#yeon sieun angst

[08luvmailz]

★ ﾟ๑ PARTY ON YOU ୧ ⊹ ࣪

ᡴꪫ which yeon sieun shuts you after he transferred schools ୧ ⊹ ࣪ second part ／console me, and then i'll leave without a trace ୧ ⊹ ࣪ third part ／ I'd do anything just for me to see you again ──⠀ angst / no comfort , set before ep1 of s2 ⸝⸝ ◜◡◝ i just read some fanfics on wattpad and some are just with sieun after the events of season 1... i just have a feeling that he can push someone away from his life.. even if it hurts him too.

There was a time when she thought, what happened to us? where did it all go wrong?

In sixteen years of living, love had always felt like a distant star — something warm and beautiful, yet always out of reach. To love was a risk. To be loved, a miracle. And in between, she simply learned how to live without expecting either.

Her love for taekwondo had been constant, unwavering. It was a language she was taught at a ripe age of 4 with her father, trophies made him happy. It was a bond that she shared with him, to make him feel proud, strong, and it feeds his ego. She was the best, she had to be—for him. But as she grows it withers slowly, so is her dad, until what once felt like an unbreakable connection became fragile, like a leaf caught in a fading breeze.

Ballet was a profound hope — the kind that stretched her limbs and lifted her heart, a yearning for her mother's approval that she could never quite grasp. Each pirouette, each graceful leap, was a silent plea for validation. But the nagging, the expectations that came with it, only weighed her down, turning what was once her sanctuary into a cage.

Her mother had once been a prima ballerina, graceful and untouchable, a star that shone brightly in the world of dance. But then she had given birth to her — and with that, the light dimmed. Seventeen years of her life felt like a constant shadow, as if she, the daughter, was the mistake that interrupted her mother’s prime.

In her, eyes. She is the reflection of what she could be.

But alas, in all of this, it was hardest to be loved. Her peers, so quick to judge, had no room for the simple truth of her heart. To boast was to be called egoistic, to stand tall in her own strength was a crime of arrogance. Yet, if she became humble, they whispered that she sought validation — attention, as if her quiet steps were nothing more than a plea for free applause.

Her personality was a mere bubble— shiny, radiant, reflecting the world around her with a brilliance that caught the light. She became what they wanted to see, a mirror of their expectations, fitting in. But beneath the facade, emptiness, hollow. The reflection wasn't hers to begin with, she wore a mask to survive, as soon as it pops, she was nothing.

She had once been bubbly. Loud in the most sincere way — laughing with her whole chest, arms always outstretched as if the world was waiting to be hugged. But the world didn't hug back. It recoiled. Her light became too much, her joy became annoying, and slowly, quietly, she folded in on herself.

Then there was him, Suho.

That haul ass, he actually did.

He saw her like no one does, not some attention seeker, threat or whatever her classmates called her. But, some lonely kid who accidently trips on his desk and apologize meekly for waking him up. It's like at the snap of his fingers — they were friends, it felt so strange on the tip of her tongue. It wasn't on her vocabulary to call someone 'a friend', she smiled at the thought, she could finally say "mom, im with a friend. oh, im hanging out with my friend. Dad, i'll be late. Im with suho, he's the delivery kid"

He was there for her, vice versa. They share drinks, he taught her some tricks. Rode his mop of a motorcycle and helps him sometimes (she begs to help) in his deliveries, taught her to ride his motorcycle but was banned from ever driving it because they almost crashed, gifted him on his birthday that pig like arm-rest pillow because he sleeps during class, anytime—anywhere.

After Suho, came Sieun — the boy with a mind like steel and a heart he kept under lock. She hadn’t meant to break in. She just smiled at him one day, really smiled, all softness and quiet light. And instead of turning away, he looked at her — really looked — but he quickly turned away and do what he always do, study.

It wasn’t much, but it was everything.

After that, they became closer (she and suho forced themselves in his, peaceful life and made it their profound home). He didn’t speak much, but she learned to read the pauses between his words, the silence that carried more weight than most voices ever could. And in those small, strange moments, something unspoken bloomed — not loud like laughter, but steady like breath.

Beomseok joined last — hesitant and unsure, the quiet space-filler who stood at the edge of the light until he learned how to laugh without apology. With them, he found a version of himself that didn’t have to shrink. And she noticed — the way he kept things to himself, always smiling, always deflecting. But underneath it all, he was alone. Like her. And she respected him for that — for surviving in silence, for fighting battles no one could see. It was like they spoke a secret language, stitched together by glances and almosts. If Suho hadn’t been the first to crack her open, to teach her that loud kindness could feel safe — it might’ve been Beomseok.

They were alike, it felt like it. She never asked for more than he could give. He would treat her to milk tea without a word, and she would tag him in her stories like a quiet thank-you — ‘he bought this for us today’. His presence was constant, and sometimes, constancy felt close enough to love.

The four of them never made sense, heck their personalities mixed in a wheel. But together, it felt like home, peace. They make it— make sense.

She remembered that day, where Beomseok invited them in a fancy cafe, the three of them were underdressed in hoodies and jackets and and scuffed shoes, while she had worn something a little too nice — something she thought might match the place. Suho took one look at them and laughed, nudging her playfully. ‘We look like your bodyguards,’ he said, grinning. ‘Or your butlers,’ Beomseok added with a rare, easy laugh, raising his brow. ‘Maybe you’re the one who’ll be paying, princess.’ She rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her chest was real, golden.

And Sieun, he said nothing. Just watching the scene as it played across the table that ever-neutral mask on his face. But then, for just a second, the corner of his mouth curved. A small, tipped smile — fleeting, quiet, but it was there. And she held onto it like a pressed flower in the pages of her memory.

Or when she invited them to her house to make shakes she shared at the group chat. Chaos, and wasted ingredients lingered on her mind.

She remembered nights they spent on rooftops eating instant noodles. Suho would tell dumb jokes, Beomseok would laugh too hard, and Sieun would roll his eyes but never leave. She remembered the market stall — her and Sieun, shoulder to shoulder, sharing a hot bowl of doenjang jjigae on a cold day, pinky fingers brushing as they both reached for the last piece of tofu. He didn’t pull away.

They had made a promise that day.

"Next time, we'll get our own bowls"

"No, let's keep sharing. Its more delicious to share with... friends"

He nodded at her and the promised was sealed.

There was the photobooth too — that cramped, blinking little box on the corner of a busy arcade. She and Beomseok had practically dragged Suho and Sieun inside, laughter already bubbling before the first flash. Suho’s long legs stuck out from under the curtain, his face half-covered as the fabric kept hitting him. He grumbled through a smile, ever dramatic. Sieun sat stiffly in the corner, back too straight, unsure what to do with his hands, his expression tight but his presence willing. And Beomseok — sweet, ridiculous Beomseok — came back with an armful of props. Sunglasses too big, fake mustaches, and a tiara that she insisted Suho to wear.

They argued over poses, switched hats mid-frame, and by the time the countdown hit one, they had given up on perfection. They just laughed. Uncoordinated and chaotic, but real.

She kept the strip, in a frame to look at. To reminisce.

At that point, she felt like on the cloud. It felt like she was dreaming, its too good, she dreamt of this before where she would have friends who are there for her and she would be too. But every dream turns to be a nightmare when she woke.

She wished to never woke up.

She wished it will just be the same as it was before.

She wished she helped, noticed, talk.

She wished it all.

She just wished, but she never acted.

She never did, she watched it all happen.

In a snap, it all crumbled down.

And it crumbled them apart, them. The 4 of them, nothing.

But then came the fight. The blood. The hospital room with fluorescent lights that never flickered off. Suho, broken and still. Beomseok, shattered in ways they didn’t see until it was too late. And Sieun — closed off tighter than ever, fists clenched, eyes wild with a grief he refused to name.

It all fell apart, the shared laughter, the whispers during class bothering Sieun. Everything falling apart.

She held him when he broke down in that sterile hallway, her arms around his trembling body. She thought they were in this together.

Then he left.

He left, without a goodbye.

Not even a glance, not a word.

No messages, calls.

Just absence, his lingering precense, silence.

She waited for him, days turns to weeks, to months.

She called. Texted. Wrote long, tearful messages and erased them. She even waited outside the hospital, hoping he’d come back. Sometimes she’d fall asleep in the hallway chair, cold noodles beside her, unread texts blinking on her phone screen like a cruel joke.

He never replied.

She scoffed and chuckled softly. It was all typical.

Of course, It's Sieun after all.

In the end, she had to bribe a teacher. Just a little. Nothing serious. Just a favor passed in whispers, the gentle weight of desperation folded inside an envelope. A name. A connection. A sliver of a chance.

She hadn’t meant to go this far, but silence was starting to rot in her chest, and she couldn’t take another unanswered message blinking cold on her screen. By some cruel or kind miracle, her homeroom teacher — warm, a little nosy, but always kind — happened to know the man who owned the building Sieun now lived in.

And that was her signal. To go and visit him.

She packed carefully. His favorite brand of milk, chilled and sweating in her bag. A container of doenjang jjigae — just like the one they shared at that tiny market stall, the day they had laughed, just the two of them, broth steaming between them, future humming on their tongues and a bouquet of asters and pink camellias — for longing, for the soft, aching kind of love that tiptoes around the edge of confession.

She took two rides.

Two painful rides.

Two long, aching rides through the city’s breathless gray sky as her head leaning against cold windows, eyes tracking strangers who passed too fast to remember.

She didn't mind the wait.

It made her relentless, muttering softly the words she memorize to say.

Hi, its been a long time

Hi, you hungr- no scratch that it's too casual.

Hey, its been a long time. It sounded like the first one though...

Hey, Sieun. How are you? I bought some doenjang jjigae...

Her legs ached from waiting, her bag was heavier than usual — not from weight, but from meaning.

Still, she clutched it like a promise.

The milk. The stew. The flowers.

The shared memories.

She imagined what must be his reaction, would he smile, say sorry. But she couldn't imagine anything...its been too long since she last saw him, talked to him.

The building stood tall, too tall, like a giant of cold stone and glass. She glanced up, and her nerves betrayed her, sending her heart into a rapid dance at each step she took felt like a dream, her body moving on its own while her mind stayed behind, watching — detached, unsure.

The doors loomed ahead, distant yet close, a threshold she couldn't cross fast enough. Her breath was shallow, a quiet tremor in her hands, but she continued as her fingers brushed the buzzer, cold and sharp against her skin.

She rang the doorbell with a trembling hand, rehearsing her lines in her head.

“Hey, it’s been a while… I brought dinner.”

All of the memorized scriptures all felt crumbling as the door opened.

To her dismay.

Not him.

It was his mother.

She never bowed that fast, “Annyeonghaseyo,” she said, bowing deeply. “Is Sieun here?” As the silence crept as she waited for her answer as she stood infront of her timidly like a twig.

“I’m his mother,” the woman replied warmly. “Who are you?”

But before she could reply, at the corner of her eye.

Its him.

Its really him, Sieun-ah.

Her breath caught. Her pulse slowed and quickened all at once.

Yeon Sieun.

Same cold eyes, same unreadable mouth. He paused when he saw her. She waited for something to soften. Anything.

Nothing, pure silence on words but just footsteps.

“Oh, Sieun-ah,” his mother turned to him, surprised. “Is she your friend? You didn’t tell me she was coming.” His mother waited for his reply and that was it.

He said it. And all she could hear was emptiness.

Her world crumbled, all of it.

“I don’t have any friends. I don’t know her.”

He said it so softly, but why does it hurt when its supposed to be soft— his tone.

The silence after was suffocating.

She didn’t cry. Not yet.

She smiled instead — bitter and tight, her lips trembling at the edges. “Oh. I’m sorry, ma’am. He’s not the Sieun I knew. I must have the wrong floor.” She bowed again, lower this time, a goodbye written in the bend of her back. Her eyes closed to let her tears inside.

And, she turned away. Without a word.

The hallway stretched like a punishment. She kept her head high, but her hands shook. The elevator dinged too loudly.

At the trash bin, she paused. She looked at her hand was the flowers, a bouquet of asters and pink camellias — longing a person my ass. Carefully, she placed the flowers inside — the petals already wilting, the ribbon curling like regret.

She rode the elevator down in silence.

She walked in silence, the food swinging rapidly as she walked, she don't care anymore if it spilled.

She was so hungry, so tired.

She sat on the bench of the bus stop, its 7 already.

She sat down, opened the container, and let the scent of doenjang jjigae wash over her. Her stomach clenched. She took a bite. And then another.

And then she cried — not softly, not prettily. Just full, shaking sobs into the sleeve of her coat, stew forgotten on her lap.

She ate alone.

She sobbed alone. She ate while sobbing, its so pathetic.

She felt like its all junior high all over again, eating on the bathroom. Alone.

The warmth of the soup was gone, and so was their friendship.

She remembered the photograph of the photobooth, she remembered it, every detail even if it wasn't with her.

He looked at her, like he almost could have loved her.

All of it was just a mere joke.

And all she had left was the taste of something they once shared — now hers, now hollow.

♡ note ───── party on you party on you party on you party on you party on you party on you party on you party on you party on you party on you party on you party on you

[c4shm0neyxxx]

Heyyy

Can you do one sieun x reader finding about about her scars??

(The seonge one was really good tho)

“The Quiet Things You Hide”

Yeon Sieun x fem!reader

Angst + Hurt/Comfort, Slow Emotional Unraveling, Mutual Healing

Themes: Self-harm scars (non-active), emotional vulnerability, tender connection, comfort without judgment

⸻

It was late evening when the tutoring session ended.

The sky outside Sieun’s apartment had gone indigo, with streaks of pale orange fading behind the buildings. You stretched with a groan, setting your pencil down and letting your head fall onto the stack of notes between you. Math equations blurred together.

Sieun just watched you quietly from his side of the low table, his expression unreadable — but not unkind.

“I’m done,” you sighed. “My brain is officially fried.”

“Understandable,” he said in that calm voice of his. “You’ve been focused for over an hour. That’s a first.”

You cracked a smile. “Don’t act like I’m a slacker.”

“I’m not. I’m just surprised.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest. Around Sieun, it was easy to let your guard down without even noticing it. You weren’t sure when it started — the way you felt safe around him. Maybe it was the fact that he never pressured you to talk. Never forced a smile. He was just… present, like a quiet constant.

You reached for the hoodie you had taken off earlier, chilled now from sitting so long. But when your sleeve hitched up slightly, Sieun’s eyes dropped.

Just for a second.

So fast you almost missed it.

