased by your growing friendship with him, but when he found out that Heeseung was part of your group, you had to walk around with the guilt of writing your dear friend down as someone who was meaningless to your future. Expendable.

“Now, I have some edits I’d like you to add in.” He paused to adjust the reading glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Do you have a pen?”

You begrudgingly grabbed a ballpoint pen from his pencil holder. “Ready.”

The first few names mentioned were from the Order. (Stay close to Song Eunseok—his parents are government officials; be on good terms with Ning Yizhuo—her dad owns a steel company; be friendly but don’t worry much about Shin Ryujin—her dad’s a casino owner.) He always gave you some rundown about their families, how they’d prove to be useful connections, and then you would have to just trust your father’s judgment. There was never room for you to go against his words.

Then, he pushed a piece of paper in front of you.

Your heart sank.

Jay Park: Rebound from Sunghoon. Temporary fun. Won’t last past graduation.

There was something furious inside you, and it sank its icy jaws right into your heart. You felt your blood pumping, drumming in your ears so violently that you almost couldn’t catch him telling you to copy the words into your notebook.

You stared unblinkingly at the words, horrified. “I thought you liked Jay.”

“I do,” your dad insisted with an earnest nod. “He has a bright future ahead of him, and we had a great game—though I think he could practice his swing—but just because I like him doesn’t mean he’s anything more than a friend to you.”

You spluttered, outraged. “More than a—what?”

“Y/N, I don’t want this to upset you, but guys like Jay might seem fun and exciting at first, but you and him are from completely different worlds. He’s not gonna mesh well in our world.” He spoke to you in a gentle yet firm voice, but there was a condescending undertone that made your skin crawl. “You don’t see it now, but you’re gonna do great things in the future, and you need to be with someone who can match your standard.”

You knew he was hinting at Sunghoon. Your father took the news of your breakup strangely well, but you were certain that he thought you and your ex-boyfriend were simply on a break. Yours and Sunghoon’s family had constantly pushed for you two to get together from a young age; it was almost as if you two were destined to be together, but now it was clear to you that he just happened to be from an accomplished family.

But what on Earth was your dad spewing about Jay? He often spoke about your feelings on your behalf, but he never genuinely tried to understand how you were feeling.

“Dad, it’s not like that,” you tried, meeker than you had hoped. “I really want this to work out, like, I think I finally found someone who makes me feel the way you do about mom.”

As soon as the words came out of your mouth, you realized that it probably wasn’t the most ideal comparison. Your stomach only sank deeper when you saw your father’s eyes harden, clouding over with some unrecognizable emotion that made you falter.

“And look how that turned out,” he said sadly, hardly louder than your voice had been.

You overstepped.

It was as if that rage inside of you subdued at once. It shriveled back immediately, and you tried to reason with yourself.

It wasn’t anything to worry over. Your notebook was only for your eyes, so writing empty words wouldn’t do any harm. It wasn’t like your father’s mind couldn’t be swayed; you managed to convince him to take you off of the Mercy Health internship, so you could definitely get him to warm up to Jay. They seemed to get along well, after all, so it wouldn’t be an impossible feat.

So, you gritted your teeth and copied down his dreadful text word-for-word. This time, you weren’t quite sure if this was all worth your father’s smile of approval.

Your meeting with your father sapped all of the energy right out of you. You dragged your feet all the way up to your room before remembering that you were supposed to bring Jay an extra blanket.

And, never mind that, you were also supposed to have a very important talk with him. This was something you had actually been anticipating, too, because he was the one who offered to have a discussion. You felt like you were floating high up in the clouds throughout the day until you spoke with your father.

As you made your way down the hall, your heart raced. Deep down, you knew that nothing felt right about keeping this from him. You needed to tell Jay, but then wouldn’t he resent your father and steer clear from you? You couldn’t screw this up before it even started.

Jay opened the door only seconds after you knocked. He was wearing the suit he was planning to interview in, and you remembered him mentioning that he wanted to tailor the parts that didn’t fit as well himself. Immediately, the nonchalant façade you were trying to put up had shattered at your feet, and your throat felt thick with emotion. He gingerly took the blanket before gesturing for you to come inside.

“Your guest bedroom’s huge,” he started after closing the door. “This is bigger than my—” Jay stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed you wiping at the corners of your eyes. Sincerity dripped from his tongue, like honey. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

You had been trying your hardest to bottle up how you felt, but you always happened to wear your emotions on your sleeve around him.

“Come on, what’s wrong?” he pressed again, this time craning his neck lower so that he could make eye contact with you. As much as you tried to avoid his gaze, Jay just took your forearms gently and turned you to face him. “You can talk to me.”

You weren’t going to tell him. You couldn’t. He would just pull away from you again, and you didn’t want him to slip from your fingers.

Somehow, you always felt so anxious about him leaving you. It almost felt like it would be inevitable; the closer you got to him, the harder you had to hold on to keep him by your side. The discussion with your father only cemented that fear—the kind of fear that got deep inside your skin and dug a grave.

“No, I’m always crying around you. It’s embarrassing.” You used your sleeve to wipe your eyes. “I was crying the first time we met, too.”

The corner of Jay’s mouth picked up in a grin, and he simply brought his hands to your face so that he could wipe away your tears with the pads of his thumbs. “It’s not because of me, right?” When you didn’t respond, he pulled back to catch your expression, eyes wide with shock. “It’s because of me?”

“Not completely,” you tried, but Jay was already taking a seat at the edge of the mattress and letting his head hang, as if he was reflecting on his past actions. “I just”—you took a few steps closer to him until you were standing between his legs—“feel like you’re not really here sometimes.”

His calloused hands gently held the back of your knees as he looked up at you. “What do you mean?”

“I feel like we feel the same way about each other, and I feel like there’s something there, but you always pull me in and push me away whenever we get too close,” you said. It was honestly shocking that you were even able to frame the words that you couldn’t even string together in your head. “What is it about me that’s making you hesitate?”

Jay swallowed thickly. For a moment, he just stared at you, unblinking, and you were afraid that he was going to run away from you again. Then, he slid his hands up to the back of your thighs and pulled you down to straddle his lap. Your cheeks heated up when you remembered being in that exact position in your hotel room in Monaco.

“It’s not really something I can explain right now,” he murmured. “I just—the person I am right now isn’t ready to be the person you need me to be, but it feels impossible to stay away from you.”

“I don’t need you to be anyone but yourself,” you insisted. With a frustrated sigh, you went on, “I’ve basically been taken advantage by most of the people in my life, and you’re the first guy to make me feel like I’m worth more than my last name. I don’t want all of this”—you gestured to the space around you—“to make you feel like you have to live up to some expectation.”

“It’s not that, Y/N, I—”

“Then what is it?”

“I told you, I can’t explain it right now.”

“Well, if you can’t tell me, then what’re we even doing?” Exasperated, your voice broke. That was all it took for your tears to start spilling again, and even though you willed them to stop, you couldn’t keep them from pooling at your waterline. Jay simply looked agonized as he struggled to form coherent sentences. “What is it, am I—am I that hard to want?”

You couldn’t quite catch Jay’s outraged expression properly with the way your vision was blurring, but the tension between you two was unbearable. You could feel his grip tighten around your thighs upon hearing your words.

“No, it’s easier than breathing.”

You sucked in a breath and shook your head. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t be talking about this before your—”

It all happened quicker than a flash of lightning. One second Jay’s thumb was rubbing circles on your tear-stained cheeks, and then his soft lips were pressed against yours.

Jay kissed you.

He kissed you.

There was a violent storm in your chest, and it left strong gusts of passion and a torrent of arousal in its wake. It appeared that Jay, too, only felt the weight of his actions after pulling back to look at you. His eyes were searching yours, a little helpless, but you could tell that they were clouding over with something fiercer.

“I shouldn’t do this,” he whispered—a failed attempt at forced conviction. His lips were inches from yours, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. With little self-restraint, Jay leaned in once more, leaving gentle, chaste pecks that grew more and more fervent, his hesitancy ebbing away as he did. “No, no, no, no—I really shouldn’t be doing this.”

You couldn’t do this either. A voice in the back of your head kept telling you to backtrack, to tell Jay what being together would mean for him right now. But his interview with your father was tomorrow; you couldn’t unnerve him right before it. Despite your internal conflict, however, it was hard for you to focus on anything but the curve of his lips.

A bubble of fear dared to burst as your vulnerability bled through, but all you knew was that you wanted more—no, you needed more.

His gaze was still piercing, and you knew exactly what he was asking. Although your voice had been wavering up until now, you never sounded more sure of yourself when you said in a breath, “But I need you,” and something primal inside Jay snapped.

He sealed his mouth over yours again—hot and slow—and the way his hands roamed your body wasn’t pure in the slightest. He pulled you in by your waist, dragging your clothed core against his thigh, and then his bruising grip found its way to your hips.

You felt feverish.

There was something intoxicating about the way Jay kissed you. He was precise, like he had mapped out exactly what he wanted to do to you beforehand, and he saw to it that you were fully satisfied. Although you two had all the time in the world, there was a sense of urgency in the way you held the back of his neck. You wanted all of him before you couldn’t have him at all.

You heard a low rumble in the back of his throat. The sounds he made were so addicting that you grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged, rousing another groan from Jay before he proceeded to slip his tongue past your lips.

Jay pulled away to kiss down to your jawline, leaving small pecks down the column of your neck and the expanse of your collarbone until he found that perfect spot that stole the breath from your lungs. He sank his teeth into your shoulder, inciting a yelp that he muffled with a chaste kiss.