But you didn’t.

You followed his gaze, and your stomach twisted.

The scars were faint now, pale lines that ran just below the crease of your elbow. Most days, you forgot they were even there. But seeing the flicker in Sieun’s expression — the one you had trained yourself to notice in people — made your chest tighten.

You pulled the sleeve down quickly and looked away.

Silence stretched between you. Too long. Too loud.

“I wasn’t staring,” he said softly.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t know how.

Sieun sat up straighter but didn’t move closer. He respected space, always had. Still, his gaze was steady on you — not pushing, but not avoiding it either.

“Y/N.”

You flinched. It wasn’t his tone. It was the way your name sounded when he said it — like he actually saw you, not just the version you performed for everyone else.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he continued, “but I also don’t want to pretend I didn’t see.”

You let out a breath and turned your head toward the window, your voice low. “You probably think I’m—”

“—Human,” he cut in.

You blinked.

He leaned his forearms on his knees, fingers interlocked. “I think you’re human. I think something must’ve hurt you a lot. And I think you’re still here, which means you fought through it.”

You bit your bottom lip. Hard.

“Why aren’t you asking questions?” you whispered. “Why aren’t you trying to fix me like everyone else?”

“Because I’m not trying to fix you,” he said. “I just want to understand.”

That made you look at him again.

He met your eyes. Calm. Steady. No pity, no horror — just quiet concern.

You swallowed hard. “It was a while ago. I’m not doing it anymore.”

“I believe you.”

“But it’s still part of me.”

“I know.” He paused. “And I still want to be near you.”

You felt your throat tighten. The tears hit your eyes fast — too fast to blink them away, but you tried anyway.

“You don’t even know how bad it got.”

“I don’t need to,” he replied. “I just need you to know I’m not going anywhere.”

You didn’t know when you moved, but suddenly you were in his arms.

Not in a dramatic, movie-style fall — it was more like gravity pulled you there. Like your body just knew he was safe. Sieun tensed slightly, as if unsure what to do with you at first, but then his arms wrapped around you carefully. One hand rested on the back of your head, the other curled around your waist.

And he just held you.

Not a word.

Not a breath wasted on trying to fix anything.

You cried quietly, and he let you.

Eventually, your voice broke against his shoulder. “Do you think I’m broken?”

He shook his head against your temple. “I think you’re surviving. And that’s harder than breaking.”

You pulled back enough to see his face. He was so close — his expression soft in a way most people never got to see. His usual guarded calm melted into something else. Tenderness.

“I didn’t want you to find out like that,” you said.

“There’s no right way for something like that,” he replied. “But I’m glad I know.”

You took a slow breath. “Why?”

“Because now I can stop pretending you’re okay when you’re not. I can actually be there for you. Not the version you show people.”

Your heart cracked a little more — but this time it didn’t hurt. It felt like something letting go.

You looked down at your arm, your fingers gently covering the faded lines.

He noticed.

“You don’t have to hide them from me,” he said.

You met his gaze again, voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t think I’m… too much?”

“Y/N.” His hand reached up and gently took yours. “You’re enough. As you are. No performance. No pretending.”

There was silence again. But this time it wasn’t heavy.

It was comforting.

You stayed like that with him, sitting side by side, his hand still holding yours.

Eventually, when you both lay back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, you let yourself breathe. Fully. Deeply. And when his fingers brushed yours again, intertwining like it was nothing, you knew something had shifted.

You weren’t alone anymore — not in the way that mattered.

[misty-petals]

You are too light for this world

Pedido:“Hi, can you please make one about Si-eun ending the relationship because she doesn't want you to get hurt by the union. She says hurtful things to you.”

|Yeon Sieun x Gn! Reader

|Angst, heartbreak, romance

English is not my first language.

You already knew Sieun’s silence.

He was never the type to say or show everything.But lately, even what he used to show… disappeared.

Messages seen but left unanswered.

Invitations declined with vague excuses.

Touches that once happened on impulse now felt calculated. Coldly avoided.

You waited once again at the school gate.

He showed up, but his face… looked distant.

— "Hey."— he said, like it was just another day.

You couldn’t bear the tightness in your chest any longer.

— "We need to talk."

He looked around, clearly uncomfortable with the other students walking by.

— "Not here. Let’s go somewhere else."

You walked beside him in silence until you reached a quiet street two blocks away, where the old houses muffled the noise of the world.

When he stopped, the silence between you two felt even heavier.

— "Are you going to tell me what’s going on?"— you broke the tension. — "Because… our relationship feels like it’s falling apart and you’re pretending not to see it."

Sieun took his time. He seemed to be weighing every word.

— "There’s no reason for us to keep dating anymore."

You blinked, unable to believe he had actually said that.

— "What do you mean?"

He shrugged.

— "This isn’t working. I thought it would, but it’s not. Not anymore."

You stepped closer, heart racing.

— "Did I do something wrong? I’m trying, Si-eun, but you don’t talk, you don’t explain, you just drift away…"

— "Exactly." — he cut you off. — "You always try. And that’s the problem."

— "What do you mean?"

He sighed, finally looking you in the eyes.

— "You try too hard. You expect too much. I can’t give you any of that."

You felt your eyes burn.

— "Then tell me the truth. Why are you ending this?"

He looked away. His jaw was tight, like he was forcing himself to stay in control.

— "Because you’re too light for this world. My world."

The words hit like a punch.

He knew. He knew exactly where to strike.

— "That doesn’t even make sense." — you replied, your voice shaking. — "Since when is that a flaw?"

— "Since always. You live in a place I can’t reach." — he said — "With me, you’ll get hurt. And I… I don’t want to have to see that happen."

You almost smiled. A sad, broken smile.

— "And you think it’s going to hurt less if it’s now?" — you said — "Do you really believe that cutting me with these cold words will spare me from anything?"

He answered without hesitation.

— "Yes."

The firmness in his voice didn’t match his eyes.There was something there — something broken, suffocating.

You went silent for a few seconds. The wind rustled the dry leaves around you.

— "Okay." — you said, trying to steady your voice. — "If this is what you really want… then fine."

You took two steps back.

— "But one day, Sieun… you’ll look back and realize the problem was never that I was too light." — you said — "It was that you were too afraid to let yourself feel."

He didn’t respond.

He stood still, like a statue.

But his fingers were trembling.

You turned your back and walked away.

You didn’t run.

You didn’t cry there.

But when you turned the corner and he disappeared from your view, it felt like something opened up inside you — a hollow space.

🕯️ A few days later…

Sieun was sitting alone in one of the empty classrooms.

The phone on the table showed the last message he never replied to:

“You know what hurts the most? You pretending not to care.”

He didn’t read it again.

He didn’t need to. It was already burned into his mind.

He rested his forehead on his arms, exhausted.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t speak.

He just kept repeating like a mantra that it was the right thing. That you’d be better off without him.

Even if it hurt.

Even if deep down, he knew:

She was the only piece of peace he ever had.

But he also knew…

That he would never forget the way you looked at him the last time.

Like you were trying to understand why someone who claimed to protect you… decided to hurt you like that.

Note: This text was requested by @adelaaeverden. I hope you all like it! Thank you for reading ♡

[lixiaolang]

Reconnection | Go Hyuntak Series Masterlist

Pairing: Go Hyuntak x fem!reader

Summary: Having known of Hyuntak from his training days of Tae Kwon Do, you never thought you'd run into him again. What started as admiration from afar quickly turned into the beginning of something more.

Warnings: Bullying, profanity, homophobia, physical and emotional abuse, mentions of blood, stabbing, torture, cuts and burns, suggestive content, + more.

Word Count: 17.5k

Status: Ongoing

part one

part two

part three

part four

part five

part six

part seven

part eight

[honeyscara]

Chapter 9

Sieun tutor masterlist | whc masterlist

《prev chapter next chapter 》

The sterile scent of antiseptic hung heavy in the air, far too clean for how broken you felt inside.

You sat outside Sieun’s hospital room, body hunched forward, your trembling hands clutching the hem of your blood-stained shirt. The soft whir of machines inside the room, the muffled beeping of monitors—it all felt like a cruel reminder that Sieun was alive… but barely.

Your tears wouldn’t stop. They rolled down silently now, leaving faint trails along your cheeks. Your chest ached, every breath shallow, as if part of your heart was trapped behind that closed door.

Sieun’s mom was inside the room, her face pale and hands clasped tightly together in front of her lips. She hadn’t said a word, just stared at her son like she was begging him to open his eyes. Your own mother stood beside you, one hand gently on your shoulder, the other wiping at her tears as she looked on with helpless sympathy.

You couldn’t look up.

You didn’t want to see the pain on their faces—it mirrored yours too closely.

Then, the elevator chimed softly.

You looked up, barely registering the sound of rushed footsteps until three familiar figures came into view.

Gotak was first, out of breath and wide-eyed. Juntae was behind him, lips parted in shock, and Baku trailed in last—his expression unreadable, his fists clenched tightly at his sides, his forehead still bleeding from that fight earlier.

All three of them—Gotak, Baku, and Juntae stood silently beside you, their expressions grim as they looked through the glass window of the hospital room. The light inside cast a pale glow over Sieun’s still form, wrapped in wires and IV lines, a bruise blooming dark across his temple. He looked so small in that bed, and it didn’t feel real.

You sat on the bench just outside, your eyes swollen and red, lips trembling as you tried to hold yourself together. But the moment you glanced up at his unmoving figure again, the dam broke all over again.

Baku, quiet and composed despite the storm swirling behind his eyes, moved closer and gently patted your back. The weight of his hand was grounding—steady and warm. It was the kind of silent comfort that said I’m here without needing words. You leaned slightly into the touch, grateful for something solid, something that didn’t feel like it was falling apart.

None of the boys spoke. Not a single word passed between them. They weren’t just here as friends—they were here as family.

Eventually, the four of you moved to sit down along the hallway wall, waiting for Sieun’s mom to return with updates. Your mom had left earlier, promising to come back after handling work—but her absence left a hollowness beside you that made everything ache a little more.

Juntae, sitting besides you, reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of tissues. He didn’t say anything—just leaned forward, his hand stretched out toward you, offering them with a soft, understanding look.

You took the tissues with a small, tearful smile, whispering a hoarse, “Thanks,” as you wiped under your eyes, trying—and failing—not to cry again.

Gotak sat with his arms crossed, head tilted back against the wall, even his usual bright expression was gone. He wasn’t joking. His gaze kept drifting to the closed door.

And Baku… Baku was staring at the floor, his elbows resting on his knees, brows furrowed deep. Whatever storm was raging inside him, he was doing his best to hold it back—for your sake.

The hallway lights flickered slightly above you, and the distant sounds of hospital staff and beeping monitors filled the air, but in that little stretch of space, a quiet warmth settled. Despite everything, atleast you weren’t alone.You were surrounded by the people who cared about him too.

.

.

.

The door at the end of the hallway swung open with a soft click.Sieun’s mother stepped out, shoulders rounded with exhaustion, eyes red-rimmed from tears she’d tried to hide. The four of you rose at once—Gotak straightening first, Juntae beside him, Baku taking a single step forward, and you wiping hastily at your cheeks.

Baku’s voice was gentle, almost hesitant. “How is Sieun doing?”

She managed a weary smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “He’s stable,” she whispered, then glanced at the clock on the corridor wall. “Don’t worry—go home. Your parents must be waiting.”

Baku shook his head. “It’s okay… we’re Sieun’s friends.”

At that, something in her expression shattered. Her shoulders trembled, and she clutched her hands as though it were the only thing keeping her standing. When she spoke again, her voice flatered around every word.

“Please… stop being friends with Sieun.”

The hallway went silent but for the distant hum of fluorescent lights. You understood. Part of you had known she might say it—yet hearing the plea aloud felt like a blade sliding between your chest.

Baku’s lips parted in protest, but no sound came.

Her gaze swung to you, soft but desperate. “Y/N,” she said quietly, “I know you don’t want to… but please, it's for your own sake, i don't want your mom to get worried so please...”

Your breath caught. The world shrank to the thin line of pain on her face and the echo of her words ringing in your ears. You opened your mouth, wanting to promise you’d never leave him, never abandon him when he needed you most. But the grief in her eyes pinned the words to your tongue.

So you nodded. A small, broken gesture.

Tears pooled again, blurring the hallway lights into stars as she turned away—walking back toward the door, toward the son she was terrified of losing.

Around you, the boys stood motionless, every heartbeat loud in the heavy silence. You pressed the crumpled tissues to your eyes, swallowing the sob that threatened to escape, wishing you could promise her everything would somehow be okay—wishing you could believe it yourself.

~

Two days had passed, yet the weight of everything hadn’t lessened—it only pressed harder on you with each breath.

The streets blurred around you as you walked, backpack heavy, shoes scuffing against the pavement like your legs were moving on autopilot. School had come and gone in a daze. You barely remembered your classes, the stares from classmates, or the murmurs in the hallway about some stupid rumours. All you could think about was Sieun—his broken body, the glass window separating you from him, and the way his mom’s voice had trembled when she asked you to stay away.

You’d tried visiting again. Just once. But his mother hadn’t even opened the door fully this time. Her eyes had softened with regret, but she didn’t waver. “I’m sorry,” she’d whispered through the gap. “Not yet.”

So you were walking home with a hole in your chest, waiting for the bus in the pale orange light of late afternoon. The sun felt far too warm for a day that felt so cold.

You didn’t even notice someone standing a few feet away until a familiar voice called out.

“Y/N?”

You blinked and looked up, startled.

Juntae was standing near the bus stop, his school bag slung lazily over one shoulder. His expression was more serious than usual, a quiet concern in his eyes.

“I’ve been calling you since you turned the corner,” he said, stepping closer. “You okay?”

You forced a small nod, though the tightness in your throat made it hard to say anything.

His gaze softened. “Yeah. Me neither.”

Then you noticed the paper in his hand. It was creased, edges slightly torn, but something about the logo on the top made your stomach twist.

“What’s that?” you asked quietly, pointing at it.

He held it up. “It’s from Daesung Motorcycles. I managed to rip this from a stack before we left that day.”

Your eyes widened. “You—what?”

He nodded, eyes scanning the page. “It’s not much, but there’s something here. Names. Dates. Some weird numbers… could be payment records or something. If we get lucky, this could be enough to put some heat on the Union.”

Hope flickered in your chest for the first time in days. You stepped closer, voice firmer now. “We should give it to the police.”

Juntae hesitated for half a second—then nodded. “Yeah. I was thinking the same.”