Then, he was pulling down the front of your shirt, kissing as much exposed skin he could find. You moaned softly as you rolled your hips down against him, but Jay was still focused on ravaging your chest.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he rasped again, practically growling against your skin, “but I can’t think straight around you.”

Your nerves felt like they had been lit aflame. You had fantasized about this moment for a while, but you never anticipated that Jay would be so forward, so desperate. Despite that, though, he was still gentle in the way he kissed every inch of your skin as if he worshiped your body.

You drew back to hurriedly pull your shirt over your head. Jay eyed you with a hunger in his eyes that couldn’t be satiated, but he seemed to regain some of his conscience when he threw a nervous glance over his shoulder. The door was still unlocked, but you weren’t worried about anyone walking in.

“Here? Are you sure?” he asked. He kept his eyes trained on you as you tossed your shirt to the side, then hooked your fingers in your waistband to slide your shorts down, then your thong (which he ended up tearing in half). His hands traveled up your sides, and then he moved to unhook your bra. “I told you we couldn’t do this.”

“We can’t, or you won’t?”

“We can’t,” he insisted, firmer this time, although his eyes were unfocused, “but I’ve never been good at standing my ground when it comes to you.”

“Good,” you started, slipping your bra off and letting it fall to the floor.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, “you’re a dream.”

Despite your burning cheeks, you ignored his praise and continued, “I want you to stop caring about everyone else and just pay attention to me.”

His eyes were hard when he asked, “Are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because I won’t be able to stop,” he said, “and you might not be able to sleep tonight.”

“Prove it.”

He stared at you, almost like he was enchanted, and his hand crept up your inner thigh. “C’mere.”

You thought Jay was going to pull you back on top of him when he took your hand, but he ran his hands up to your hips and left hot, open-mouthed kisses up your thigh. You gasped, pressing your legs together because your core burned with arousal, but Jay looked up at you through half-lidded eyes.

He stood up, making you take a few steps backward. Jay loosened his tie and unbuttoned his coat as he walked you back into the wall. You took that as your cue to push his coat off his shoulders and carefully undo the buttons of his white button-up.

“Careful,” he said in a low voice, “they’re hanging on by a thread.”

You weren’t sure how rough you were handling his clothing, but you swore you heard the sounds of fabric tearing while you were trying to undress Jay. He gave you a look of disapproval, but once you let it drop to the floor, neither of you cared about the state of your garments anymore.

And, oh, did he look heavenly; you hadn’t noticed it much before, but his broad shoulders and sculpted chest made you feel like you were going to be ruined. His body was truly something else. You were almost certain it belonged behind velvet ropes at a museum, not brazenly on display before you. You ran your hand down his abs, making him draw in shallow breaths because of your featherlight touch.

“Want me to make you feel good?” he asked in a low voice, lips at the shell of your ear. You short-circuited and let out a pathetic, breathless sound, which Jay only cooed at. The pad of his thumb ghosted your bottom lip. “You’ve been waiting, yeah?”

“Well, I’ve been waiting, too,” Jay continued, “and I’ve been waiting for so long that I’m scared I won’t hold back. Think I’d break you.”

You let out a whimper so pathetic that your cheeks burned with shame immediately after. Jay smirked at your reaction, pushing you further up against the wall. You two were now chest-to-chest, and he experimentally rolled your nipple between two fingers, watching how your face twisted in an attempt to keep quiet.

“I think you should just break me, then.”

“Should I?” He hummed, pausing to look you up and down. “Want my fingers or my mouth?”

“Both?”

You received a smug grin in response. “Good girl.”

He lowered himself to the ground until his lips were near the apex of your legs. You felt your heart hammering in your ribcage.

“You’re so wet for me already,” he observed, experimentally breaching your cunt with the tips of his fingers. “How often do you think about me, baby?”

His words ripped through your body like an inferno. “I… I don’t—”

“Don’t what? You don’t think about me?” he asked, and he didn't look like he believed you at all. You shook your head in protest and he grinned. “That’s a lie, isn’t it?”

“I’m not telling.”

“That’s fine. I’ll just get it out of you.”

The Order member had a wicked side to him, you concluded. Jay stood up once more to look you in the eye. Despite his gentle tone, he slid his pointer and middle finger into your cunt with a suddenness that made you grab onto his shoulders. You inhaled sharply when his thumb found purchase on your clit, and his gentle murmurs of encouragement didn’t exactly match the unforgiving pace his fingers were pumping inside you at.

As if that wasn’t enough, Jay started kissing up your inner thighs again. He littered your skin with kisses and bruises, which you hardly noticed because you were too focused on the way his fingers curled inside of you.

Every mewl and whimper spilling from your lips only seemed to encourage Jay further, and it was only a matter of time before he experimentally dragged his tongue along the folds of your cunt. You let out a shaky breath, steadying yourself by gripping his hair. Coupled with the pace Jay fingered you at, you were almost worried that he would actually break you by the end of the night. He was so tedious and meticulous about the way he pleasured you, gauging your reactions and intensifying his ministrations whenever he noticed you were enjoying something.

A certain desperation clouded your eyes once you felt that familiar warmth blossoming under your skin. Your arousal was all but rushing in your ears, so loud that you couldn’t even think about anything but the undeniable pleasure.

Jay seemed to take notice that you were reaching your climax, so he slipped his fingers out of you. Before you could even let out a whine, he grabbed your hips and buried his face in your cunt. You gasped, but it quickly broke off into obscene moans as his tongue skillfully snaked its way past your slit. Your hips canted a little for more friction, but Jay had a formidable grip on you, keeping you pinned to the wall.

“Like that?” he purred, flattening his tongue and licking one long stripe to your clit. He laughed a little when you could only let out a helpless cry, begging for more. “No one’s made you feel this good, baby? Is that why you can’t get enough of me?”

You weren’t sure what you were trying to say, but whatever it was came out as an incoherent string of words. Jay pulled away to stand up, which frustrated you beyond belief because you needed his hands to be on you. A sheen of your arousal glistened on his chin and nose, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care as you pulled him close to connect your lips again.

Jay’s fingers buried themselves in your cunt again, and your breath hitched against his mouth as you readjusted to the sudden penetration. The pads of his fingers brushed against that perfect spot right under your cervix that made you see stars. You were so, so close to the edge of your release, and you could feel the corners of Jay’s mouth lift when he realized you were about to cum.

He pulled back to ask, “No?”

You shook your head, and Jay smiled, curling his fingers at the perfect angle to get you to come undone before him. Pleasure rippled through your body. You felt like your knees were going to give out from standing, and you ended up falling forward against Jay’s bare chest.

You felt him press a kiss to your temple, and it got a weak smile out of you. You tried to look him in the eye when you wrapped your arms around his neck, but he was licking off your arousal from his fingers in a way that immediately flustered you.

“Take these off,” you said shyly, tugging at the waistband of his pants. “It’s not fair if I’m the only one naked.”

“Uh-huh,” Jay replied absentmindedly, ghosting his hands down your sides. “I can’t believe you look this good.”

You pouted. “You’re not even listening to me!”

“Nah, I always am.” His hands found the back of your thighs, and you took that as your cue to hold onto his shoulders and jump. Jay hiked your legs up his waist and carried you to the bed, setting you down carefully at the edge. He was towering over you when he stood between your knees and asked, “Why don’t you take them off yourself?”

“M-me?” you stuttered out, but your fingers were already fumbling for his zipper.

You swallowed thickly. Jay’s cock was strained under the fabric, and you were already overwhelmed by his size. You tugged his pants down by the belt loops, and Jay assisted you by pushing the rest down his legs. His boxers were next, and you were especially nervous about this one. As you pulled them down, with Jay shuddering as you traced his v-line with your manicured nails, his erect cock sprung out and slapped the underside of his abdomen.

There was an alarming issue at hand: Jay was huge.

Not that you were one to compare dick sizes, but his was considerably thicker and heavier than any other ones you had seen before. You were almost worried that Jay wasn’t exaggerating when he told you he would break you.

You felt hot again when he cupped your cheek with his palm. “Hm? Keep going.”

“Keep going…” you echoed, distracted, and you pressed a gentle kiss to the head of his cock. Then, you looked up at him through your lashes. “Like this?”

Jay groaned. “Exactly like that, Y/N.”

He wasn’t yours. No, he wasn’t yours, but you needed to have him. You wrapped your lips around Jay’s cock and let your tongue glide against his slit, drawing a sharp breath from him. His hand gripped the back of your head, fingers curling in your hair as you dragged your tongue along the underside of his head.

Jay wasn’t one to be impatient, but you were getting excited at the thought of him getting frustrated with you. He hastily bucked his hips forward to chase the pleasure, but you continued to tease him with your kitten licks. He suppressed a moan at the back of his throat. You pulled your lips off of him to roll your tongue along the vein that ran down his shaft.

“Fuck, you’re such a damn tease,” he growled. His fingers curled until he had your hair in a fist. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know?”

You laughed, lips still pressed against his shaft. “I wanna be the only one who makes you feel this way, that’s why.”

“Oh,” Jay started with an odd expression dawning on his face, and he was dead serious when he said, “you’ve already ruined everyone else for me.”

Your face broke into a dreamy smile before taking his cock into your mouth. His moans were addicting, so you continued your torturous antics until Jay gripped your jaw tightly with his free hand. You let out a sound that was an attempt of a giggle which resulted in you choking on his length, and Jay tilted his head back and moaned.

Then, you took the rest of him in, wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock that you couldn’t fit inside your mouth. His cock hit the back of your throat, and soon, Jay was thrusting his hips at a steady rhythm while you deepthroated him. Tears pooled at your eyes at the stretch, but you still hallowed your cheeks and sucked him off, unrelenting.

You knew he was close by his strangled groans and the way his cock twitched in your mouth, so it wasn’t long before Jay stuttered out a string of curses and came in your mouth. You felt his hot seed down your throat and swallowed. Jay just stared at you, dazed, drinking in your fucked-out appearance as his thumb grazed your bottom lip.

“So good for me,” he murmured, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips. He was barely audible, but nevertheless, his voice set you on fire.

You couldn’t even think straight anymore. Couldn’t think of anything but him.

“Jay.”

“Yeah?” He hummed the words, still relishing how you looked before him.

“Fuck me.”

You heard the way his breath hitched at your words. Saw the way his eyes went unfocused again. It was the same look he had given you several times in the past; you could never place your finger on what he was thinking, but now it was all too clear.

He wanted you—possibly even more than you expected.

“You want me to fuck you?” he asked, voice pitched an octave deeper. You crawled back on the mattress as Jay moved on top of you, using his strong arms to hover over you. “Want me to turn you into a mess.”

You grabbed his shoulders. “Yeah, need you to fuck me.”

“I don’t have a condom.”

You groaned. “Can we just buy Plan B tomorrow?”

“Do you know how expensive Plan B is? That’s, like, at least—”

You rolled your eyes and cut him off by sealing his lips with yours, cupping Jay’s face with your hands. After you pulled back, much to his displeasure, you asked, “You have me naked underneath you right now, and you’re worried about how much Plan B costs?”

He cocked his head to the side, as if the answer couldn’t be any more obvious. “Yes?”

“We can deal with that tomorrow,” you insisted, “just please.”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at Jay’s lips. “Never thought you’d be this needy.”

“I’ve never had sex like this,” you admitted in a breath, gripping onto his shoulders a little harder. It was true; you had never had all of your needs fully satisfied without any expectations of returning the favor.

“Never?”

You shook your head. “And… can you start slow for me? Please?”

“I plan on taking my time.” He moved your hair out of your face. “Hoon didn’t?”

Again, a hesitant shake of your head. Jay’s eyes narrowed.

His laugh was devoid of mirth. “Of course.”

This time, it was Jay who rolled his eyes. You thought he was frustrated with you, but then he pulled your hips forward so that you were flush against his pelvis. Something about the steely resolution in his eyes told you to prepare yourself.

“I’ve stretched you out enough, haven’t I? I’m gonna show you what you’ve been missing out on,” he murmured, low and matter-of-factly, “and I’m gonna make sure you forget how that idiot treated you. ‘Cause it’s just me now”—he pushed his fingers into your mouth, shivering at the way your tongue wrapped around his digits—“right?”

You let out a broken whimper, spurring Jay to press his fingers down against your tongue.

“Right, Y/N?” he repeated—gentler, this time.

All you could do was nod, and you grabbed ahold of his wrist to suck on his fingers once more before moving his hand lower. Jay gave you a bewildered stare as you guided his hand to the base of your neck. He quirked a brow at you before realization seemed to wash over him; he splayed out his fingers to wrap around your neck. His pointer and middle finger made a ‘v’ around your Adam’s apple, applying the slightest bit of pressure.

“You still have to tell me, you know,” Jay murmured, running his free hand down the curve of your hip. He moved it lower and lower before his thumb found your clit again. Before you could ask for clarification, he added, “How often you think about me.”

Your face felt hot—whether it was from his comment or the way he was looking at you so intently, you didn’t know. “All… all the time.”

“Huh. Is that so?”

You could hardly speak coherently as took his hand off your throat to rub the head of his cock against your cunt. You let a trembling sigh slip as he lazily ran it along your folds.

You whined. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

He leaned down to press a kiss to the shell of your ear.

“I’m here now, baby.”

Jay’s shifted forward a little, just enough for his tip to breach your entrance. You attempted to suppress your moans by biting your lip, but the next jerk of his hips had you crying out far too loud to go unnoticed. Jay waited for you to adjust before he went any further. He hadn’t bottomed out inside you yet, but the head of his cock was fully inside you by now, and fuck, did it feel good.

You ran your nails down his back, digging them in when Jay thrusted shallowly to work his shaft into you. He gripped the back of your thighs to stretch you out some more, groaning out loud whenever you clenched around his length. You felt like you were being split in half, drowning in a molten sea that pulled you back down each time you surfaced for air.

Your back arched off the bed, and Jay reached to hold the small of your back so that he could keep your body pressed against his. His other hand was pushing your hip up his waist. Right as he rocked his hips forward, you cried out as Jay bottomed out inside you. (He also clamped his hand over your mouth immediately after and said in an undertone, “You have to keep it down, princess.”) Through half-lidded eyes, you met his gaze that never once left your face.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he murmured, drunk off your reactions. “I’m not gonna last long if you keep looking at me like that.”

You pulled Jay down into a searing kiss, and the butterflies in your stomach scattered. His lips melted over yours effortlessly. He moved his hand from your back to your cheek, rubbing small circles with his thumb. You dug your nails into his back when he started pistoning his hips into yours.

He started out with slow, languid thrusts. You were overwhelmed by a dizzying sort of pleasure that clouded all rhyme and reason. Despite his hips snapping into yours, the way Jay kissed you was so passionate that you nearly lost yourself in your haze.

Jay pulled away to litter kisses across your jaw and down your neck. You whimpered when he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the conjunction between your neck and shoulder, but then you were squirming under him as he started sucking the supple skin.

“Wish I could have you like this forever,” he growled against your skin.

“I’m all yours.”

Jay pressed a sweet peck to your lips that grounded you momentarily.

Then, his pace sped up. If you were dizzy before, now you felt like your limbs had turned into jelly. Jay moved his hand to hold onto the headboard, pounding into you at a pace that made you feel like you were drowning in that sea of pleasure. If it wasn’t for Jay quieting you down each time, you two would’ve been caught already. You were gasping, moaning for more, and shuddering as Jay whispered praises against your skin.

This was the closest to heaven you had ever been in your life.

"F-fuck," you whimpered out, "that's it, Jay—please."

You were close. Fuck, you were so, so close. Each drag of Jay’s cock in your walls made you feel another torturous jolt of pleasure, bringing you closer and closer to the brink of your release. You screwed your eyes shut, ready to lose yourself to white-hot bliss, and Jay tenderly kissed your forehead.

Pinpricks of light exploded in your vision as your orgasm washed over you in full swing.

Too good. Way too good. You never felt anything like this; of course you had experienced orgasms before, but this was, by far, the most intense climax you ever reached. Jay let out a strangled groan shortly after, his eyes rolling back and his moans muffled against your neck, and pulled out so that he could cum on your stomach.

He sat up, panting and staring at where his cum trickled down your sides. For a moment, you were worried that the clouded expression on his face was out of regret and not lust, but you shook off the bad feeling and steeled your nerves.

He liked you. There was no doubt about it. After everything Jay did and said, there was no reason for you to be so insecure anymore.

You were both spent, panting and slipping in and out of consciousness in each other’s arms. Jay held you so tightly, like he never wanted to let go, and his head was tucked in the crook of your neck from how exhausted he was.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “I ruined my only suit.”

“Oh,” you breathed out absent-mindedly. You rolled over to find wherever you had strewn your phone, and it took several minutes for you to peel Jay’s arms off of you so that you could retrieve it. While he sat up to run his hands through his sweat-matted hair, you dialed the number of your father’s go-to tailor. “Hi,” you chirped into the phone, “I know it’s late right now, but could you please do me a favor and open the showroom for my friend?”

Jay looked up at you with a questioning gaze, though he placed his hand on the small of your back and tugged you close so that he could pepper kisses on your hip.

After exchanging a few more words, you hung up and tilted your head to get a crick out of your neck, leaning in to Jay’s touch as he kept his lips pressed to your skin.

“Who was that?” he asked.

“We’re going out to get you a suit,” you said, grabbing his hand with a grin. “C’mon, put on some clothes.”

He raised a brow and laced his fingers with yours. “Now? But it’s already late.”

“Trust me.” You giggled when you caught him staring at your lips again. “I’ll make it worth your time.”

prev | masterlist | next

SUMMARY ▸ private investigator jay park just wants to complete his mission quietly and move on with his life. you, his new assignment who keeps consuming his thoughts, don't make that very easy for him.

AUTHOR'S NOTE ▸ jay's cooked LOL also gta 6 is not plot relevant at all i just wanted to be a little shit and let it happen before jay/n 🙂‍↕️ and very random but if you wanna join my discord server feel free to check it out here! we're having a barbie movie night soon so <3

TAG LIST ▸ @zdgx1 @smouches @heesdazed @teawithbucky @leep0ems @peachpie4you @niniissus @kgneptun @jaeyunluvr @zerasari @sophiko22 @iselltulips @hoondiors @baekhyunstruly @jays-property @woninluv @heerinnie @fakeuwus @yizhoutv @theothernads @y4wnjunz @dammit-jjk @en-happiness @mari-oclock @soonyoungblr @jakeslvt @taetaenic @jebetwo @fairysungx @hsgwrld @shmooooo @ineedsomezzz @mrowww @enha-stars @seongclb @lockburn-castle @alyssajavenss @enczen @calumsfringe @w3bqrl @luvyev @uhsakusa @luvnicho @wildflowermooon @navsnct @hooniesuniverse @enhalov @enhypens-baby @isawritesss

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greyminyoon1 · 11 months ago

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what a shame! masterlist

had jake not let a minor hit to his ego get the best of him, you wouldn’t have spent the last five years pretending he didn’t exist. but now that game was over, following an incident leading you to be transferred over to his university. and after a friend of his takes interest in you, it becomes impossible for you to avoid him any longer.

pairing soccer player! jake x volleyball player, fem! reader

genre humour, angst, fluff, suggestive, childhood best friends au, enemies to lovers, second lead! heeseung, university au

warning arguing, jake being mean, cursing

profiles

1 — funded by jay

2 — severe fomo

chapters

0 — prologue

1 — oh womp womp

2 — bread winner..