You both stood there in silence, the wind picking up, ruffling the page in his hand. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was a fragile thread of something to hold onto. It wasn’t much but it gave you hope to end all this union bullshit.

You and Juntae hurried to the nearest police station, the page clutched tightly in his hand like it was your last lifeline. Every step there felt like running against gravity—like the world didn’t want this truth exposed.

The station was cold and impersonal. An officer behind the desk barely looked up when Juntae placed the paper down, explaining everything—what Daesung Motorcycles was really doing, what you saw, what this paper could mean.

The officer flipped through the page with disinterest, then sighed. “This could be anything. You need more than this to start an investigation.”

“But we saw it!” you argued, your voice trembling with urgency. “They’re laundering money, stealing. This is real—”

“We can’t investigate a place like that based on one ripped page. That’s just not how things work,” the officer said, sliding the paper back across the counter.

A punch to the gut.

Defeated, the two of you walked out of the station, the sun already dipping behind the buildings. Juntae was quiet, holding the paper again like it had lost all its power.

“I really thought they’d listen,” you muttered, your voice hollow. “What’s even the point? They won’t believe us unless someone dies in front of them.”

You stopped walking, fists clenched. “Maybe we should just stop. I’m tired, Juntae. I don’t know how much more we can do—”

You didn’t even hear them approach.

“Yo,” a low voice called out behind you.

You turned.

Four guys. All dressed casually, but their eyes were sharp—too sharp. The kind that made your instincts scream.

“run.…” Juntae whispered, stepping slightly in front of you.

The Union members.

Before you could react, two of them lunged. You tried to run, but arms wrapped around your shoulders and waist, dragging you back. You screamed, kicking and struggling, but they were too strong.

“Juntae!” you cried out.

Taglist: @eijizwrld @night-fall-moon @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @jihooneyluv @hnch33rios @stxr-lilac @mizxuqii @violetwitchmcu @reiofsuns2001 @yourfavoritefreakyhan @slovesyouuu @k1ttyjuice @ellaaa505

[slytherinshua]

WEAK HERO CLASS 1 TEXTS

genre. smau. fluff. angst. warnings. there's angst so be warned (esp in beomseok's part lol). i tried to portray the characters as accurately as possible but it might not be perfect. and spoilers for all of whc1!! pairing. sieun x reader. sooho x reader. beomseok x reader. a/n. why am i in my smau era lmfao i also rly wanna rewatch this im ngl (do i want pain??? help.) tagging @wheeboo cause angst and @evalevaeva cause also angst (why do i love u both when you've written such horrendous fics).

SIEUN

SOOHO

BEOMSEOK

↳ k-drama taglist: @yeonjuns-redhair,, @wolfmoonmusic,, @edensgardenn

[loserlvrss]

Newton’s Fourth Law : THE LAW OF (E)MOTION ⸝⸝ 약한영웅 class

you learned the theory of love through the boy who didn't know how .ᐟ

y. sieun & fem.reader 是 pure fluff ⛱️ skinship 1004THOU oneshot ₍^ >ヮ<^₎ back2MiSC 요구?아니 for @slytherinshua

Questions, questions, questions. Your brother would contest that you came out of the womb curious. Your first words were laced with a quizzical tone, and as you grew older: What’s for dinner? Where’s my toy? Who took the last Melona bar? 

You grew more complex, and eventually your questions did too. 

What’s the square root of X? Why do we dream? Where did life begin? If we’re so technologically advanced, why are there no flying cars? Do you think the HealthCare system is just a sick play in the game of capitalism? What’s really right from wrong? 

Why are we alone in the universe, if the universe is presumably infinite? 

Your brother swore that Shinee’s Sherlock was specifically written for your curious-ass. But you couldn’t help it, there was just so much you wanted to know. He always assumed that when your mouth opened there would just be a question mark that followed—and most of the time he was right. 

“Suho!” You excitedly shouted, running into class 1-6, slamming open the door. It caused all the attention to shift to you… except one. 

The boy who didn’t look, almost at the front of the class, was hunched over his desk with a pen in hand, presumably studying. You wanted to ask why until you saw he had his AirPods in, assuming that he just didn’t hear you announce your presence. 

“Oh, Ahn Suho!” You sang as you skipped down the first row excitedly, until you reached the end of it, stopping at the black-haired boy who was fast asleep: Your older brother by almost one year. 

You slapped the back of his head—gently, for a sister—and he flinched awake, blinking up in your direction with a confused expression. 

“What the…” Suho started, laying his head back down, realizing it was only you who had hit him. “Why are you here?” He asked, eyes shutting again. 

“It’s lunchtime,” You stated, one of his eyes cracking open at the fact, “And I’ll buy for you,” His other eye opened, back straightening, “If you listen to my Big Bang Theory.” 

His eyes closed again suddenly, “…Big bang?” He laughed breathily, “Bang, bang, bang.” 

You huffed, annoyed at this dismissal of another answer to your questions. You turned to anyone in the class, but by now they’d all heard your long-winded monologues on The Germ Theory, on Natural Selection and every other thing you’ve ever read a scientific research paper on. 

They all ignored you. 

Then, your eyes landed on the scary-boy who Suho told you to stay away from—after what had happened a couple days ago, that is. 

But, you didn’t care. Call it his little sister being annoying or whatever you want, but why heed his warning? Wasn’t science all about discovering for yourself? 

“Hey, Evolutionary Game Theory!” You plucked an AirPod from his ear, “What are you listening to?” 

Murmurs broke out amongst the class, Suho finally shooting up out of his chair, like you wanted in the first place. 

The boy in front of you grabbed your wrist before you had a chance to bring it towards your ear. Your eyebrow cocked curiously—now the anticipation was eating at you. What was it? Was it really that bad? 

Suho started towards you, “What are you doing, yn?” 

“Yeon Si-eun, right?” You hummed, “Or should I call you The Fight-or-Flight Theory?” 

You trailed, questions and more questions infiltrating your mind. The gray-sweatshirt you were following only seemed to get faster each time he’d look back to see if you were still there. 

Until he seemingly had enough, turning around so calmly you didn’t know if it should scare or impress you. 

“Finally,” You tried to lighten the tension, “I don’t know if I should call you the Law of Inertia or something else. I debated on it, but I think it suits you: An object will remain at rest or continue moving at a constant velocity unless acted upon by an external fo—” 

He interrupted you, “Stop calling me useless theories, yn.” and you couldn’t tell what you saw written within the fine-lines of his downturned features, but nothing about it was something you were used to. “Just… stop.” 

Your eyebrows threatened to meet in the middle, “There’s nothing useless about you, Si-eun.” 

You traced the side of his face, eventually making your way down the bridge of his nose. You swear you could feel his breath hitch against your lips, eyes locked on yours.  

“You’re like The Triangular Theory of Love,” You commented, continuing to run your finger over his bottom lip. 

And, he just let you. 

Si-eun’s only ever let you get as close as you were to him. Inches apart, damn-near centimeters in reality. 

He had his hand on your waist, drawing circles where your shirt had ridden up against your skin, but you had to overlook the goosebumps and continue your explanation, “Love is a complex emotion made up of three components, according to Robert Sternberg: Intimacy, passion and commitment.” 

You were like a peninsula, a sanctuary for him to let his guard down. You were everything bright and colorful in the contrasting world; Everything good. 

When you first met, he wasn’t actually listening to anything—he heard you burst through the door in search of your brother—but now you’re all he ever wanted to hear in this deafening Hell everyone called life. 

You shifted closer, moving your arm to rest over his shoulder, “Hey, Law of Motion?” You asked, heart picking up an unsteady rhythm. He pulled your chest to his, feeling the warmth you brought with you overtake him. It was intoxicating… you were intoxicating. He felt like he’d never get enough, like the most insatiable being on Earth. 

Eventually, he began to wonder what theory that would make him. He’s sure you’d know. 

Then, you heard the soft hum from his lips meet your ear. Luckily his room was silent, otherwise you might not have. 

“I’ve got all of those, so…” He held his breath for a second, “Can I love you?” 

reblogs appreciated ! loserlrvss 2025 rights reserved. @kstrucknet @slytherinshua @gyuwrites @sknyuz

[evqa3]

'𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓵𝓮𝓯𝓽 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓪 𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓮..' ✮

summary: after you best friend suho slipped into a coma, you shut yourself off from everyone including your boyfriend sieun. you disappeared without a trace. months later, while visiting suho at the hospital you run into sieun for the first time in months.

pairing: yeon sieun x female!reader, bestfriend!suho x female!reader.

warnings: none!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The only sound in the hospital room was the soft beeping of suho's heart monitor. you sat right beside his bed, hoping and waiting for him to just randomly wake up and ask if we can get food. it had been six months since the accident, six months since you last saw suho awake and annoying you, and six months since you disappeared.

ever since suho slipped into a coma you became horribly depressed, you couldn't contain the grief of losing your best friend by someone who you had considered a friend. so you stopped answering calls, you shut yourself off from everyone. you didn't even say goodbye to sieun.

especially not sieun..

you never stopped thinking about sieun tho. you would remember the way he would read through you, the way he would knew if you were upset or mad without even saying anything, the way he would wait for you by the entrance after school so you guys would walk together. but the one thing you never forgot was his warmth. the way he would wrap his arms around you at night when it was just the two of you alone.

but now you wonder if he hated you. hated you because you left him without a word. hated you because you left him while he was also grieving.

you push those thoughts away as you stood up quietly and collecting your things, before leaving you look back to suho who was still lying down in that hospital bed motionless, "i’ll see you tomorrow gremlin." gremlin was a nickname you would call suho growing up because of the way he would eat his food like he hasn't eaten in years.

you smiled softly as you turned around opening the door quietly and stepping out has if suho was fast asleep after a long night of deliveries. as you turned around you froze. there sitting on a bench in front of suho's room was sieun.

he looked the pretty much the same. his hair was little longer, his eyes were a little heavier as if he hasn't spelt in weeks. his eyes widen a little when he saw you, his breath caught up in his throat.

"y/n.." he said softly just liked he used to when you would be tangled up his arms at night, just like he used to when things were good back then.

guilt rose up pulling your words under like a tide. you didn't know what to say so you just stared at him, eyes widen a little as well. your fingers slightly shaking inside of the pocket of your jacket.

he slowly stood up from the bench, taking a step closer towards you. "i came to see suho." he said quietly. "i didn't think you'd be here.."

"i come when it's late and quiet or whenever i have the time.." you murmured softly.

he nodded as his gaze dropped down before looking back up. "i missed you. i never stopped looking for you.."

your throat tightens as you felt the guilt lingering around you. "i know." you said quietly while looking down. "i'm so sorry i left you without a word.." then you felt his arms wrap around you softly, you froze for a second before wrapping your arms around him as well.

his warmth finally wrapped around you after so long of not being in his arms. he slightly nuzzled his face against your neck before murmuring, "i’m just glad you're here now.."

for the first time in months, you let yourself breath. a sense of relief finally hitting you. you sighed deeply before letting your head rest against his shoulder. this was what you have been craving for, his warming touch against you. both hoping that everything would be okay now and that this wouldn't be the end of it.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

word count: 758!

a/n — this is my first time writing.. so don't judge if its bad.😭 i don't know... so lmk if there is any mistakes or something!! ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

[sirensslament]

REQUITED (unrequited pt2) yeon sieun x reader

summary!: After a brutal fight, a shared secret, and a long walk in the rain, you’re left holding feelings Yeon Sieun won’t name. But silence can’t last forever. When the weight of waiting finally breaks you, you corner him with the truth — and this time, he doesn’t walk away. Subtle confessions, long glances, and everything unsaid begin to unravel.

"You kissed him. And then you ran. And now you are doing everything in your power to pretend like you did not, in fact, do either of those things."

read pt 1 , based on this ask!

Pairing: oblivious!sieun x pining!femalereader

Trope: slow burn, mutual pining, reverse confession, one-sided (but not really), emotionally constipated genius x emotionally spiraling fighter

Genre: fluff, slice of life, school life, romance

Note: idk something abt writing fluff does something to me- coming from a 24/7 ovulating female.

Word count: 5k

warnings !: none!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You don’t take the usual hallway anymore, the one with the flickering ceiling light and the peeling corner of bulletin board paper, where Yeon Sieun always stands in front of his locker like he’s been rooted there since the dawn of time. You used to pass him every morning. Sometimes he’d glance at you. Most of the time he wouldn’t. Either way, it used to be... tolerable.

Now, it’s radioactive.

Like brushing against a live wire. Like touching a bruise you forgot you had.

Instead, you snake through the longer way, cutting behind the old faculty office and down the back stairwell that smells vaguely like mothballs and rusted pipe. There’s always a faint clack of a loose ceiling tile above the second landing, and the handrail leaves a faint chalky smear on your palm if you grip it too tight.

It adds three minutes to your morning commute. You do it anyway.

Every single day since that night.

The night you kissed him.

You haven’t stopped replaying it. Not once. You’ve tried. God, you’ve tried. You’ve buried yourself in homework you don’t understand, watched brainless dramas on double speed until the subtitles blur, even cleaned your entire room, dusting baseboards, wiping your mirror twice, until your mom stood in the doorway and asked if you were possessed.

But nothing works. Because you remember everything.

The bite of wind against your cheeks. The empty street humming with quiet. The soft shuffle of his shoes against the pavement when he turned to face you. That infinitesimal pause, the breath between thought and motion, when your fingers brushed his sleeve.

The way he stood so still. So heartbreakingly still.

The silence between you stretching taut like thread about to snap.

The way his breath ghosted against your cheek, his eyes locked on yours and not looking away. Not moving. Not blinking.

Like he was waiting.

And then...

You leaned in.

Just slightly. Just enough. Just far enough for your mouth to brush his and realize that this wasn’t a mistake. That maybe he’d wanted it, too.

Because he didn’t flinch. Didn’t freeze. Didn’t say anything.

He just... let you.

And you...

You ran.

What kind of person kisses someone in the dark and then runs away like they’ve just committed a felony?

A coward. A reckless, impulsive coward who acts on months, maybe years, of pent-up feelings and ruins it in five seconds flat.

Three days. It’s been three days.

And in those three days, you’ve:

Spoken only to Suho, because if anyone would let you avoid your feelings like it’s a competitive sport, it’s him.

Started sitting closer to the back of the classroom, where the sunlight doesn’t hit your face and no one asks questions.

Typed, and deleted, and retyped a dozen messages to Si-eun. You never pressed send.

Thought about the kiss more times than you can count. Wondered if he even noticed it at all. If it even registered.

Maybe it didn’t. Maybe it was just one of those things you do in the heat of a strange, cold night. He probably filed it away somewhere in that calculator brain of his under “Does Not Compute.”

The thought should make you feel better.

It doesn’t.

It makes your chest clench.

You step into the classroom and immediately lower your head. It’s automatic now. Don’t look. Don’t check. Pretend like he doesn’t sit exactly two rows ahead, in his same chair with that hunched-over, surgical precision he brings to everything. Even breathing.

You pretend you don’t know the exact shape of his shoulders when he leans over his desk. The slope of his spine. The way his pen scratches across the page, rhythmic and sharp.

You slip into your desk and crack open your notebook, though the words blur the moment you try to focus on them. You blink twice. No use.

Your head’s somewhere else. Again. Always.

“Hey."

A straw jabs your cheek.

You blink. Look up.

Suho is slouched beside you, legs sprawled under the desk like he’s allergic to good posture. He’s got a juice box in one hand, his pearly whites glinting faintly as he grins with half-lidded mischief.

“Earth to loser,” he says, voice way too loud for how quiet the classroom is. “You’ve been staring at the same page for ten minutes. You good, or should I call an exorcist?”

You swat the straw away. “Do you want to die today?”

He grins, unfazed. “You’ve been weird lately. Not fun-weird. Sad-girl weird.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

“I’m just saying,” Suho says, turning more fully toward you, elbow on the desk now. “Something’s off. You look like you’ve been thinking really hard, which is already suspicious.”

You glare. “I swear to god—”

“You know what I think?” he interrupts, voice too smug for your liking. “You’re either in the middle of an identity crisis, or…” He raises an eyebrow, biting off the end of his straw. “You did something.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

He hums, not buying it. “You definitely did something.”

You scoff, snapping your notebook closed like the sound might shut him up too. “Why don’t you go bother Beomseok or something?”

“Because he's boring. You’re not.”

You don’t reply.

There’s a pause. A real one this time.

When you glance over again, his smile’s gone. His brows are slightly drawn together.

“…What happened?” he asks, quieter now. “Really.”

Your stomach twists.

You force out a laugh, brittle at the edges. “Nothing happened. Seriously. You’re being dramatic.”

He doesn’t look away.

“Right,” he says finally. “And I totally believe that.”

You look down. Your fingers tighten around the edge of your desk, knuckles whitening.

He knows.

Or at least he suspects. Of course he does, Suho’s many things, but oblivious isn’t one of them. He’s seen the way you orbit around Sieun, like some helpless moon caught in his gravitational pull. Seen how your expression softens when you talk about him. How your voice falters when he walks into a room.

He’s the only one who’s watched you fall, slow, silent, hopeless.

But he doesn’t push. Not right now.

You’re grateful. And also, not.

Because if he pushed, maybe it would all spill out.

The kiss.

The silence that followed.

The aching absence of a reaction.

The way Sieun didn’t even flinch. Like it didn’t matter. Like it didn’t touch him.

You suck in a breath. Look up.

Just for a second.

And there he is. Right where he always is.

Yeon Sieun. Perfect posture. Perfect concentration. Perfect stillness.

The same AirPods. The same black pen. The same quiet intensity in the way his fingers move, precise like he’s drafting blueprints instead of taking notes.

You catch a glimpse of his profile, the delicate curve of his nose, the slight crease between his brows. He doesn’t look your way. Not even once.

And maybe he never will again.

Something in your chest cracks.

Because you are not the same.

You still feel the warmth of his skin under your fingertips. The shape of his mouth beneath yours. The unbearable quiet in the air before you fled.

You still feel like a wire stretched too tight. Like one wrong word will snap it.

You blink hard and look away.

Suho’s still watching you.

You shove your notebook into your bag with more force than necessary.

He blinks. “Whoa, where are you going?”

“Nowhere,” you say quickly. “I just...don’t feel like studying right now.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That bad, huh?”

You don’t answer. Just stand. Sling your bag over your shoulder and move.

You feel Sieun’s presence like a pressure in the room. A shadow at your back.

You don’t look.

The second your feet hit the hallway, you finally breathe again.

But it’s shallow. Tight.

Because even out here, even away from the weight of his silence, the memory follows you.

That moment. That kiss.

The quiet question in your chest that still hasn’t gone away:

Why didn’t he stop me?

And worse...

Why hasn’t he said anything since?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The clock ticks loud in the kind of silence only apathy can bring.

Most of the class is talking, not loudly, but with that kind of half-hearted energy that creeps in when a teacher is ten minutes late and the threat of supervision has fully dissolved. It’s background noise. Faint laughter, lazy murmurs, someone crunching chips way too loudly two desks over.

You, for once, are minding your business.

Actually doing your work.

Maybe because Suho left an hour ago- something about an emergency, and without his constant commentary, it’s easier to pretend you care about the problem set in front of you. Maybe because it’s the only thing stopping you from glancing two rows forward.

Or maybe because you still haven’t stopped spiraling from That Night, and you’d rather calculate quadratic equations with a gun to your head than think about how Sieun hasn’t looked at you once in the last hour.

He’s there, of course. Sitting perfectly upright, left hand bracing his notebook while his right scribbles down neat, efficient notes. The corner of his lip twitches sometimes, but it’s not emotion. Just concentration. His brow is pinched. He’s thinking. Like he always is.

Untouched by the chaos around him.

Untouched by you.

You snap your eyes back to your paper.

Focus.

You’ve just solved for x when Yeongbin’s voice slices through the noise.

“What’d I say? If you’re not gonna pay, don’t touch it.”

You look up, just slightly. Enough to see the source.

Yeongbin’s standing over one of the smaller first-years. A kid with too-big sleeves and a haunted look on his face, holding a juice bottle he clearly didn’t buy. His hands are shaking.

“Hyung, I didn’t know it was yours-”

“Bullshit,” Yeongbin snaps, snatching the bottle out of his hands. “You think things in this class just magically appear for you? What, you’re too poor to afford 800 won?”

The kid’s shoulders flinch.

You glance around. A few people are watching now, but no one says anything. Not unusual. Yeongbin’s never needed a reason to pick fights, he just needs someone smaller. Weaker. Quieter.

You should ignore it.

You really should.

But you’ve had a week. A week of silence, of spiraling, of pretending your chest doesn’t clench every time Sieun’s pen scratches the page and not once in your direction. You’re frayed. Brittle. You’ve been doing your best to stay invisible and it’s not working, and something about Yeongbin’s voice just tips the balance.

He starts laughing. It’s ugly. “Actually, you know what? Keep it. Drink it. I didn’t even want it. You probably need the sugar more than I do—looks like your family’s malnourished.”

Crack.

You don’t even realize you’ve dropped your pencil until it rolls off the desk.

Your chair scrapes as you stand.

Not loud. But loud enough.

The room stills.

Your desk jostles forward with the motion, legs scraping harsh against the floor, and a few people flinch. It’s quiet now. Even Yeongbin turns to look at you, eyebrows raised like he hadn’t even noticed you were there until now.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “What now?”

You walk past your desk slowly, each step deliberate.

“Could you shut up for five seconds?” you say, voice calm. Measured.

Yeongbin scoffs. “What, you care about charity cases now?”

“No,” you say. “I care about not listening to your voice any longer than I have to.”

The kid he was yelling at has already slinked back to his desk, red-faced, clutching the juice bottle like it might shield him. Smart. He knows what’s coming.

“You’ve been itching to start shit all morning,” you say. “Like your ego couldn’t handle not being the loudest person in the room for once.”

Yeongbin snorts. “Bold talk for someone who hasn’t done anything all semester except mope and make eyes at Calculator Boy.”

And there it is. The line.

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t. But it slices deeper than it should.

You smile. Too wide.

“Right,” you say. “Coming from the guy who’s repeated this class twice and still can’t spell his own name without sounding it out.”

There’s a beat.

Then...

“What the fuck did you just say?”

The air shifts.

Desks creak as people lean away. Someone whispers “oh shit.” One of the girls starts quietly gathering her things, like she knows she won’t want to be near the blast radius.

Yeongbin steps forward.

You don’t move.

“You wanna say that again?” he says, voice lower now. Dangerous.

“I said,” you repeat, still smiling, “it’s impressive that you even know what letters are, considering your entire personality is built like a used punching bag.”

He doesn’t respond.

He swings.

You duck.

His fist whistles past your ear, cracking into the empty chair behind you. Plastic splinters. He barely blinks before swinging again, but this time, you’re ready. You pivot on your heel, grabbing the edge of the nearest desk and slamming it into his hip.

He curses, stumbling. That’s when you move.

Two steps forward, fast.

You throw your shoulder into him and shove.

Hard.

He staggers back into the teacher’s podium. A textbook clatters to the ground.

The room goes silent.

“Holy shit,” someone breathes.

Yeongbin looks stunned.

Only for a second.

Then his face twists into something feral.

“You bitch,” he growls, and lunges.

This time, you don’t dodge. You meet him.

You grab his wrist mid-swing, twist, and jab your elbow into his ribs, once, twice, before pushing him off and landing a quick, clean kick to his shin. You’ve fought before. You know how to fight. Fast strikes. Soft points. Disable, disarm, destroy.

But Yeongbin’s heavier. And he’s angry.

He recovers faster than expected, grabs the front of your uniform and yanks you forward. You grunt as your balance shifts, knee catching on the edge of a desk. You raise your arm just in time to block his punch. It lands hard against your forearm, pain flares white-hot, but you don’t falter. You grit your teeth and slam your palm into his chest, pushing him back again.

Someone gasps.

“Should we, like, do something?”

“No way, she’s actually holding her own—”

Another swing. This one catches your shoulder. You hiss, stumbling sideways, desk scraping behind you.

He doesn’t let up.

You dodge a wild punch, pivot under his arm, and jab your fist into his kidney. He lets out a sharp breath, staggering, but recovers too fast. You’re off-balance now. He grabs your wrist and yanks.

You hit the floor hard.

Back slams against tile. Wind knocked clean out of your lungs.

“Finally,” he spits, looming over you, knuckles bruised, chest heaving. “Think you’re funny now? Huh?”

You try to move, but pain shoots through your ribs.

Then...

A sound.

Schhhk.

The unmistakable scrape of a chair leg dragging against tile.

The air chills.

You look past Yeongbin’s shoulder.

And there he is.

Sieun. Standing.

His desk is pushed neatly back. His bag remains untouched, pen still in hand, pressed between his fingers like a blade. His eyes are calm.

Too calm.

“Move,” he says, voice quiet.

Yeongbin turns.

“What?”

“I said,” Sieun repeats, stepping forward with slow, clinical precision, “move.”

Yeongbin scoffs. “Stay out of it, freak. This doesn’t concern you.”

“It does now.”

There’s no hesitation.

Sieun moves like a switchblade, fast, sharp, untelegraphed.

He grips Yeongbin’s outstretched arm, twists it at an unnatural angle, and slams his pen straight into the pressure point between the elbow and bicep. Yeongbin yells, stumbling back, clutching his arm.

Sieun doesn’t stop.

Another step. Another strike, this one to the solar plexus. Yeongbin doubles over with a choke.

Sieun leans in close, voice still eerily calm.

“You’re slow,” he says. “Too predictable. Relying on weight and anger instead of technique. And your right foot? Always leads.”

Then, crack, he sweeps his leg and Yeongbin crashes to the floor, coughing.

Sieun straightens.

Not even breathing hard.

You’re still on the floor, staring.

Someone whispers, “Holy shit.”

Yeongbin groans, curling in on himself.

And Sieun?

Si-eun turns to you.

Expression unreadable.

“You okay?” he asks, like the room isn’t holding its collective breath. Like he didn’t just disable someone with a pen and zero emotion.

You blink.

And for the first time all day, maybe all week, you speak without thinking.

“Why now?”

His brows furrow slightly.

You press your palm to your ribs, wincing. “Why now? After this long. After, everything.”

He doesn’t answer.

Just steps forward.

Offers his hand.

You stare at it.

Your heartbeat stutters.

And then, slowly, you take it.

His grip is steady. Warm.

He pulls you to your feet like it costs him nothing.

And for a second, in the middle of a stunned, silent classroom, standing next to the boy who didn’t stop you that night, but did stop this, you finally breathe again.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Today’s been… a day.

No, that doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Today’s been the kind of day that presses down on your shoulders and drags your feet through concrete. The kind that starts with a punch to the face and ends with a fistful of paperwork and a lecture that lasts longer than your will to live.

The kind of day where you get called into the teacher’s office for “fighting,” and somehow, somehow, Yeongbin’s the one yelling, but you’re the one holding an ice pack.

“Sit,” your teacher had said, flatly, already exhausted before any of you opened your mouths.

You sat. Sieun, too. Perfect posture. Not a hair out of place. Like he didn’t just go full Jason Bourne with a pen less than an hour ago.

Yeongbin slouched in the seat beside you, cradling his bicep like he’d been shot.

Technically, he was stabbed.

Just… with ballpoint.

“Explain what happened,” the teacher sighed, pinching his nose like this headache was personal.

Yeongbin went off immediately.

“She started it!” he snapped, already gesturing with his good arm. “She shoved me, attacked me! For no reason! I was just talking to some brat, and she lost her mind, went full psycho and started throwing punches like she was born in a fucking jail cell!”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. “You were bullying someone.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

Your teacher glanced at you, wary.

Yeongbin leaned forward, still clutching his arm. “You think just because she does well on some tests, she’s some model student? She’s a time bomb, sir. Walks around like she owns the place. Thinks she can get away with anything just ‘cause she’s pretty and knows how to land a punch.”

Your eyebrows arched slowly. “Aw. Did I bruise your ego?”

“You stabbed me!”

“I didn’t stab you, genius. He did.”

You tilted your head toward Sieun, who remained stone still in the next chair, expression blank, posture perfect, pen balanced between two fingers like he hadn’t just used it to wreck someone’s nervous system.

Yeongbin’s eye twitched.

But then,

He caught it.

The look.

It was barely perceptible.

But you weren’t the one who noticed it.

Sieun was staring at him. No, through him. Eyes narrow. Focused. A quiet, methodical kind of fury, cold and clinical.

That same pen, the pen, was now clutched loosely between his fingers. Not threateningly. Just... visible.

Visible enough that Yeongbin’s voice faltered mid-sentence.

You didn’t catch it. You were too busy glaring at the teacher’s desk.

But Yeongbin saw it.

Saw the way Si-eun’s gaze didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Didn’t have to.