3 — risked it all

4 — nike staff room

5 — sky is green

status ongoing.

taglist 25 / 50 @dreamiestay @sseastar-main @sumzysworld @lovesimjaeyun @jakeshuneybby @indigoez @thing89 @jaehoonii @jakeslucifer @i03jae @pkjay @haechansbbg @rikizm @en-dream @vixensss @minfolio @winuvs @sakanelli-afc @gravytr4in @lostinneocity @unhakki @woninluv @realrintaro @flaminghotyourmom @joyzluvr

jul. 2024

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greyminyoon1 · 1 year ago

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BE MY VALENTINE?┆FOR SALE AT $9.99

PREVIOUS ┆ MASTERLIST ┆ NEXT

MIKAELA’S! double update to clear drafts…to continue or to not continue ☺️ pls poll🙏🏻

SYNOPSIS! it’s the month of love, yet you only have one thing in mind — to get your crush to like you back. armed with a mission, you deploy your best friend Park Sunghoon as your fake boyfriend to make him jealous. one tiny problem, Sunghoon’s desperately in love with you and he can’t seem to keep his own jealousy at bay.

TAGLIST 1 ! @seongclb @jlheon @euncsace @aeuns @mirustardiary @beomgyusonlywife @thesunoosshining @makiswrld @imsiriuslyreal @mrchweeee @enha-stars @sakiimeo @enhaz1 @en-dream @jiaant11 @sjyluv @strawberrysavi @semisemirin1i82 @firstclassjaylee @fakeuwus @dilrmma @eleanorheartschishiya @yizhoutv @nyuloverforeternity @woninluv @astrae4 @hexoolio @www-jungwon @pockyyasii @ilovemangograham @isoobie @lcv3lies @forlovvers @enhahahaahahah @yenqa @haechansbbg @strayy-kidz @sparklingsjy @jungwonsjellies @nyfwyeonjun @artstaeh @rikisly @delulu4-life (OPEN)

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greyminyoon1 · 1 year ago

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Sososososogoodlovelovelove

yours forever in 786

PAIRING ▸ private investigator!jay park x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ social media au (smau), smut, fluff, angst, mystery, drama, enemies to lovers au, college au, rich kid au

SUMMARY ▸ after being blackmailed into accepting an assignment, jay park, a young private detective, is thrown back into college. this time, though, he’s at an ivy league and tasked to follow you to uncover what dark secrets your old money family is hiding. in doing this, jay must fraternize with your inner circle by joining a secret society called the “order of kryptos.” what he doesn’t realize is that the deeper he gets into his mission, the more he starts to lose himself.

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, slowburn, alcohol/drug consumption, portrayals of addiction, sexual jokes, sexual content, betrayals!! backstabbing!!, toxic relationships, order of kryptos isn’t a real secret society but heavily inspired by the ivy league secret societies, emotional cheating (BOOOO! not from mc or jay tho), jay and mc have a small age gap (2 years), most of the characters are pretty toxic so please note that this is not attune to their real life personalities at ALL

UPDATE SCHEDULE ▸ every day

PLAYLIST ▸ still sane by lorde • this is what makes us girls by lana del rey • too good by troye sivan • paparazzi by lady gaga • old money by lana del rey • i was never there by the weeknd, gesaffelstein • prisoner by the weeknd, lana del rey

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ hello !! i’m back with another smau but this one’s less lighthearted and more heavy ? sort of an experiment let’s see how it goes, but hope u enjoy and lmk what u think !! ♡

Keep reading

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greyminyoon1 · 1 year ago

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please be real | p.js

ex!jay x fem!reader warnings: angst, heartache, smut (mdni), fingering, unprotected sex, cream pie, teasing, pet names (princess, baby), crying, mentions of alcohol, drunk jay, pure heartbreak in the beginning, not proofread, anything else lmk synopsis: after a six-year relationship, you and jongseong part ways due to different needs for the future. when jongseong's first birthday post-breakup arrives, his struggle with your absence reaches a breaking point, prompting a late-night call from his friend that consequently reignites emotions and unresolved feelings. wc: 9.4k a/n: hi! it's me and it's jay's birthday so i wrote him a little something something. i didn't initially intend to rip my heart out as i wrote this yet here i am. this was oddly a healing one to write but i must warn you it does mention the reader not wanting to have children so if that doesn't appeal to you then this probs isn't the fic for you! as always, like, comments, feedback, etc. is all appreciated! ilysm and happy bday jay <3

A sharp, jarring noise pierces your ears, the peaceful sleep you were in rudely disrupted. You groan out loud, covering your face with your covers but it does nothing to stop the ringing from your phone, it doesn’t even dull it a little, the little black device only echoing around the room louder.

Disoriented and groggy, you fumble for your phone on the bedside table, clumsily searching for it in the darkness. It isn’t your alarm, the usual peaceful tones of the birds chirping would be a welcomed sound, one that eases you into the day; no this was a phone call.

Finally grasping your phone, your eyes fight themselves open as you blink away any remnants of sleep, trying to find any sort of centre from your dizzy awakening. You look at the name on your phone but your vision is so blurred you can’t make it out but answer it anyway, knowing that whoever is phoning at this ungodly hour is clearly in need of your help.

“Hello?” you ask quietly, as if you don’t want to disturb the quiet of the night, unlike the person on the other end of the call.

“Uh, Y/N? It’s Jake.” His soft Australian accent drifts from your phone speaker into your ears. He sounds unsure whether he is supposed to be making the call, which to be fair, you understand because you haven’t heard from him in months, not after…

Letting out a sigh, you rub your forehead with the base of your palm tiredly, “Jake, why the fuck are you calling me at…” you pull the phone away, inspecting the time now that you’re more alert, “3.36am?” you ask with a hint of disdain. Normally, you would welcome the boy’s surprise call, after all, you did miss him. But considering he woke you up from a good dream involving you, Jeongin from Stray Kids, and a happily ever after; he wasn’t exactly your favourite person right now.

You can faintly hear some music in the background as he stays silent and you swear to yourself if this is to give him a ride home from a concert turned party, you’ll have his head.

“Listen, I hate to ask you this but can you come to Haven?”

“The nightclub? Why?” Your earlier suspicions are proving to be right, he does want a lift home. That would be an acceptable request if you guys were actively talking every day and the best of buddies but he isn’t even your friend, not really.

You can hear him shuffling around on the other end of the line, his voice can be heard trying to calm someone down but his words are obscured as if the phone is wrested away from his mouth, leaving only disjointed fragments of speech drifting through the receiver.

This sounds like more than just a simple ride home and it causes you to snap to attention, your senses heightened with concern.

Jake finally brings his attention back to you, letting out a sigh of discontentment, “It’s Jay, he’s a mess and he’s calling out for you.”

Jay. Park Jongseong.

It’s been so long since anyone has dared to mention his name to you that it almost sounds like a foreign word.

Seven months ago, you and Jongseong had decided to call off your 6-year relationship, both of you reaching the understanding that it was for the best considering your battling differences and needs within the relationship.

It wasn’t easy, the furthest thing from it actually. You and him had been inseparable since high school and once you both got together in year 12, it was always you and him against the world. He was the love of your life, that once in a lifetime kind of love that only happens in fairytales. Your souls were both painted from the same brush stroke.

But he wanted a peaceful, routine life - a classic white picket fence dream. Evenings would be spent with friends, savouring white wine and casual conversations over dinner. His heart was set on imagining the echoes of your future children's laughter filling your home, family trips to the seaside, and comforting them with kisses and band-aids when they got hurt.

And you craved spontaneity, to embrace life with vigour, travelling the world together was your dream, free from the responsibilities of parenting, cherishing moments just for yourselves. You longed for random midnight trips to Tesco for birthday cake simply because you could. All you wished for was to be with him, just the two of you.

Suddenly, your brain clicks into an important detail and you hurriedly check the calendar on your phone and the date makes you slump in your bed.

Today is Jongseong’s birthday, well technically not anymore given the time, but that means he has lived his first birthday without you by his side in so long. You would always celebrate his big day by doing something from his handwritten bucket list he has had since he was a child. Over the years he has added more to the list, each birthday scoring one out to add another.

The list wasn't extravagant; it was filled with simple yet heartfelt desires. You bought him a bundle of guitar lessons and a Taylor 114e electric guitar to fulfil his wish of learning to play. When you noticed the Download Festival marked with gold stars on his list, you surprised him with tickets for the year Metallica was headlining. And when he expressed a desire to cook a meal from scratch for his mum, you gifted him a kitchen knife engraved with his name and took the time to teach him how to prepare her favourite dish.

His birthdays were the most precious when you were in them, and you weren’t there with him.

“Y/N?” Jake’s sweet voice draws you back to his attention and out of the memory lane swirl your brain has put you in. He knows this is a tough call for you to take considering you and Jongseong said to cut ties completely; it’s better to act like you both didn’t exist than keep a thread tethered to one another that would only hurt you more.

As Jake and Sunghoon whisked Jay away for his birthday celebration, their intention was simple: to help him let loose and have a good time. Jay had been buried in overtime work lately, leaving little room for socialising. Since the breakup, the idea of going out without you - dancing together, stealing kisses in the taxi ride home - seemed unappealing.

Waking up that morning, Jay realised it marked the first birthday in six years without ticking something off his bucket list. The familiar, worn paper lay dormant on his desk, a stark reminder of your absence. He had no desire to celebrate today without you by his side. If he could fast-forward through the day to escape the weight of his birthday, he would eagerly do so.

Yet, with two very persuading friends and a whole lot of whiskey later, here he was, curled up outside Haven, yearning out for you.

“Y/N please, at least come and convince him to get up and come home with us,” Jake pleads. You can hear the cries of your ex-lover more clearly now as Jake kneels beside his friend, checking in on him.

With a resigned sigh, you nod, “Okay. Keep him warm, I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

Hanging up the phone, you quickly put a brush through your hair and change into a baggy top, one you bought for Jongseong before breaking up, and a pair of grey sweatpants. This is a bad idea, you know it is, but you also can’t leave him to wallow in the middle of the street. You don’t think you could live with yourself if you didn’t help and Jake wouldn’t call unless it was something he couldn’t handle.

You don’t want to see the state Jongseong is in, his wailing cries that you could slightly hear over the phone already made your heart clench in hurt.

As you drive to Haven, your heart races in anticipation with each mile that passes. Is your heart ready to face him after all these months? Staring into the love of your life’s eyes once again might break you even more. You’ve done a good job in keeping yourself together, at putting on a facade that everything is okay, when deep down you know that if one person asked you about Jongseong you would crumble and fall apart.

He wasn’t the only one throwing himself into work to forget. You’ve worked hours and hours trying to keep your mind off the heartbreak, you thought that if you just focused and kept your head down, the phrase time heals all wounds would kick in and you’d be free of the torment of losing your first love. But it hasn’t worked out that way, you know that now as you speed down the empty roads to console the one person you are trying to forget.

As you reach Haven, you can vaguely see three boys under the illuminating sign, almost as if shining a spotlight on them to add to the spectacle that Jongseong is making. Onlookers are watching as your ex-boyfriend cries on the pavement, wishing you would come home.

With a quick exhale, you step out of the car before doubts can creep in, determined to be there for him. Jake and Sunghoon's voices float to you, attempting to soothe him and inject some sense into the moment. Bracing yourself, you approach, ready to offer whatever comfort you can, despite the storm of emotions swirling within you.

Sinking onto the balls of your feet, you lower yourself to Jongseong's level, meeting his strained figure. Instantly, the sight of his distress instantly shatters your heart into a million pieces.

An abundance of tears cascades down Jongseong's reddened face, obscuring his features like a relentless waterfall. His clenched jaw and the prominent vein on his forehead portray the intensity of his distress as he struggles to draw each laboured breath. Curled into himself, his body seems to contort with the weight of physical agony, mirroring the emotional pain that ripples through his trembling form. He’s been keeping this in for so long that his body doesn’t know how to cope with it.

Reaching out to grab his clenched fist, you shuffle forward, “Jjongie? It’s me, baby, look at me,” you say calmly, trying to reassure him with your soft voice.

As your fingers gently encircle his clenched fist, Jongseong's body tenses at the touch. Slowly, he turns his gaze towards you, his eyes bloodshot and filled with an overwhelming mixture of sorrow and longing. For a moment, there's a flicker of recognition in his eyes before they cloud over again with anguish.

He doesn’t believe you’re actually here, considering the long nights where he has conjured up the idea of you, clinging to his imagination on the lonely nights he wishes for your touch. But as you squeeze his hand, he realises this isn’t a dream-induced sighting, you’re really here in front of him.

"Y/N..." he murmurs, his voice choked with emotion. Tears stream down his face in torrents, some landing on your hand that holds his. His cries reverberate through the air, each wail a sharp stab to your chest.

Cupping his cheek, you settle yourself between his legs, ignoring the discomfort of the rocks beneath your knees, your focus solely on him. With a sad smile, you attempt to mask your own anguish, your touch a gentle reassurance amidst his storm of emotions.

"Hey, hey, enough of that now," you hush him softly, your voice a soothing melody in the tumultuous night. Using your thumb, you tenderly wipe away his tears, though they continue to flow unabated.

He leans into your touch, “I miss you so much, Y/N, please. Please,” he pleads as you feel his warm breath against your skin as he nuzzles into your palm, seeking solace in the familiar sensation he's been yearning for.

It’s hurting you just seeing him like this, the man you once knew to be strong-willed and resilient, keeping his emotions under control unless he’s sharing sweet vulnerable moments with you under the covers, is now a shell of himself, stripped bare by the weight of grief.

Turning your face to look at Jake, you offer him a small smile, “I’ll take him home.”

“You sure?” Jake asks, knowing that it’s a dangerous game for you both if you do.

“Yeah, I don’t think he’s going to move unless I do,” you chuckle sympathetically but there’s a bubble in your throat as Jongseong’s whimpers flow into your ear from beside you.

Nodding, Jake gestures to Sunghoon, silently enlisting his help in the task of ferrying the drunk man to your car. The weight of Jongseong's limp form proves cumbersome as you all struggle to navigate his dead weight, his limbs hanging heavily without offering any assistance.

"Let's get you home," you murmur softly, your hands pressing gently against Jongseong's chest to steady him, aided by his friends who lift him onto their shoulders.

His eyes lock onto yours, an intensity burning within them. "Please be real," he whispers, his voice trembling with desperation. Despite feeling your touch and catching hints of your scent, doubt gnaws at him. If this is merely a figment of his imagination, he knows he'll never forgive himself. You're so close, so tangible - it has to be you.

With much struggle, the three of you get him to your car, putting him gently in the backseat so he can lie down, but he wraps his arms around your waist as his legs stay situated outside of the vehicle, holding you close to him.

"Come on, Jjongie, lie down for a minute," you coax gently, guiding him to stretch out along the seats. But he remains unmoving, clutching onto you as if fearing you'll slip away if he lets go. With a soft sigh, you stroke the back of his head, your hands moving in a soothing rhythm. "I promise, I am not going anywhere," you whisper, your words a tender vow to him.

Yet, your attempts to reassure him seem to go unheard. His face burrows deeper into your stomach, his words muffled by the fabric of your t-shirt and the weight of his tears.

You exchange a worried glance with Jake and Sunghoon, “How much did he have to drink?” you ask, scared of the answer they will give. Your ex-boyfriend has always been so good at holding his liquor that it must have been a hefty amount he consumed.

“Like two weeks' wage worth,” Sunghoon winces, his neck tightening as he looks at his best friend.

"Oh, baby..." you sigh softly, feeling a wave of empathy wash over you. Returning your attention to Jongseong, you press a tender kiss to the crown of his head, hoping to offer some comfort amidst his distress. His response is to cling to you even tighter, his sobs echoing against your chest as he seeks solace in your embrace.

You need to get him home, he’s a mess and the longer he stays like this, the more his body is going to wear out.

With a gentle hand, you stroke his hair, your touch a soothing caress against his trembling form. Despite the chaos swirling around you, you find a semblance of peace in this intimate moment, anchored by the bond that still lingers between you.

"I've got you, Jjongie," you whisper softly, drawing back as he eases up his grip on you. His friends go to help you but you halt them with a firm gesture, "You guys can go, I've got it from here."

Sunghoon shakes his head, concern etched on his face. "He's too heavy, Y/N. You won't be able to manage him into the flat without us," he protests.

But you stand your ground. This is your and Jongseong's mess, and you can’t let others help you clean it up, "It's okay. You guys have done your shift for tonight. Go home," you insist, your voice resolute.

Reluctantly, Sunghoon and Jake nod and bid you goodnight before going their separate ways home, leaving you alone with Jongseong and the weight of your shared history.

Taking a deep breath, you hoist him in, his body listening to you a little more now that you’ve reassured him you aren’t leaving him. He sprawls over the backseats and lays still, the alcohol consuming him into some form of comatose now that he has relaxed slightly.

You slide into the driver's seat, the engine humming to life beneath you. Glancing at Jongseong's slumbering form in the rearview mirror, you steel yourself for the journey ahead.

_____

Arriving at his house makes you more nervous than before. This wasn’t just his flat, it used to be your shared home, the place you lived for 2 and half years and made countless memories in.

You were the one to move out and find your own place, thinking it was best since your work was further away and you could find an apartment closer to it. But the truth is, you just couldn’t face being reminded of him in each room and in the pieces of furnishings.

It was selfish of you to leave him with the remnants of your relationship surrounding him, all you thought about was you and your needs, neglecting to think about how he might feel being surrounded by nothing but memories.

Lugging him into the flat, his legs are working in tandem with you now unlike before but he still isn’t proving to be the easiest person to carry. The last time you had to hold his weight like this was when he got drunk at your prom after taking sneaky shots in the hotel garden with his friends. It was funny but you blame him for some of your back pain that you’ve endured in your early twenties.