And whatever Yeongbin was about to say died right there in his throat.

He shut up.

The meeting ended with a mild warning, a long-winded lecture, and a stack of paperwork you only half listened to. The teacher let you off easy, “Since this isn’t like you,” he’d said. “You’re usually a good student.”

Yeongbin stormed out grumbling about “favoritism” and “pretty privilege.”

You didn’t even dignify it with a response.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The last bell rings like a gunshot through your skull.

You’re halfway through packing your bag when your phone buzzes, and without thinking, you hit Answer.

“Yo.”

“Hey,” Suho’s voice floods through the speaker, warm and familiar. “You sound dead.”

“That’s because I am,” you mutter, jamming your books into your backpack. “Guess what happened.”

“Did you punch someone again?”

“Again?”

“Just guessing based on your tone.”

You sigh and drop into your seat. “Yeongbin picked a fight. I responded. Sieun intervened. With a pen.”

There’s a pause.

“Wait...what?”

“He stabbed him, Suho.”

“Like, actually? Is there blood?”

You glance down at the faint bruise on your forearm. “There’s trauma.”

“Shit,” he says, voice rising. “What’d that prick do to you?”

“It’s fine. I held my own.”

“As you should.” He huffs. “Still. Should’ve been me. I would’ve kicked his ass in two punches. Three, if I wanted to be polite.”

You grin despite yourself. “Thanks for teaching me how to fight, by the way.”

“You’re welcome. I take payment in ramen or affection.”

“I’ll pencil you in for both.”

There’s a beat. Then: “You okay?”

You pause.

You glance across the room, where Sieun’s still seated at his desk, like the day hasn’t even touched him. He’s packing his bag with slow, deliberate movements, same as always.

You swallow. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

You nod, then realize he can’t see that. “Yeah.”

“All right. Call me if he breathes near you again. Or if you need ramen. Or if you need someone to throw hands on your behalf.”

“You just want a reason to hit Yeongbin.”

“Yeah, and?”

You laugh softly. “Talk later.”

“Later.”

You hang up.

And before you can chicken out, you grab your bag, straighten your shoulders, and walk up to Sieun.

“…Hey.”

He looks up.

His expression doesn’t shift.

But he nods once. “Mmh.”

“You heading home?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool,” you say, shifting awkwardly. “Mind if I walk with you?”

He pauses. Then, to your quiet relief...

“Okay.”

You both step outside.

And that’s when it starts to rain.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It starts slow, just a few drops. Enough to speckle the pavement and darken the edges of your sleeves. You glance up.

“Great,” you mutter. “Of course.”

Sieun doesn’t say anything, just adjusts the strap of his backpack and starts walking.

You follow.

The rain thickens by the second, turning from a drizzle to a steady curtain of water, soaking the back of your neck and making your socks squelch inside your shoes. You didn’t bring an umbrella. Neither did he.

“I should’ve expected this,” you say, trying to fill the silence. “Bad weather follows bad days, right?”

Sieun hums, noncommittal.

You glance at him.

His uniform’s already sticking to his frame, plastered to his arms and back. His hair’s wet. Water drips off his jawline in slow, deliberate trails.

And yet, he walks like he doesn’t notice. Like the weather’s a minor inconvenience compared to the storm he already lives in.

You kick a loose pebble. It splashes pathetically.

“…So,” you say, “have you killed anyone with a pen before, or was I your first?”

He doesn’t respond right away.

Then: “Second.”

You blink.

He looks at you.

You squint. “You’re joking, right?”

He blinks once. “You decide.”

You bark out a laugh, too sharp, too sudden, but it feels good.

“God,” you mutter, wiping water off your cheek. “I can’t believe that actually happened.”

Sieun stays quiet.

The silence stretches again.

You glance at him.

“…You didn’t have to step in.”

“I know.”

You frown. “Then why did you?”

He hesitates. A breath too long.

“Because you were losing,” he says simply.

You flinch.

Ouch.

“Wow. Okay. Brutal honesty, got it.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

You scoff. “No, it’s fine. I was losing. Just didn’t realize you were keeping score.”

He exhales, barely audible. “That’s not what I meant.”

You stop walking.

He does too.

The rain doesn’t.

“…Did the kiss change anything?”

Your voice is quiet.

Barely above the sound of the rain.

He looks at you.

Really looks at you.

His hair is dripping. His eyes are unreadable. His mouth parts slightly, like he wants to speak, but doesn’t.

Finally...

“Yes,” he says.

You freeze.

Then, just as quietly: “How?”

His gaze drops.

He takes a breath.

And says, “I don’t know yet.”

You exhale like you’ve been holding it for hours.

“Great,” you mutter. “That’s so reassuring. Really.”

“I’m not trying to confuse you.”

“You’re not trying anything at all.”

You regret it the second it comes out.

He doesn’t respond.

Not right away.

Instead, he turns back toward the road and starts walking again.

You don’t follow at first.

But then, quietly, you jog to catch up.

You fall into step beside him again, wiping your face with the sleeve of your soaked blazer.

“I make everything worse,” you mumble.

“No,” he says, without looking at you. “You don’t.”

The rain falls harder.

But it’s quieter between you now.

Softer.

You glance sideways. “Do you regret it?”

“The kiss?”

You nod.

“No,” he says.

Then, almost too quiet to hear: “But I don’t know what to do with it yet.”

You swallow.

Your hands curl in your sleeves.

“Okay,” you say.

And the rest of the walk is silent.

But it’s the kind of silence you don’t have to run from.

Not yet.

Not tonight.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It’s been a week since the rain.

Seven days since you walked home with him in silence, water trailing down your spine, his voice echoing in your head like the softest kind of hurt.

“I don’t know what to do with it yet.”

Since then, nothing’s changed.

Not really.

He still looks at you the same way across the classroom. Still keeps to himself. Still answers when you speak, still watches when you fight, still keeps that invisible line drawn tight between you like crossing it might ruin something that never even got the chance to start.

But you’ve changed.

Or maybe, you’ve just run out of places to hide it.

There’s only so many times you can catch yourself staring. Only so many times you can hope someone says something back. Only so many moments you can keep wishing, quietly, pathetically, for something that might never come.

It’s exhausting, loving someone like that.

Someone so precise. So unreadable.

So cold on the surface, but soft in the moments he doesn’t realize you’re watching.

And you’re tired.

You’re so tired.

You find him after school.

You wait for him to pack up, let him put his pens in the zippered pouch he always keeps lined up like weapons, wait for him to tug his backpack on and slide his chair in like nothing matters.

Then you move.

Your hand catches the edge of his desk before he can step past it.

He stops.

Looks up at you.

Expression unreadable.

“Come with me,” you say.

He blinks.

But follows.

You don’t take him far.

Just the rooftop, the one place at school no one bothers to check, because the lock’s rusted open and the staircase is grimy and students are lazy.

You push the door open and walk out first.

Let the cold spring air hit your lungs. Let the wind pull at your sleeves and blow your hair into your face.

He steps out behind you. Shuts the door with a soft click.

And then it’s just you and him.

No one else.

Not the other students. Not Suho. Not Yeongbin. Not the teachers. Not your friends or his ghosts or anyone who could interrupt the quiet weight between you.

Just the concrete rooftop and the sky and the truth you’re ready to spit out whether it shatters or not.

You turn to him.

He’s standing there like he always does, shoulders squared, eyes flat, jaw tight. Braced for a fight that hasn’t started yet.

He doesn’t ask why you brought him up here.

He doesn’t have to.

You take a breath.

You’ve been rehearsing this for days.

But now that it’s here, it feels heavier than it ever did in your head.

“I like you.”

The words cut clean.

Sharp.

He blinks.

But doesn’t say anything.

“I don’t know how, or why,” you go on, louder this time, hands trembling at your sides, “and I sure as hell didn’t plan to. But I do. I like you.”

The silence crackles between you like something alive.

You laugh.

It’s bitter.

“I’ve been waiting,” you say. “This whole time. For something. Anything. For you to say something that told me I wasn’t insane. That I wasn’t just seeing things that weren’t there.”

His mouth parts, barely.

But no sound comes out.

You swallow.

Hard.

“I’m not trying to pressure you. This isn’t about that. I’m just, done.”

His eyes lift to meet yours.

You feel it like a bruise.

“I’m tired of guessing how you feel. Tired of making excuses for your silence. Tired of pretending I don’t care when you act like nothing happened. Like I didn’t kiss you. Like we didn’t...feel something.”

You pause, breathing shaky.

“I just wanted you to know. Before I let go.”

Silence.

You close your eyes.

And whisper, softer this time:

“I’m letting go.”

You move to turn around.

But,

“Don’t.”

Your feet freeze.

You turn slowly.

His voice is quieter than anything you’ve ever heard him say.

Almost like it hurts.

“…Don’t let go yet.”

Your heart stops.

He’s still staring at you.

But there’s something different in his gaze now.

Something raw.

Unmasked.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he says, the words awkward on his tongue like he’s still testing how they sound. “I didn’t plan to feel anything either. I didn’t mean to.”

You don’t speak.

You don’t even breathe.

“But I did.”

Your breath catches.

He shifts his weight, like this is physically difficult. Like the confession is stuck in his chest, fighting to get out.

“You matter to me,” he says finally.

And somehow, those four words hit harder than any poetic declaration ever could.

You blink, hard.

He looks away for a second. Then back.

“I didn’t want to say something and not mean it right. I didn’t want to promise anything I couldn’t give.”

“You don’t have to promise anything,” you say quietly. “I just wanted to know if it was real.”

“It is.”

It’s so quiet, you almost miss it.

Your fingers twitch at your sides.

“Then why didn’t you say anything before?”

He looks at you, really looks.

“…Because if I lost you, I didn’t want it to be because I said the wrong thing.”

Your throat burns.

“I was already halfway gone.”

“I know.”

And still, he takes a step forward.

Then another.

And another.

Until he’s standing in front of you, too close, too warm, too him.

He reaches out.

Not to hold your hand.

But just to brush your sleeve with the back of his knuckles. So light it almost doesn’t touch.

“But I want you to stay.”

You inhale sharply.

His eyes don’t move from yours.

“You said you’re letting go,” he murmurs.

“…Yeah.”

“Don’t.”

You almost laugh.

Instead, your lip trembles.

“You’re really bad at this.”

“I know.”

And then...

He leans forward.

Just slightly.

His forehead brushes yours.

Not a kiss.

Not yet.

Just that quiet, electric closeness.

That unbearable tension.

“I can’t say everything you want me to say,” he whispers. “Not yet. But I feel it. All of it.”

Your hands curl into the fabric of his uniform.

You nod.

That’s enough.

For now.

a/n: this was less fluffier than i anticipated.

[pushinpieta]

“Bruises between us” — Geum Seongje x Fem!reader angst

warnings: swearing, violence, seongje falling for rage bait, bleeding, slightly suggestive, heavy making out

wc: 5.3k

a/n: grrr I’m back from a long hiatus. did u miss me?

Were you friends? Enemies? More? There wasn’t a label for what you were to Seongje and what he was to you but whatever it was— it kept you near each other. At first you felt repelled by him and the smell of cigarettes lingering around him when he was near but as time passed and more bruises blossomed on your knuckles and face, you came the find a familiarity that wasn’t necessarily pleasant nor unpleasant. Once, it used to be foreign being in the presence of the teeth bearing wolf— Geum Seongje— but at some point, in the midst of all the punches and kicks and profanity, you came to find a normality in your sort of “companionship” with him.

Still, he wasn’t you friend. He wasn’t your enemy either. No, not that.

Not when he subtly keeps you away from the union. He never uses his words. You weren’t stupid, you could see it in the way he moved— even the slight shift in his eyes; you noticed it all.

“We done here, princess?” Seongje grunts, standing upwards casually with his tongue poking out the side of his cheek as he throws the cigarette bud that was once between his lips onto the ground next to where one of the guys from Ilsan Technical High lied, stiff and bruised up from getting his ass handed to him by Seongje.

“I really dislike when you call me that.” You retorted walking past him out of the tunnel. His nickname for you wasn’t anything of affection— it was rather condescending but you somehow always let him get away with it because it was one of the few things between the two of you that had a name. A sort of inside joke. Something you felt like you owned and something that you felt was his way of acknowledging you as someone…something to him.

“Works done. These fuckers are weaker than I thought. They were acting like some bigshots when they called me over here.” He chuckled, walking behind you.

“If they called you over here, then why’m I here?’ You really joked. Seongje always called you up when he was near your area, not because you were friends, not because you had some sort of business together, but because he found it fun seeing you fight. He said so himself one time when you asked him why he kept you around when he couldn’t stand someone looking him in the eyes for more than three seconds. His answer was simple, teasing. Its real fun seeing you kick around, it’s rowdy and terrible, but that shit hurts so bad Its fun He said to you its like a arcade game and you’re the character, a little fuckin’ princess.

Why princess? He never answered.

“Why? You didn’t want to come? Ouch, girl, that hurt harder than your kicks. How could you do say that to me?” He joked, poking his lips out, pouting in mock sadness as he balled his fists to his face like a dog. You scoffed, somewhat irritated that he wasn’t actually hurt.

“Fuck outta here, Geum.” You picked up your pace towards the bowling alley that Seongje spent most of his time in. He rarely invited you in, for reasons obvious; he didn’t want the union boys to cross paths with the princess, you.

“Like a stab in the heart, princess. Hurt me again. Say something mean with that face” He teased, placing a hand on his chest as if he got stabbed and this time you snorted, feeling totally ridiculed. Your words were never taken seriously by the tall boy towering over you. His half-rimmed glasses showing your irritated reflection. A genuine, gummy smile spread across his face at the scowl you gave him. He was a total sadist. There was nothing he loved more than pissing you off until you hit him. Maybe he was a masochist, too? Either way, he drove you mad and excited and confused and…and some other thing you couldn't— wouldn’t name.

“Oh, I really gotta get away from this plague-bearing dickwad.” You groaned dramatically, shoving him in the shoulder and he faked a gasp rolling his eyes back with a laugh threatening to choke him.

“I bid farewell to you, princess,” He bowed, elegantly, looking ridiculous “I shall partake in a rendezvous with Lord Baekjin.”

“How courteous of you. Not very timely, now, are you? Look at the time, idiot, you’re an hour late.” You laughed this time, showing him the time on your phone. His expression was the same; unserious and mocking, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“He wont execute me, I believe,” He shrugged nonchalantly, now walking ahead of you “I am his middleman, afterall.”

You laughed, throwing your head back “Pfft, I know you’re kinda an idiot, but I didn’t know you’d say something so out of character.”

“Out of character?” His smile doesn’t falter, brows raised in curiosity as he questioned you.

“I mean, look at you…Baekjin’s middleman? You’re delusional. You’re nothing but a fighting psycho he only uses for violence. Once he’s done with you, you’re just another rando from the union that just knows how to fight.” You blabbered on, not noticing the shift in the air “You’re just a total nutjob he uses as a shield. That bastard knows how to manipulate. Lucky him for finding an asshole like you who’s willing to do anything for him. You’re like a toy. Jackpot!” You pop your ‘p’.

The wide grin on Seongje’s face falls flat. You wouldn’t lie, this was something you were not familiar with; a serious Seongje. A Seongje without a smile tugging his lips, a Seongje that wasn’t aloof. He shifts his stance, shoving his hands in his pockets. Seongje, looks down to the ground and cusses under his breath and then snickers.

“That’s a rich coming from someone like you, don’t you think, y/n?” He breathed out. Your name bitter and unpleasant on his tongue as he glares at you through his lashes. This wasn’t the Seongje you were bickering with seconds prior, this was the teeth-bearing wolf that made the thugs scurry away.

You gulped, guilt tickling your skin. You hadn’t realized how far you had gone with your words. Degrading and dehumanizing the man before you.

Suddenly, you weren’t so familiar with one another and the tension pooled in like water filling up a cramped tank. Suddenly, there wasn’t that silent kinship that you both had held onto. You were just another one of the people he passed by.

His stare bored down to the very molecule of your being, pinning you onto the ground.

“Say it again, y/n, call me a toy, go on.” He bared his teeth, stepping closer “Say it.”

“Seongje, I-” He took another step, crossing into the boundary you had built around yourself.

“What? Can’t say it now?” His head turned to the side, scoffing, he ruffled his hair. That domineering, condescending look in his eyes felt humiliating. Guilt choked at your throat.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.” You defended, taking a step back, your back hitting the cement wall of the brick alley way that turned into the underpass that lead to the bowling alley “I was only joking–”

“I know I’m an asshole who does nothing but fight, but I thought we were on the same side, y’know? Cause you fight too…with me. On my side. Guess not. Guess you’re just another bitch.” He seethes. Another bitch this time, it stung you. You frowned, shrinking smaller under his gaze by the second.

“Watch your mouth, Geum Seongje.” You warned. A lump lodged in your throat from anger. You hated yourself for saying too much when you were insulting him and for becoming wordless when it came to speaking up for yourself. Why did your voice not work? Why had it been so harsh?

“A princess doesn’t talk so harshly, did you know?” He said before turning his back to you, leaving you in the darkness of the alleyway. You watched as his footsteps receded into silence, his broad shoulders, his height, his brown hair; all of it swallowed far, far away from you into the darkness where you had once met him. And for a second you realize that the alleyway wasn’t so dark when he was here— and maybe that he was the light that brought life to this dark, dead-end that you lived in.

You could have reached out. You could have ran after him. But with a fleeting being like Seongje he was everywhere and nowhere at once, there was no use in trying to ground him. It would be like chasing your own reflection— you’d never be able to catch him…keep him in your grasp and own him. He didn’t belong to anyone or anything. You had misunderstood him completely and as a result you offended him and turned him into just another passing moment in your life. All within a split second with just a few words.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It had been a week since you last saw Seongje in the dark alleyway. You were where he left you. In that alleyway, walking home from school when you stopped in your tracks upon seeing a clique of high school boys in green uniforms huddled up. Smoke curled in the air from their cigarettes and the sound of a ball bouncing echoed. You pressed yourself against a wall, shielding you from being spotted, as you peered and looked closer you realized they were the boys from Ilsan Technical High that you and Seongje had beaten up last week and a couple other unknown faces.

“That son of a bitch needs to learn his lesson.” One growled.

“What he really needs is to fucking die.” Another joined in the same fuming tone.

“Let’s just kill that bastard.” The first suggests “Please, sunbae, help us.”

“Sounds fun to me, whatcha think, Gobum?” One with long hair asked another with slit eyebrows and round eyes.

“I’m down. I always wanted to put a fist up that prick’s mouth. That punk Geum Seongje is gonna be real fun to play with” He agreed.

You put a hand over your mouth to muffle the gasp that left your lips when Seongje was brought up. He was going to get jumped. You had to warn him.

No. You couldn’t face him. Not after what you said to him. You couldn’t forget the piercing glare in his eyes, the sort of hurt— betrayal in his voice.

“Call him up. This Thursday. After school. Make it seem like its just gonna be you and then we’ll join and fuck his pretty face up.” Long-hair said to Gobum.

“Just texted him. That bastard didn’t give it a second. Look—” Gobum turned the phone to the other boys “He replied with a ‘Okay’ and a laughing emoji. That stuck-up asshole.”

“We’ll see who’s gonna laugh after he gets his shit rocked.”

Your head spun. You had to find a way to warn Seongje. It wasn’t that he weak or incapable of dealing with these guys, it was just something in you irked. A bad premonition. It was eating you from the inside like parasites in your veins. Seongje was all alone. No matter how strong, he was still just one.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Thursday came by fast like the snap of fingers. Still not in contact with Seongje, you grew anxious. You knew of the time and place where he was to meetup with slit-brows and his minions. There was only one way to get Seongje away from this. It was for you to step in between, cause a distraction, be an obstacle in their path. You could do it. You were fully capable. Seongje was too, but you felt like you owed him this. Which is funny because he probably would prefer to fight because of the ecstatic rush he felt, but for your own selfish unknown reasons, you had to do this. You had to keep Seongje away from the malicious intentions of these guys.

With a hood over your head, you walked into the bowling alley where Seongje was skipping school. You could see him standing in the corner, watching the crowd of people cheer for their friends. Ignoring the ache in your heart, you approached him, hood still covering your face almost entirely as you fake bumped into him, stealing his phone effortlessly from his pocket. You didn’t turn back, rushing off even though he muttered a cuss your way. Luckily for you, he didn’t notice the absence of his phone, too engrossed in the game. A part of you wished he would recognize you, and talk to you, be engrossed in you. You shake the thought of it away, opening up his phone. You thank the sky for your memory, you typed in his password you sneaked a glance of a long time away and it unlocked his phone. You type a text message to slit eyebrows.

Seongje: Meet me at the under pass. The alleyway is too crowded after school. LOL.

Gobum: OK

The guy replied almost immediately, allowing you to delete the texts from his phone so he had no way of knowing of this. You swiftly place the phone in the lost and found bin, rushing out of the bowling alley towards the underpass.

The bell for home time rang and there he was Gobum, slit brows all by himself. You look around, looking for the other three but there were no signs of them. Not letting your guard down, you lower your hood, revealing your face, your hair undone, falling over your face in wisps.

Gobum sneers, meeting yours eyes in furry irritation, “Tsk, what did he pussy-out and send his girl? Where’s Geum Seongje, little birdie”

“Not here, as you can see, fucker.” You spoke through gritted teeth, picking up your pace fast enough to aim for a kick to his head. Your left foot smashed into his shaved head, crushing the side of his face. It probably looked hilarious in slow motion and a sadistic smile creeped up on your face.

That’s rich coming from someone like you Seongje’s words echoed through your mind and he was right. You weren’t so different from him. There was an addictive rush and ecstasy that shuddered through you during a fight. You were no different from a teeth-bearing wolf. Perhaps you were worse because of your bitter words and dishonest facade. Just a pretty girl in the eyes of others. Little birdie.

Gobum yelled, in pain and shock from the sudden kick to the side of his face. It made him stagger backwards, a red bruise blooming on the side of his face so fast and so rapidly it was almost animated. He growled, stomping towards you to throw a punch but you blocked it and he went again and again. Block after block, duck after duck, kick and punch, swivel up and down— it was a mess of movements. You barely had the time to process his movements. He was fast and his punches were impactful. He got a few hits but so did you. You had the upper hand, you were analytical and had dirty tricks up your sleeves. You tripped him, you distracted him, you ran and he chased.

This wouldn’t last long. Your muscles were growing limp and exhausted from over exertion. Your legs wobbled after another attempted kick which Gobum dodged and he punched you straight in the jaw, giving you a purple bruise. You winced in pain. Tears pricked your eyes from the pain but he punched your stomach ruthlessly. Punch after punch. You smashed your knees onto his nose, with a crackle that made you flinch. Blood flowed from his nose into his white button up. He hissed.

“Not bad.” He wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand, charging towards you at full speed. pushing you against a wall “but can you handle this, little bitch?”

“I can handle anything.” You choked, as he held you against a wall. Dread pooled in your chest when you heard footsteps coming from behind him. The three other boys from the other day appeared. You recognized them immediately from the smell of smoke and the sound of a ball bouncing off the ground.

“That’s not Geum Seongje. That’s a girl.” The long-haired guy said to the other boys.

“It’s his bitch, she was there and beat us too.” One of the familiar guy spoke, sounding embarrassed.

“Damn. She’s kinda hot. I wanna play with her too.” He responded “Grab her, boys.”

In an instant you were cornered by four men. One on each side of you. You were helpless and you had to find a way out. Before any of them could touch you, you ducked, kicking Gobum right in the crotch earning a loud agonized scream. The others watched eyes wide, stepping back. Taking advantage of that moment of hesitation, you punch the guy on your right then grab him by the collar to push him onto his friend on the left. With full source, you head butt into the long haired jerk that dared lay a hand on you. Groans and grunts of pain bounced off the walls of the underpass, adrenaline pumping through your lungs. Heaving, you coughed out a bit of blood onto your sleeve with a light gasp of surprise. It enraged you but you had to give the final blow to their faces.

“Let me give you a warning, boys,” You spoke bitterly “Don’t fucking touch Geum Seongje.”

“Oh? He got a possessive little bitch. Ain’t that fun?” Gobum, strikes again, you dodge.

“I’ll kill you all.” It wasn’t a threat anymore, it was a promise.

“Scary—“ You punched long-hair straight in the mouth, definitely knocking teeth out. He cried, falling in his bum. Eyes full of horror.

“You two. Come at me.” You say, turning your attention to the two you had once beaten up before. Clearly, they wanted it again. You motioned for them to come forward so confident in yourself, you didn’t feel like yourself. You were somewhere else, high off the adrenaline.

For a split moment, Seongje’s face appeared in front of you. His gummy smile was so threatening and enthralling— you felt as if you were lassoed to him. You hated the truth; you wanted him to belong to you in one way. Even as a friend. Even as an enemy. Right now he wasn’t either, he was a stranger. There was no softness between the two of you but somehow the thought of him had softened you— for the slightest moment, you blinked a little more and panted a little harder too.

When the two cowards stepped closer you didn’t analyze or think. You just punched and kicked. Not one miss, they sucked. Within seconds, four men laid on the ground under you, gazing up in surrender and fear. Slowly, you leer over them, meeting each of their eyes with a domineering gaze that made each of them flinch and turn away in embarrassment.

“Did you take my warning?” You raised a brow, fixing your messy hair and hoodie.

“Can’t hear you. Should I put some more sense into you?” You say about to kick Gobum in the face but he puts his hands up to his face with a desperate sob. So pathetic.

“Y-yes ma’am.” They said in unison.

Triumphant or rather relieved you walk out of the underpass with more than a few bruises.

Your everything hurt and you collapsed the second you entered the alleyway.

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Exactly three days and three nights had passed. Due to the pain still prominent all over your body and especially your jaw, you skipped school. You were back at the alley, not certain as to why you were there. Perhaps you were looking for Seongje. You’d never admit that to yourself. A soft sigh escaped your lips, seeing the empty path, you stood staring at the dark clouds rolling up in the sky. The smell of rain and earth whirled in the air.

An all too familiar figure appeared from the far end of the alley, standing tall and casual. Seongje. He was looking directly into your eyes, unbothered, unwavering. A small smile of relief accidentally made its way to your face and you wanted so badly to slap yourself but that would only give Seongje more points.

“Long time no see.” His voice echoed, deep, reverberating through your bones. You missed it so much and you just realized.

“Y-yeah,” A stutter escaped your lips.

He chuckled, still standing, far enough to not see the bruises on your face “We haven't seen each other for two weeks and you get all shy. Didn’t expect that after all those words.”

Seongje approached slowly, calmly. Walking towards you, finally he was closer and his eyes immediately shot to your jaw and your collarbones and everywhere. Like a hungry wolf watching its prey, he took his time observing you. There was no change of expression in his eyes. His lips in a thin line, there was a flicker of something you couldn’t read.

He took a step closer.

You took a step back.

Another step closer.

Another step back.

Seongje stops, a superficial smile making its way onto his lips. Gently, he brings his hands to your jaw, barely ghosting his fingers over the bruise. The act catches you off guard, your eyes widen in surprise at how gentle he was, his warm finger trailing over your bruises. Shyly, you wince away from his ghost-like touch that was so fiery all at once. His eyes not leaving yours even for a second. Above all the bruises, and pain, your eyes showed the most hurt and he caught it so fast you wanted to run and hide.

“Who?” He asked softly, barely a whisper, his voice blowing away with the wind.

“Don’t worry about it. It was just some rascals I ran into the other day. I won. As always.” You tried to joke but the waver in your voice was so loud.

“Who.” He demanded. He didn’t need to. It was gonna slip out of your mouth anyway. His warm fingers still on your face, now cupping your cheeks. This time, you couldn’t move away, the warmth held you still. It grounded you.

“Gobum.” You replied, avoiding his eyes. He placed a finger under your chin, lifting your face up to meet his eyes.

“He must’ve been tough.” He said.

“What?”

“I mean he must’ve been a tough fighter to be able to bruise someone as strong as you.” the unexpected compliment made you gape.

“He did have three of his minions with him…” You scratched your head. Feeling pride blooming in your chest.

“Shameless motherfucker.” He hissed, eyes livid now “Ganging up on one person let alone a girl.”

“Seongje?” You said. He was speaking to himself rather than to you.

“Knew you’d win.” He said before walking off. You called out to him.

Once.

Twice.

By the third call he was out of the alley.

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A day passed. Three days passed. You haven't heard from Seongje. It wasn’t unusual anymore. It was just discomforting. The guilt still resided deeply in your conscience. The longing even worse. You loathed every second of it.

It was a Saturday, with nothing better to do, you sat inside the bowling alley, leaning against a wall. Howls and cheers filled the thick air. The smell of food and sweat mixed together. Beside you a group of guys sat, on their phones, puffing vape into the air.