As you push open the door and step into the living room, a wave of nostalgia washes over you like a tsunami. Though only seven months have passed, it feels like a lifetime since you last stood in this space with him by your side. Everything remains unchanged, frozen in time since the day you left. The same couch sits in its familiar spot, adorned with throw pillows and blankets you bought for last season. Photographs of you both, captured during Christmases and holidays, adorn the walls, each one a snapshot of happier times. Even the vase that his mum had gotten you both for your housewarming gift, one that you loved and he hated, remains in its pride of place on the mantlepiece.

You push your thoughts down and make your way to your once-shared bedroom, walking through the memories and heaving your ex-boyfriend along slowly. His nose nudges into your hair, sweeping in your scent as he loses himself in the feeling of you.

As you reach the familiar threshold, you can't help but feel a pang of bittersweet longing. This room, once a sanctuary where you both shared your laughter and bodies, now serves as a poignant reminder of the love you've lost.

Gently, you ease Jongseong onto the bed, sitting him up, “I’m going to get you some clean boxers okay?” you ask him but he’s not here, not really, so you make your way to the drawers on the other side of the room.

Walking over, you spot a familiar t-shirt lying crumpled on your old side of the bed. You make a b-line to investigate it and as you pick up the crumpled t-shirt, a flood of memories washes over you, transporting you back to simpler times. Your fingers trace the familiar fabric, still faintly carrying the scent of you, now mingled with his cologne. You piece it all together pretty quickly, the way it still smells faintly of you but is not starting to be overpowered by his cologne. He hugs it at night to find peace of mind.

“Oh, Jjongie,” you sigh, heart reaching out to him. You’re no better, you have one of his hoodies that you snuck into your luggage as you packed and wear it when you’re at home. Just like your t-shirt, his hoodie is starting to lose its scent from the amount of times you’ve hugged yourself to sleep in it.

Jongseong has always been reserved, his emotions carefully guarded behind a facade of reason and rationale. To see him like this, vulnerable and raw, strikes a chord deep within you. If he had always worn his heart on his sleeve, perhaps it would be easier to understand. But the complexity of his emotions only serves to deepen the ache in your chest.

You place the t-shirt back on the pillow before opening the dresser drawer and retrieve a clean pair of boxers, his favourite ones with the faded Hellow Kitty print that you've always teased him about.

Gently, you begin to undress him while he rambles incoherent nonsense that you can’t understand between the mix of tears and drunk slurring. The top half is easy but the bottom half proves difficult as he only looks up at you, whispering pleas as he stares at you, keeping his bum firmly sat on the edge of the bed.

As you finally manage to remove Jongseong's jeans and boxers, leaving him naked, a new layer of vulnerability settles over the room. He sits before you bathed in the soft glow of the hallway light, his silhouette outlined in the darkness.

His beauty, illuminated by the faint light, is both captivating and heartbreaking. The familiarity of his form, once etched in your memory, now lays before you in the flesh, a tangible reminder of the love you still harbour for him. How could you not still love him? He was perfect in every way possible.

"Stay with me," he whispers, his voice a gentle plea as his hands begin to roam your sides, tracing the contours of your body beneath your shirt. Each touch ignites a flurry of sensations within you, sending butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

He pulls you onto his lap, your sweatpants becoming the barrier between his cock and your pussy. Yet, none of you are really thinking about that right now, all you both want is to hold one another again.

“Jongseong, we broke up, and for good reason,” you rationalise with not only him but yourself as you find yourself sinking into his touch as his hands roam your back.

Nuzzling his nose against yours, he begins to cry softly again, his face rubbing itself against yours as his tears transfer from his cheeks to yours, “Please, baby, don’t leave me,” he mumbles as his lips ghost over yours.

He doesn’t just mean tonight, he means forever. A tear from your eye cascades down your face, getting lost in the mixture of his, your empathy for him overwhelming you because you feel the same way he does. You need him in every way, you need to be close to him, to feel his heart beating in synch with yours once again.

But you know better than this. You’re both just prolonging heartache if you succumb to being with him again. You can’t give each other what you need.

“Baby, don’t do this,” you beg him, knowing that he has the power to pull you back into his life with the click of his fingers, that resolve you have worked so hard to build up now hangs in the balance, “Let me get you changed and then into bed, yeah?”

Reasoning with him is a lost cause, his arms now hugging you tightly like before as he ignores your suggestion. The last thing he wants is to put on those boxers because he knows when he does that you’ll leave.

"Please, Princess," his voice is raw with emotion, his desperation palpable in the air between you. And as you look into his eyes, you see the depth of his longing mirrored in your own.

His plea hangs in the air, a heavy weight pressing down on your already burdened heart. You feel torn between the overwhelming desire to give in to his request and the harsh reality of the situation.

With a deep breath, you summon the strength to gently extricate yourself from his embrace, feeling the weight of his disappointment lingering in the air. His hurt expression tugs at your heartstrings, but you shake your head firmly, "Just tonight, okay?" you assure him, your voice soft but resolute.

Curse you and your heart that caves into his pleas so easily.

You disregard getting him dressed and instead, remove your sweatpants and replace them with those very boxers you planned to adorn him with and swap out your t-shirt for the one on your old pillow. Jongseong clumsily climbs into his covers, getting comfortable and finding some happiness in the fact that you’ll be in his arms at least for a little while.

Once you climb into your side of the bed, he instinctively hugs you from behind, the comfort of your body pressed against his. He spoons you, tucking his face in your neck as he exhales in contentment. This is all he has been craving since that night you left and he couldn’t be happier. All the turmoil and anguish from earlier slowly depletes as he finds himself sinking into a much-needed sleep.

You can’t deny you feel the same, his arms wrapped around you feel like home, like you’ve been on a seven-month business trip and you’re now finally back where you belong. You sink into him further, relishing his skin against yours.

“Happy birthday, Jjongie,” you whisper, bringing his hand up to kiss it before intertwining your fingers with his.

_____

Waking up, Jongseong feels like his whole body has crashed into a brick wall. His bones ache and his head feels tight, but there is a weight that feels so familiar yet foreign, his legs tangled around something and his arms holding it close. This feels different from the t-shirt of yours he clings to every night, this has more substance.

Please don’t be some random girl he thinks to himself, scared to open his eyes.

Even if he did want to open them he couldn’t because they are being held together so tight by something. Was he crying last night? Actually, what even happened last night?

He replays the fragments of the evening in his mind, a few scattered images begin to surface - Jake and Sunghoon dragging him to Haven, the raucous atmosphere of the bar, and the ill-advised decision to ride the mechanical bull. And then nothing.

As he tries to recounter the night, you see him attempt to pry his eyes open and decide to help him out. Swiping your thumb over his eyes, you wipe away the mix of his dried-in tears and sleep. He looks so confused when you touch him and his body tenses.

Either he is having a severe case of hallucinations to the point where he is starting to physically feel you or the girl that he took home last night resembles your touch. God, how he hoped it was the first one.

Opening his eyes with your help, he blinks away the blur and sets his eyes on your face, his expression reading one of relief that quickly turns into astonishment.

“Y/N? Baby?” he whispers, his hands instinctively reaching for your cheek, “Please be real.” The same words he pleaded out last night leave his lips again. Jongseong has spent so many nights dreaming of you, wishing in an alternative universe that he can hold you again, so much so that this doesn’t feel real.

You don’t know what to say but obviously, you have to say something. It was one thing to confront drunk Jongseong who didn’t have a wit about him but now it feels like there’s a boulder on your chest as you try to conjure up the courage to speak to a sober, semi-alert Jongseong.

All you can do is nod, no words escaping your dried lips. You look down to see you and his limbs mangled together just like they used to be, the feeling of his body pressed so tightly against yours almost feels like heaven.

He takes in the sight of you, the lines of disbelief on his features soften, replaced by a glimmer of hope. Slowly, almost tentatively, he reaches out to you, his fingers brushing against your cheek as if to confirm your presence.

The touch sends a jolt of electricity coursing through you, he’s caressing your cheek so tenderly it reminds you of the time you had the shift from hell and Jongseong held you the whole night, whispering sweet words into your ear and stroking your tears away, just like this.

Except there are no tears this time, you’re all cried out - months of mourning the loss of your relationship will do that to you.

As Jongseong's eyes meet yours, a flicker of recognition passes through them, followed by a wave of embarrassment. His voice is soft as he speaks, a hint of uncertainty lacing his words, "What are you doing here?" he asks, his tone laden with confusion.

"You got pretty drunk last night," understatement "And Jake asked me to come pick you up."

You can feel the tension in the air as Jongseong processes your words, his expression a mixture of shame and regret, "Sorry, I don't usually drink that much," he murmurs, his voice tinged with remorse.

The explanation stings, not because Jongseong has been drinking more, but because of the distance it creates between you. It's as if he's explaining himself to a stranger, rather than to the person who once knew him better than anyone else. The past six years you’ve known how he knows his limit and that he doesn’t tend to breach it, not subconsciously.

All you do is nod, accepting his explanation as you slowly start to detangle yourself from him, “I better get going.”

“Y/N, please let's talk,” he pleads as his voice wavers, his grip tightening around your waist, and his desperation palpable as he pleads for your attention. But you've made up your mind, and no amount of persuasion can sway you from the path you've chosen.

"Jongseong, please, let's not do this," you implore, your voice tinged with a mixture of sorrow and resolve, "We're only going to hurt ourselves again."

You both know the reasons behind your breakup are deeply rooted, immutable truths that cannot be changed. It's not a matter of cheating or petty disagreements—this is about fundamental differences in desires and aspirations for the future.

But Jongseong refuses to accept defeat, his forehead coming to rest against yours as he breathes his love out, "Princess, we can work it out, I know we can," he insists, his words heavy with sincerity.

You steel yourself against the onslaught of his love, knowing that to give in would only prolong the inevitable pain, "We want different things, Jjongie," you remind him gently, your voice tinged with regret.

“I can do without them. It’s you I can’t live without…I can’t breathe without you here by my side.” His words are sincere and you know it, but you can’t accept it. When you both discussed your future, he looked so excited at the prospect of kids that your heart broke instantly. You knew right away that you couldn’t give him what he wanted most.

Closing your eyes and sucking in the bottom of your cheeks, you steady yourself to have this conversation yet again, “You can’t give up the idea of having kids. Having the life you want is much more important than me. You can find someone who can give you that.”

It hurts to say but you need to rip the bandaid off quickly.

“You think I want that life with anyone but you?” His voice raises lightly, hinting at the anger rising into his chest. He needs you to listen to him, to understand him, “Y/N, if it’s not with you then I don’t want that life.”

Shaking your head determinedly, you sit up, “But I can’t give you that life, it’s not what I want.” You feel like you’re reliving the argument that ended it all those months ago.

“That’s okay.”

“No, It’s not,” It’s your turn to get angry, your eyebrows lacing together as you try to read him. How can he say all of this so easily? Like he wasn’t trying to promise you that he would change his entire life plan just to be with you. Is it romantic? Sure, but it’s also fucking stupid. No one should change just to keep someone they love because if they were meant to be, then their values would align…right?

"It's not that simple, Jongseong," you argue through the silence, your voice tinged with frustration, "You can't just sweep aside your dreams for the sake of our relationship. What about what you want? What about your own happiness?"

Jongseong sits up, the covers hiding his naked lower half; he hadn’t realised he was naked and it only adds a new layer to his vulnerability. He is laying himself bare to you.

But Jongseong's gaze remains unwavering, his determination evident in the set of his jaw, "Since we broke up, I've realised that you are the life I want," he declares, his words carrying the weight of his conviction, "Whatever that looks like for you, I want it."

You feel his words like a pickaxe, slowly breaking away at the wall you’ve spent months building around your heart and reason. A whirlwind of conflicting emotions sweeps over you. On one hand, his declaration of love sparks a glimmer of hope amidst the ruins of your fractured relationship. Yet, on the other hand, doubt claws at your insides, gnawing away at any semblance of certainty, the pure love that you have for him only wishes to make sure he’s happy and gets everything he wants in life.

"Jongseong, I..." you start, your voice wavering as you grapple with the turmoil inside. How do you express the depth of your feelings?

Grabbing your face with his large hands, he kisses you, his soft lips now coating yours. You’ve missed him so much that you become overwhelmed by his actions, a soft tear leaking from your ducts.

So much for being all cried out, you think to yourself.

"It's you, Y/N, I only need you," Jongseong whispers against your lips, his urgency evident as he seeks solace in the warmth of your embrace, stealing kisses with a hunger born from longing.

In spite of yourself, you find your lips responding to his touch, drawn in by the familiar sensation of his mouth against yours. Your arms instinctively wrap around him, fingers grazing lightly over the muscles of his back as you hold him close; your brain is telling you to push him away but your heart is pulling him tighter to you.

"It's not fair to you, Jjongie," you murmur, the words weighted with a sense of guilt and remorse.

"I'd rather be with you happily than with kids and someone else miserably," Jongseong confesses, his words carrying the weight of his heart's deepest desires.

Jongseong wishes you could see it from his point of view; of course, he has wanted kids and a comfortable life for so long but the idea of achieving that when you are not his wife seems fucking ridiculous. There is no one in this world he wants to be with other than you and if that means he has to be an uncle rather than a dad, so be it.

You are all he has ever wanted. To grow old with you, to experience each of your accomplishments together and have you close to him. He wants to protect you and look after you the way he knows he should and that is his new life goal. This isn’t a decision he has made lightly but a decision he wanted to make.

His hands glide down your sides, trailing over your thighs as his kisses continue, each touch a manifestation of the craving that has consumed him. His need for you is overwhelming, every fibre of his being yearning for you in every possible way. Another moment without you feels unbearable, as if he might die.

You surrender to his touch, sinking back onto the bed as he hovers above you, his grip on your thighs firm yet tender. The intensity of his desire leaves marks, but in this moment, you welcome anything he offers.

It's astonishing how the feel of his lips on yours dismantles your resolve, scattering your apprehensions like leaves in the wind.

Slowly, he removes from you the t-shirt that has absorbed his tears on countless nights and the boxers you borrowed from him, leaving you exposed beneath him. As he looks upon your naked figure, his eyes drink in every curve and contour, offering silent gratitude to the heavens for letting him have you like this. You are everything he wants and more.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Y/N,” he whispers into your mouth as he presses his body hard against yours, his member rubbing itself against your folds.

The feeling of him rubbing against you is enough to elicit a moan. No amount of toys was enough to satisfy you, not the way Jongseong could. Over the years you learned about one another’s bodies so intimately that no one could ever know you the way he does, not even yourself.

You couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping with someone else, even if you and Jongseong had broken up, your heart couldn’t do it. You never even considered a one night stand because deep down you knew that your body belonged to Jongseong and no one else.

He moves his hips, slowly rubbing himself against you, the bell of his cock grazing your clit teasingly. It feels like a dream for him to touch you this way again, and the fact that you were coating his cock with your wetness was enough to tell him that you need this too.

Kissing you desperately, his tongue darts into your mouth and swirls with yours as he seeks to taste you, his buds dancing along with yours. He moans into your mouth and acts as an echo of his love for you.

“I missed you so much,” he whispers as his hips continue to move slowly, teasing your hole with his tip each time he draws back. It’s becoming increasingly obvious how much it’s starting to irritate you, your need to have him inside you is evident in your whines of frustration.

"I missed you too, baby. More than anything," you confess, your hand finding his cock as you press against him, seeking to create greater friction between you. With each movement, the pressure builds, sending waves of pleasure coursing through both of you.

With each synchronised movement, the tension between you mounts, the desire for one another lingering in the warm air. His hips continue their slow, teasing rhythm, each brush against your core sending sparks of want up your heat and into your chest.

Feeling the urgency building within you, you guide his cock with precision, pressing it against your eager entrance. A soft gasp escapes your lips as you feel the head of his length dip into you only slightly, the anticipation of being filled with him heightening your senses.

"Please," you whisper, your voice laden with need and longing, a plea for him to take you.

With a teasing grin, Jongseong relents to your plea, but not in the way you expected. Instead of thrusting into you the way you want him to, he trails his fingertips along the curves of your body, igniting a trail of fire in his wake. His touch is light and tantalising, tracing patterns across your skin as he savours every moment. He wants to take his time with you, no matter how much his dick longs to be surrounded by your walls.

You like to be teased even for a little bit, the payoff at the end always hits the right spot.

You squirm beneath his touch, aching for more, but he continues with deliberate slowness. His fingers dance over your heated flesh, exploring every inch of your body with an intimacy that leaves you breathless. Each caress sends shivers down your spine, building the anticipation to unbearable heights. God, you missed his hands all over you.

As his right hand dips lower, he begins tracing circles around your sensitive clit and you can't help but arch your back in pleasure, a soft moan escaping your lips. The sensation is electrifying, sending waves coursing through your body as he expertly teases you.

Feeling your body tremble with anticipation, his touch becomes more urgent as he presses his fingers against your throbbing clit h and with practised skill, he begins to move faster, applying just the right amount of pressure to have you writhing beneath him.

“You look so fucking perfect, all desperate and whiney like this, Princess,” he says as he leans down to kiss you, breathing in deeply through his nose as he tries to fill each of his senses with you. It wasn’t just enough to feel you, he wanted to taste you, to inhale your scent, to hear you cry out for him, to see you unravel beneath him.

Your breath catches in your throat as the intensity of his touch sends you spiralling towards the edge of bliss. Each stroke of his fingers drives you closer to the brink, your body humming with the need to let go.

But just as you feel yourself teetering on the edge, Jongseong suddenly slows his movements, drawing out the pleasure with agonising slowness. It's a torturous tease, the brief moments of intensity followed by long, drawn-out strokes that leave you gasping for more.

“Please, please, please, Jjongie,” you whimper in frustration, your body aching for release as Jongseong continues to play you like a symphony, alternating between fast and slow, building the tension to unbearable levels. Just when you think you can't take it anymore, he finally gives in, his fingers dipping into your heat and thrusting into you at a rough pace, your pussy soaking his digits as he coaxes out your orgasm.

“You’re clamping down on my fingers so hard, Baby, you gonna cum?” he asks arrogantly, knowing that with each curl of his finger, he is watching your body lose control and surrender to him.

Nodding quickly, you pull him down for a long, searing kiss as his thumb joins the party and flicks your clit rapidly, “Oh my god,” you moan out into his mouth through bated breaths, “I’m gonna cum, Jongseong, please can I cum?”

“You never have to ask baby,” he moves his mouth to your ear and lightly nibbles your lobe, “Cum for me, Princess,” he gently commands.

Jongseong continues to work his magic, his fingers moving with expert precision as he guides you through the throes of ecstasy. Your vision blurs and every nerve in your body hums with pleasure as you reach the pinnacle of bliss.

With a final, desperate cry, you let go, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You arch your back and cry out his name as pleasure consumes you, your body trembling with the intensity of it all.