“Did you see? Geum Seongje fucked up the thugs from Ilsan Tech. Fuckin’ embarrassing for them.” Your ears perked up and you leaned closer.

“That Gubom son of a bitch deserves it. Good shit, man” Another chided in.

“I heard he crippled em’ all up just a few minutes ago. Look, my friend from Ilsan sent me a video.” The one said, turning his phone to his friend.

At that you got up and interrupted their gossip to watch the video. They turned to you in surprise, but they couldn’t do much since you only butted in to see the video for yourself. You could see Seongje in his maroon uniform, kicking Gumbom just like you had on his shoulder over and over. Cussing him off with all sorts of terrible degrading words. The yelps of pain came out loudly through the phone speakers and you just watched. Eyes glued to the screen. The teeth-bearing wolf had his glasses off. He was serious. Then it zooms into another clip where Seongje breaks the Long-haired guys fingers, one by one. You could almost feel the pain. The boys watching the video all made sounds, as if they too, were feeling the pain.

You turned away, unable to watch anymore. Sprinting out of the bowling alley, you turned up at the Union’s hideout Seongje had once briefly shown you. He admitted to spending a lot of his time napping there. And you knew, just from the lingering smell of cigarette sticking to the brick walls outside, Geum Seongje was inside. And inside you went.

To your surprise, the door was unlocked as you slid it open. The place stunk of old ramen and men’s cologne and smoke. You coughed, swatting the air in front of you in pure disgust. On the black leather couch sat Seongje with his head thrown back blowing out smoke onto the ceiling. A cigarette in his hands, almost halfway done. He gave you a full view of his neck and Adam's apple, you couldn’t keep your eyes off. You ran your tongue along your bottom lips, wetting it. Seongje had his uniform off, now just in a black t-shirt that revealed his arms that had cuts and bruises. Did they have a knife fight too?

He looked at you when he heard your voice, an amused expression on his face. Seongje patted the spot on the couch next to him for you to sit like it was the most normal thing on earth, for you to just be walking into a hideout like this. You complied anyway, sitting next to him, your weight dipping to the leather. The atmosphere became warm and sticky— not in a displeasing way but in a familiar way. Like it was something you were used to; being by Seongje’s side.

Your hands immediately darted towards him. Reaching out to cup both his cheeks, squeezing him like a baby. Your eyes softened, heart tender and broken. It was rare to see him this bruised up.

And all because of you. Tears pricked in your field of vision and you just let it fall.

“Why’d you do this?” You sniffled, turning his face one side to another to spot every injury. You reach for the medicine box that was conveniently hidden under the table in front of the sofa. Grabbing a cotton swab, you dab some medicine over the cuts on the side of his face. He hissed in response but he let you anyway.

The both of you stay in silence, only your occasional sniffles could be heard like little adlibs in the silence.

“I didn’t do it for you. I just wanted to finish what that asshole started.” He finally answered but he didn’t meet your eyes and a foreign warmth crept into his tone as he continued speaking “I don’t get why you did what you did, though. Did you feel sorry for me?”

“I— I just, I just couldn’t be a bystander…” He scoffed at the response.

“Y/n, don’t do that shit again. I’m not trying to see you hurt because of a fight that I started.” He mumbled, your fingers brushing his bottom lip as you circled your fingers around a bruise with an ointment.

“I’m sorry about what I said before, Seongje.” You started again, you wanted to get your words out before they choke you “I didn’t mean to call you a toy. Didn’t mean to turn you into such a worthless dick. I hope you know that’s now how I see you.”

“I know.” He smiled, so slightly it wouldn’t be possible to notice unless you were close to him.

“Do you ?” You ask, lifting his jaw up to meet your eyes. Just like he did the other day. The ball was in your court now.

“Of course I know, look at the situation we’re in, y/n. None of this would have happened if we weren’t both so fucked in the head” At that you both chuckled, he flinched a little at the pain.

The laughter felt like something you didn’t realize you lost until you got it back. The normality of laughing with him, being by his side, and not needing a label for what you were— all of it felt like an answer to your questions that you blocked off for so long.

The silent and unacknowledged wait for him was over because he was always there where he belonged; right next to you.

Seongje’s face was centimeters away from yours. This was the closest he’s ever been to you, his warmth and scent radiating onto you. The air no longer tense or awkward— just back to what it was, a comfortable familiarity. A routine. His eyes bored into yours for as if he were contemplating. Your eyes shot down to his mouth, glossy from him licking and biting it.

The sound of the air conditioner blowing suddenly got blocked out with your dizzying thoughts as his breath fanned your face. Your hands were still on his face. Seongje was impulsive and without a plan in everything he did. Just like now, when he grabbed your jaw and kissed your lips. Your world went so still, so silent, and so warm you could hear your own heartbeat.

Seongje placed his hands on the back of your neck, pulling you closer as he pressed another short kiss on your lips to test the waters, to see how you reacted. You closed your eyes instinctively, allowing him to kiss you once more. For a short moment you open your eyes to see him already staring at you and then your lips as if to ask if you wanted this or not.

“Kiss me.” You breathed out feverishly.

His lips found its way home into yours, rougher and greedier this time. There was a desperation in the way he kissed you, your lips smacking onto each other making wet sounds. His slid along the bottom of your lips, slithering into your bottom teeth, then tangling into your tongue. He groans into your mouth, hot and wet, swirling his own tongue with yours. He was in full control now. His hands on the back of your head and the other holding your waist. You hand your hands wrapped around his neck now, pulling him closer to your chest.

Seongje sucks on your tongue and then your teeth and lips and everywhere. Both of you are dizzy and frantic, wanting more by the second. He groans and you moan. Making out, eating each other alive. You grab a handful of his hair with your hands tugging him as you tongue each other. Spit swirling lewdly inside your mouths. Drool pools the side of your mouth and Seongje licks it off without a second of hesitation. Nasty and thirsty. Slurping up all your saliva.

You’re out of breath about to pass out, you push him off for a second to breathe. A string of spit connect the two of you and you stare into his eyes for a prolonged moment, admiring the mole, his lashes, and those dark eye rises that you had grown to yearn for.

You finally realized then, that there didn’t need to be an answer to your question with words when Seongje had always shown that you were something to him the whole time with his actions.

“Didn’t know the princess kissed so well.” He teased pushing your back down onto the couch to resume kissing you.

reposts appreciated >w<

[strawb3rry-hon3y]

Not Today

Pairing: Yeon Si-eun x Fem!Reader Requested: Yes / N/A

Summary: After a fight sparked by Yeon Si-eun's emotional distance, the reader storms off and ends up lost in a dangerous neighborhood only to be cornered by threatening strangers.

Length: 800 Words Genre: Angst, Hurt-Comfort, Fluff.

Warnings: Light injury, verbal argument, sketchy situation, mention of harassment, emotional vulnerability. Status: Complete!

It had been a long week. Exams were closing in, and I could feel the tension boiling beneath my skin like it was waiting to spill. Normally, I could keep it together. Normally, I could adjust to his moods, his quiet days, the way he shut everyone out. Si-eun wasn't like other boys. He didn’t sugarcoat things, didn’t waste words on meaningless apologies or gestures. And I liked that about him. I did. But sometimes, just sometimes, it made me feel like I was alone in this.

It started small. A skipped lunch together, A message left on read. A short reply when I tried to ask how his study group went: “Fine.” That would’ve been okay if it wasn’t already the third time this week. By Friday, I’d had enough. I was tired of feeling like I was orbiting his world without ever landing.

We were sitting under the usual tree behind the library, books open but neither of us really reading. The tension was thick, and I couldn’t take it anymore.

“You know,” I said, not looking at him. “I’m not asking for much. Just… a little more effort.”

He didn’t respond. Just turned a page like I hadn’t spoken. “Si-eun.” He looked up, finally. “What?”

That tone: flat, distant, like I was annoying him. It stung more than I wanted to admit.

“Do you even care about this? About me?” I asked, folding my arms. He frowned, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “Of course I care. Why are you asking that?”

“Because you don’t act like it!” I snapped. “You barely talk to me unless I start the conversation. You don’t check in, you don’t ask how I’m doing, you don’t even notice when I’m upset—”

“I notice,” he cut in, voice low. “I just don’t always know what to say.”

“Well, maybe you could try saying something. Anything. It’s like talking to a wall sometimes.” He blinked at me. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue. Then he just closed his book and stood up.

“Maybe you should find someone who talks more.” I stared at him, blinking in surprise. “Are you serious right now?”

He didn’t answer. He just turned and walked away. I sat there, stunned, heart hammering in my chest. I hadn’t expected him to just leave. A part of me wanted to go after him: scream at him, tell him he was being ridiculous, but my pride wouldn’t let me.

So I walked. Not home, not to a friend’s place. I just walked. Through the neighborhood, ignoring the ache in my feet and the lump in my throat. It was dark by the time I realized I’d wandered somewhere unfamiliar. The houses were more run-down here, the streetlights flickering or dead. I turned around to retrace my steps and froze.

Three guys were leaning against a wall nearby, their eyes on me like they’d been waiting.

“Hey there,” one of them called, stepping forward. “You look upset. Want some company?” I backed away, heart pounding. “I’m fine.”

“You sure? You look like you could use some cheering up,” another said, grinning. They moved in closer. One of them reached for my bag. “C’mon, don’t be like that. Let us help.”

“Don’t touch me!” I yanked the bag back, stumbling. They laughed, but it didn’t feel funny. It felt dangerous. Then a voice cut through the air like a blade. “She said don’t touch her.”

I turned just in time to see Si-eun step out, his face dark with anger. He didn’t hesitate. One swift movement, and he had the guy who grabbed me shoved back against the wall.

“Walk away,” he said coldly. The guys cursed under their breath, but they backed off, muttering as they disappeared into the alley.

I was shaking, adrenaline making my knees weak. Si-eun looked at me, his expression softening instantly. “Are you okay?” I sighed, looking away like from him “I— yeah. I think so. Don’t think i'm going to forgive you just for showing up like prince charming…”

“I shouldn’t have left like that,” he said quietly. “I was angry. At myself, not you. I just… I don’t always know how to deal with things.” I bit my lip, trying not to cry. “I thought you didn’t care.”

He stepped closer, gently grabbing my hand with a sad look. “I care. Too much, maybe. I just don’t always know how to show it.” And for once, I believed him.

Taglist: N/A Header Creator’s: @saradika-graphics

[08luvmailz]

★ ﾟ๑ I'D DO ANTHING JUST FOR ME TO SEE YOU AGAIN ୧ ⊹ ࣪

ᡴꪫ which yeon sieun sees you visiting him ୧ ⊹ ࣪ first part ／ party on you ୧ ⊹ ࣪ second part ／console me, and then i'll leave without a trace ──⠀ angst to fluff , set on ep7 of s2 , depictions of self harm , bullying , graphic scenes ⸝⸝ ◜◡◝ i got sick ... so i couldn't finish writing yesterday. please do make some requests <3

reader will be called dokja ／ because in reader in korean is dokja

For an entire year, she had tried everything to make herself feel whole again.

For someone, so bright — her smile had become rare, something she stored away in a locked box, fearing it would shatter if she opened it.

The fluorescent lights in the hallway buzzed above her, and the cold linoleum floor echoed each step as if the empty school itself whispered her name. Every corner held eyes that whispered behind tilted heads; every passing shoulder carried a story she used to be part of. She walked through that river of eyes like a stone sinking silently, carrying the weight of whispers in her chest.

She remembered how it felt at first, when the quiet ache had swelled like a balloon inside her ribs. She had tried to stretch it with excuses – busying herself with homework until her hands cramped, munching down snacks until her stomach ached, even jogging until her legs turned to jelly – anything to squeeze out a little satisfaction.

But nothing made the emptiness truly leave. It was like trying to fill a black hole with water; every drop vanished before it could make a ripple. In class, she doodled nothing except the back of her mind on the margins of her notebook: a heart that wouldn’t fill, a mouth that wouldn’t smile.

During lunch, while others crowded around tables trading jokes and laughter, she found a quiet corner.

The cafeteria lights and clatter of trays felt distant, as if she watched it happen in someone else’s dream. She chewed slowly on her rice, its dull flavor on her tongue.

She wondered if they were wondering why she ate so slowly, or thought she must eat quickly to stay strong. In her head, she counted the seconds between bites, hoping to feel any sensation more than the gnawing void inside.

She would glance on the table near her, It was the table they used to sat on. But she quickly disregard the gnawing pain of memories her brain kept locked in.

She heard the rumors.

Kids at her locker thinking she couldn’t hear, imagining her knuckles bruised from something they didn’t understand, lips curling into cruel stories.

She was the shadow stretching long across the hallway’s bright walls – not quite human, not quite monster. Some were scared to approach, afraid she might lash out with hands that had, one time, raised to defend something small and precious.

Each morning felt like climbing a hill she could never reach the top of. Even the sun casting light through her kitchen window failed to warm her insides. Her reflection in the mirror as she put on her uniform was a girl with tired eyes, the kind that quiet mornings and too many secrets give you.

She wondered if the corners of her mouth had forgotten how to go up. On some mornings, she pinched her palm with her nails just to feel a flash of anything real, a proof that she was still there and not just an echo.

She often thought about who she used to be, or who she wanted to be.

Sometimes, in rare moments alone in the afternoon, she would hum a tune she once loved, and for a breath she’d almost believe everything would be okay again.

But when the bell rang and the hurried footsteps as the hallway became empty, reality clung to her again like a cold coat. She straightened her spine, squared her shoulders, tried to make herself small and unnoticeable so she could disappear into the background.

It was easier this way – so people wouldn't come closer anymore.

As the year dragged on, she built a quiet routine of coping.

Some days, after the final bell, she would find a hidden corner of the library and bury her face in a book, leaning into the paper and print so she could hold a whisper of someone else’s story.

Other days, she walked home along side streets, feet crunching on gravel, head down so that the roofs of houses blurred her vision and no one would say her name.

At night, before sleep stole her away, she sometimes imagined a dinner table where just once someone passed her plate without a warning glance. Those dreams faded by dawn, leaving only the morning ache.

She watched the other students as if from behind glass. They passed her in the halls—heads held high, friends jabbering shoulder-to-shoulder. They worried about tests, cram schools, summer vacation or going out.

Sometimes at night, late when everything was dark and the house was empty, she touched the scars she kept hidden on her wrist. They were faint lines, as if she had cut herself just enough to feel. Enough to remember that I’m here.