His fingers remain still inside you, but his thumb maintains its relentless pace, each swipe sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body. Your hips instinctively twitch in response, your nub throbbing with sensitivity and yearning for a respite. Yet, Jongseong shows no signs of letting up, his determined flicking only intensifying.

"You like that, baby?" Jongseong's voice is hoarse with desire as he intently watches your reactions. His eyes are dark with need as he continues to work you with wild desire.

Your senses are overwhelmed by sensations pouring through you, so you can only respond with a gasping nod. Every single nerve in your body is buzzing with ecstasy, and all you can think of is the delicious agony of his thumb against your delicate clit.

"Tell me what you want, Princess," he asks, his voice a seductive whisper in your ear, "Do you want more?"

You can only make a frantic plea, your words barely comprehensible in the middle of intense pleasure. "Yes, please, Jongseong... More..."

Jongseong's lips curl into a wicked grin as he hears your plea, his confidence growing with each breathless gasp that escapes your lips. With a teasing twinkle in his eye, he moves his fingers again, pressing them against your contracting walls, his hot breath ghosting over your ear as he speaks.

"What do you want, Y/N?" he whispers, his voice dripping with anticipation, "Tell me, and I'll give it to you."

Your mind is a haze of desire, but amidst the fog, one thought stands out clear and demanding. You need him inside you, filling you completely with his presence. With trembling hands, you reach for him, your fingers curling around his cock, guiding him to where you need him most, pushing his hand out of the way.

"I want you," you whisper, your voice trembling with need. "I want all of you, Jongseong." When you utter the words, there’s a deeper meaning to them, a meaning that Jongseong is clinging to.

The way your fingers wrap around his rock-hard member elicits a hiss from him, your touch mixed with your words only fuels him to give you everything you need.

Jongseong lets out a guttural groan, entirely surrendering to your touch and words. His eyes darken with want as he watches you take control, and his breath quickens with anticipation as you guide him inside you. His breath coming in ragged gasps, he looks into your eyes with a mixture of desire and adoration, "God, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice rough with need, “You feel so fucking incredible. I’ve missed how you just suck me in like this.”

You look down and watch as his entire length gets lost in your heat, his cock’s head hitting deep within you. You’ve missed how he fills you up so much but you hadn’t realised just how badly until right now as he shallowly thrusts into you.

You respond with a low moan of pleasure, your nails digging into his skin as you pull him closer, urging him to go deeper. "Yes, Jongseong," you whisper, your voice laced with longing, "just like that. I need this so much, I need you."

With each thrust, he grunts in response, his movements becoming more desperate as he seeks to satisfy your every desire, "I'm yours, Y/N," he declares, his voice filled with raw emotion, "completely and utterly yours."

As he lifts your legs and closes them, gently draping them over his left shoulder, your warmth envelops his shaft, drawing him in closer. Jongseong relishes the sensation of your tightness, revelling in the snug embrace of your canal around him. And you too find delight in the pressure of his girth, relishing the way he stretches you further with every powerful thrust.

Each movement of his hips is deliberate, each one designed to bring you both closer to the edge of ecstasy. As his hands stroke your legs tenderly, contrasting with the intensity of his thrusts, you find yourself lost in the intoxicating rhythm of your bodies moving as one.

His jerks grow more intense, the pace quickening as he drives deeper into you, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge, "You feel so good," he groans, his voice filled with unrestrained passion, "so fucking perfect for me, Princess."

In response, you curve your back and meet his thrusts with equal conviction, the heat between you building to an almost euphoric level. "Jongseong," you exclaim, your voice a symphony of fulfilment, "don't stop, please don't stop."

Jongseong intensifies his efforts with a wild growl, each movement driven by a burning need to push you to the edge of satisfaction and beyond. At this moment, there is only you and him, burned by the fires of passion.

With a swift motion, your lover bends you in half, positioning your legs by your head as he quickens his already rapid pace. Lost in a whirlwind of desire, your eyes roll back and your hands instinctively grip his shoulders, your chest heaving with each forceful thrust of his cock. Your nails dig into his skin, leaving marks on his shoulder blades as you cling to him, lost in the intensity of the moment.

Feeling the sting of your nails, he grits his teeth and strains his neck, the veins in his temples pulsating as he fights the overwhelming urge to release inside you right then and there.

“Fuck, claw my back, Baby,” he growls, his voice thick with desire, “make me yours again.” With determination, he continues to pound into you, each movement bringing you closer to your shared orgasm.

After hearing Jongseong’s go-ahead, you dig into his back, dragging your nails across his skin, leaving fiery red lines in their wake, just like he wants. It burns him in the most delectable way, making his cock throb inside of you.

Your breaths combine in the air, creating an ensemble of desire as you both reach the edge. The tension between you grows with each thrust, a crescendo of want reaching its peak.

As he slams into you furiously, his voice fills the room with urgency, "You gonna cum again, Princess? You want it?" His words are a mixture of want and domination, starting a fire inside you that threatens to consume everything in its path.

With a firm nod, you meet his gaze, your eyes brimming with want. "Yes, Jongseong, please," you beg, your voice a frantic appeal for release once again.

In response, he increases his efforts, his motions growing more frenzied as he propels you both to your orgasms. And then, with a final, strong thrust, you shatter, your body convulsing from the ferocity of your release. Jongseong follows closely behind, his own climax mirroring yours as he finds release within you, “Fuck!”

His body stills as he shoots his seed into you, the tremble of both your bodies vibrates the bed beneath you. Finding it hard to keep himself up, he falls onto you, moving his cock into you further, only drawing out a final moan from your lips.

After a couple of minutes, Jongseong rolls over, his chest heaving up and down rapidly. God, he missed the way you feel under him, he could go another ten rounds if you asked.

But that would mean you would stay, and is that even something you want? He doesn’t want to ask, your answer being the deciding factor of whether he goes on his life with misery or happiness.

He knows he can’t force you into this relationship but he hopes he has done enough to convince you that you are all he wants.

“Please be with me again, Y/N. I can’t live without you,” he whispers into the air, not daring to look at you.

You on the other hand only want to look at him, to see if you can really try this again, “Even if it means no kids? No playdates with other parents? No family trips to Jeju?”

“Even without all that.” He does look sincere, his eyes now burning into yours with a new lease of determination.

The truth is, you’ve missed him so much that it hurts. Behind the strong facade is just a girl who misses her lover. Being without him is like being in a fire with no escape, constantly fighting your way out of a blaze while your lungs collapse. He’s the clear path to fresh air you desperately need, there is no denying it. And clearly, he thinks the same about you.

Seeing him last night so fragile and broken engulfed you in the flames, burning you alive because you know that you feel every ounce of hurt that he is. It was a mirror to how you were feeling and you don’t think you knew how badly you needed him until that moment. You were trying to be so strong about it all, giving yourself only a short amount of time to grieve that as you looked at Jongseong last night, you know he has done the same.

You need one another to extinguish the fire.

“Jongseong, truly think about this, this isn’t me saying no to letting you go on a lads holiday, I’m denying you the opportunity to be a father,” you plead with him one last time, giving him an out to all of this as you lay it all on the table.

“Princess, I have had seven months to think about it. I am not compromising or altering my needs for you, this is a decision that I have made on my own. If I truly wanted the life I thought I did, I wouldn’t be begging you to be with me right now. I know this isn’t an easy choice but I have never been more sure about anything in my life.”

Jongseong kisses all over your face, each one a receipt of his sincerity.

His words strike straight into your heart. He’s serious. A part of you wants to still feel guilty like you’re forcing him into this but on the other hand, he’s right. You’ve given him a multitude of opportunities to leave and find a girl who will cater to him, but he hasn’t.

He doesn’t need to because all he needs is you and your love, to Jongseong, that is all he needs in his life.

“Okay, but if you ever change your min-”

He interjects with a kiss, one filled with so much happiness and love that it’s almost intoxicating; either that or all the booze in his system has transferred its way into your bloodstream.

You giggle as he rolls over on top of you again, peppering loud and wet kisses all over your face and neck akin to a dog licking you from utter joy. Your hands try to fight him off playfully, your laugh growing louder as he nuzzles into your neck.

“Oh, wait!” Your lover's sudden pause catches your attention, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he swiftly rolls off the bed and rushes over to the messy pile on the chair by his dresser.

Curious, you crane your neck to see what he's up to, watching as he retrieves something from the floor.

“What is it?” you inquire, intrigued by his enthusiasm.

Turning back to you, Jongseong holds up the familiar torn sheet of paper that you recognise instantly, his smile lighting up his face. He grabs a pen from the desk and returns to your side, handing you both items.

“Tick it off,” he urges, pointing to the bottom of the page where a new addition was made yesterday morning. Despite his internal conflict about the list, he couldn't bring himself to tear it up. If he never saw you again, this would be a precious memory to hold onto.

So he added a new aspiration at the bottom.

Taking the pen from his hand, you read it slowly, “Make Y/N mine again..”

You gaze up at him in awe, understanding the significance of this gesture and how much the list means to him, “You wished for this?” you ask, to which he simply nods at your question, “Then you need to tick it off.” You push the pen and paper back to him but he stops you.

“No, you made the wish come true, so you need to tick it off,” he replies, the corners of his lips upturning slightly.

So with the pen, you draw a line over the words, scoring it off once and for all as you beam proudly, happy that both of your souls are now joined together again. You pull him in for a long, deep kiss, the bucket list discarded as you lose yourselves in the moment once again.

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