The ache in her stomach and heart became the same longing, and she ached to feel anything but hollow. Yet morning would come, as it always did, and she would tuck those memories back inside her ribcage and wear her uniform once more.

She was careful now.

Careful to walk in the center of the corridors so no one had reason to crowd her. Careful to keep her voice low if a teacher asked her a question.

She preferred to blend into the pattern of her desk in class or the gray cement wall outside the school, so that anyone might forget she was there at all. She told herself that being invisible was the least she could offer the world.

Sometimes when she passed a reflection in a store window, she stared at the girl who looked back with hungry eyes and wondered if that was her, really, or just another stranger pulling a cart alongside the frozen aisles of life. She envied how warm and bright her classmates appeared in her imagination, as if they wore their warmth and hunger on their tongues without any effort.

She started learning how to ride Suho’s motorcycle a month after everything happened. Not because she had a reason. Just because sitting still made her feel like she’d disappear.

It wasn’t easy. Her hands weren’t made for handlebars or throttle grips, and the engine always roared too loud for her quiet head. But she kept practicing. Around the block, then across the neighborhood, then down the same roads Suho used to ride when he was still—

She doesn’t finish the sentence. She just keeps riding.

Sometimes she visits his grandmother first, carrying grocery bags that dig red marks into her palms. They don’t talk much—just share the silence like old friends do. She helps clean, picks up the mail, waters the plants that Suho forgot to before everything fell apart. And then, like ritual, she visits the hospital.

She doesn’t bring flowers anymore. That stopped after the fifth week. Now it’s just her, a quiet chair, and Suho’s breathing. She talks sometimes, about nothing. About school. About how the vending machine’s been out of her favorite drink for a week straight. About the bike.

She took the job to keep her mind busy. A delivery service. Something that paid just enough and asked for nothing back. Using Suho's helmet that's too big on her because she couldn't used the pink helmet he brought for her, a schedule, and a willingness to keep going even when you’re tired.

She took the job because she wanted to make up for what she didn’t do—what she should’ve done back then. Maybe if she earned enough, it could at least cover Suho’s expenses for a few months. So when he woke up, he wouldn’t have to think about wasting time trying to make money again. He could just rest, catch up with everything he missed.

That was the idea. That was a brilliant plan.

Oh, how wrong she was.

It was hard to juggle everything—school during the day, taekwondo classes after, then deliveries until late. Her body ached more often now. Sleep became something borrowed, not earned. And sometimes, when she stared too long at her schedule, she wondered how Suho managed to do it all.

Then she let out a bitter chuckle.

Right. He didn’t study much.

He tried—she remembered that. Showing up to class with tired eyes, scribbling half-hearted notes, pretending to care when the teacher called on him. But studying was never the plan for him. He wasn’t built for libraries or lecture halls. He was planning to survive. To make a living. To take care of the people he loved, even if that meant running himself to the ground.

Now here she was, retracing his steps. As if mimicking his life could somehow bring him back. As if it could undo what happened.

But the truth was, she wasn’t doing this because it was right.

She was doing it because she didn’t know how else to grieve.

She was doing it to remember that she still lived for him—the only one.

It wasn’t like she suddenly believed in responsibility or wanted to prove something to her parents—they didn’t care either way. They nagged her about it at first, asking why she had to deliver food like some desperate kid. She told them she was trying to live like an adult now.

That was a lie.

What she really meant was: I need to do something that hurts a little. Something that makes me feel like I’m still here.

She picked up the helmet, looked at the old bike, and thought, If I could ride it well enough, maybe it would feel like Suho was still beside me.

At times, when she was in the saddle delivering food, her route veered past Sieun’s old neighborhood before she could stop herself. The engine’s hum would carry her right to the curb beneath that familiar streetlamp where they once sheltered from rain.

She’d cut the engine and sit in silence, remembering how he held the umbrella too high—as if standing close was its own kind of risk. She’d force a small, aching smile, tell herself it was only a shortcut on the map.

Other days, she’d pull up behind a low brick wall, park the bike with a screech, and leap off, ready to startle him. But in her memory, his voice would reach her first: “Too loud,” he’d said, never bothering to turn around.

So she’d shake off the pain, clip her helmet on again, and push forward—deliveries waiting, regret left to catch up on its own.

Most of all, she rode just like Suho used to—late into the evening, weaving between streetlights and memories. Each package she carried was fuel for her guilt, her promise to cover weeks of missed chores and unspoken goodbyes.

She was learning to ride the weight of her grief as surely as she learned to handle the throttle: both made her body ache, but at least it meant she was still moving.

She remembered, when she smiled at the mirror for the first time in a long while.

It wasn’t a triumphant smile—more like a small, crooked thing, half-formed and unsure, but there nonetheless. The bathroom was filled with the sharp scent of drugstore dye, gloves stained with streaks of artificial chestnut. She worked in silence, dragging the brush through her hair, clumsily but with care, as if repainting herself would somehow peel away the weight she carried on her shoulders.

When she finished drying it, the strands fanned out like paper—too soft, too light, the color warmer than she imagined. Under the cheap lighting, it almost looked orange. She stared at her reflection, blinked once, and let out a short, surprised laugh.

She looked like she was wearing a wig. Like a stranger trying on someone else’s softness.

She remembered when the three would glance at her when she questioned them if she would look good in a light brown haired color. The two nodded and Beomseok complimented her with a thought, then Suho—that bitch.

Said, "If you ever dyed your hair. You would look like wearing a wig"

She chuckled to herself that a kick was met on his face after he made a comment.

And yet... something about it made her pause. Not in shame. Not in regret. But in that fleeting, suspended moment where grief and girlhood blur.

It didn’t fix anything. But it made her feel like maybe she could try again.

Even if it was just hair.

Even if it was just for a second.

Then, it started.

The bullying.

The girls started again, their voices high and biting, a chorus of yapping dogs circling, teeth bared but too afraid to bite. Each word they threw at her was a stone, meant to make her crack. But the cracks were inside. The outside? The outside was numb, cold—so cold it almost felt like she wasn't even there. Not until the bathroom, cornered between the walls, did she feel the heat of her own anger rising.

Not at them.

No, not at them.

At herself.

She hated how she'd let it get to this point. How had she become this quiet thing—this thing that let them talk, let them push? If it were the old her, she'd have torn them apart by now. Fists flying, voice roaring. She would’ve been the storm they couldn't handle. She would’ve shown them what it meant to not be afraid.

A year ago, she would have struck first—fists flying before thought. She would have tasted the shock in their eyes as blood bloomed on her knuckles. But that girl was gone. Now she stood still, back pressed to cool porcelain, heart hammering a fierce rhythm against her ribs.

But not now.

Now, silence was all she could afford them. Giving them her attention, her energy—it felt like losing, like handing them the power to keep dragging her back into their pit. So, she waited. Let them bark, let them jeer.

She was waiting for the one to make a move. She could feel it coming. The sharpness of her breath, the way her lip trembled under the weight of what she wanted to do.

The fluorescent light hummed overhead, and the walls felt too close, as if they meant to press her in. She looked at them—low laughs, the scrape of heels on tile. Shadows swept across the stalls, narrowing in on her.

They surrounded her: girls with cigarettes dangling from their lips, eyes bright with cruelty. Their words stung—whispers of psycho, freak, worse. Each insult landed in her chest like a stone.

Her lips were dry, chapped beneath the heavy lipstick, so bright it almost hurt to see. She imagined, for a moment, what it would look like—if that lipstick were smeared with blood. Her blood or theirs, it didn’t matter. The thought of wiping it off with their mocking laughter, of seeing them eat their own arrogance, was a sickening sort of satisfaction.

The laughter, the cigarette smoke curling around their words—it all burned her. She didn’t need to move, didn’t need to react. But the fantasy? The fantasy was enough. They'd never know the rage coiled inside her like a snake, waiting for the right moment to strike.

But that moment never came. And she realized, standing there, that maybe it never would. She was a prisoner of her own calm.

She paused, breath steadying, and Suho’s voice cut through the noise in her head. “If they corner you, don’t let them control the space. Use anything around you. Make them intimidate you.” Not her teacher’s drills—Suho’s words, like a lifeline.

She straightened her spine. Every inch of her stood tall: shoulders back, chin up, eyes locked on the ring leader. The others fell silent, startled by the sudden shift in the air. She moved forward, step by deliberate step, until she was toe-to-toe with the girl who’d cornered her.

Her voice was low, rough from disuse—but clear.

" You done spouting bullshit? "

The hallway seemed to hold its breath. The girl’s smirk faltered as a tremor of hesitation rippled through the circle. And for the first time that day, She felt something bloom behind her ribs—not fear, but a fierce, electric calm. The world had tilted back into place. She owned this moment. And they knew it.

The girl scoffed, a bitter sound curling from her lips like smoke. Her voice trembled, mechanical and unsure, stuttering as if caught between fury and fear. “What did you say?” she asked, trying to hold the edges of control, to wear confidence like armor—though it barely clung to her.

“You just keep talking,” she spat. “Saying things you don’t even understand. You’ve got the ego of a man compensating for something small—so small. Always acting like you're above everyone, but you’re nothing more than a coward in a mask.”

Her anger was wildfire now, unchecked and consuming. She moved fast—too fast—reaching out to strike, to make the moment hers again. But the other girl was faster. Calm. Cold. She caught her wrist mid-air, twisted it hard.

There was a snap—sharp, sickening.

A breath caught in the girl’s throat.

She screamed in pain then came the kick, swift and brutal, sending her stumbling backward, wounded pride trailing behind her like a torn ribbon. She hurled in pain clutching her hand as she lay on the ground.

And then—silence.

She had the space she needed. A clear path to run, to disappear, to let this be over.

But she didn’t move.

Not yet, she isn't done.

They circled her like wolves, four against one, grinning with the kind of confidence that came in packs. Cheap perfume, chewing gum, and bad intentions hung thick in the air.

The first came charging, wild and loud. She sidestepped, smooth as water, and swept a leg out low. The girl hit the ground with a thud, her pride landing harder than her body. As another was baffled but lunged—fists swinging, rage without form. She caught her wrist mid-swing, twisted, and sent an elbow into her ribs. The sound that followed was breathless, raw.

The third tried to out-think her. She went low, hands reaching for ankles, but didn’t see the spin. A heel cracked across her jaw with the grace of violence learned in silence. She folded, crumpled, still.

The last girl hesitated.

She could’ve run. Could’ve walked away with just a bruise to her ego.

“Don’t,” she warned, softly. Like mercy.

But pride struck first, than being humble.

She attacked—and in seconds, she was face-down, her wrist bent behind her back, the ground cold and unforgiving. Her face met with the cold disgusting floor where many student stepped in.

She exhaled.

She looked at them with no compassion, she knelt and plucked a crumpled cigarette pack from one of their jackets. Held it up between two fingers like something dead.

“Pick them up,” she said.

No one answered, nor moved.

She exhaled with a look of annoyance.

She stood over them, still as a statue, the echo of violence humming in her bones. Around her, the bathroom was silent save for their ragged breathing—tile cold beneath scraped palms, smoke clinging to the walls like ghosts.

“PICKED THEM UP!” she shouted, voice cracking through the air like a whip.

It boomed off the tiled walls, reverberating through the stillness. The room swallowed the sound, but it stayed there, vibrating in the bones of those crouched on the floor.

They moved slowly, heads bowed like scolded children, fingers fumbling for the torn paper and crushed filters. One by one, they gathered the pieces.

She didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

"Eat it." she commanded at them, as the other stare at her in fear. Others obeyed too quickly afraid to have more blooming bruises on their faces.

But the one who had confronted her—the first to strike, the first to fall—didn’t look away.

She sat against the tiled wall, cradling her broken wrist with the other hand, eyes burning with fury. It wasn’t fear in her face—it was defiance. Pride refusing to kneel, even in defeat.

Blood at the corner of her lip. Breathing sharp. Hate alive in her throat.

She walked toward her—not rushed, not cruel, just deliberate. Controlled. Her knees bent with a soft thud against the tile as she knelt before the girl. A single cigarette still burned on the floor, its ember a fading eye. She picked it up between her fingers, unflinching as the heat kissed her skin.

“Still holding onto that pride?” she asked, almost gently.

She caught her face in one hand, fingers gripping her cheeks, steady and strong. Thumb pried her mouth open.

“No more talking.” She murmured at her, and smiled at her. Sickingly.

The cigarette went in.

Smoke. Ash. Pained gasped. Burning tongue. Silence.

She watched her chew it—eyes wet, teeth grinding through heat and paper and humiliation. The taste of defiance turned to ash on her tongue.

She held her gaze the whole time at her. Chewing at her own pride.

Then she let go.

Her fingers slipped from the girl's face like a dying breeze. And then, without fury—only finality—she slapped her. A clean, echoing sound that cracked through the heavy stillness like a gunshot in a chapel. No rage in it. Just closure. She rose to her feet, slow and composed, the chaos behind her shrinking as if it had never touched her.

At the door, she paused.

The air in the bathroom was thick—smoke curling like ghosts above the flickering light, blood and ash staining silence. The girls were curled inward, pain folding their bodies like paper. Eyes wide, throats dry. Beaten, but still watching.

She turned to face them one last time.

“Tell a teacher,” she said, voice low but thunderous, coiled with quiet venom. “And it won’t just be my fists or my feet kneeling to your faces.” Her eyes swept over them—each one trembling, pride shattered and stinging beneath the skin.

“I’ll make sure you can’t even look in the mirror without choking on what you see.”

A breath.

“I will kill you.”

No screams. No theatrics. Just that promise—quiet and unshakeable.

Then she stepped through the doorway and disappeared. The door slammed behind her with the force of a verdict. The lock clicked shut, sealing the room like a tomb.

She walked slowly, each step measured, as though the weight of her own actions had yet to fully settle. Her heartbeat still echoed in her chest, a steady drum beneath the skin. The rush, that surge of power, still coursed through her veins like fire, bright and consuming.

But she remained composed.

Her breath, though quick, was steady, like the calm after a storm. The chaos of the bathroom—those faces crumpled in pain, the smell of smoke and defeat—was already fading into the periphery of her mind.

Her fingers, still tingling from the force of the slap, brushed against the cold metal of the doorframe as she passed. Her body knew what it had done, but her mind? Her mind was already someplace else, already turning over the pieces like a puzzle that had just been solved.

She didn't regret it. Not in that moment.

She didn’t need to look back.

She just have to keep moving forward.

Its been a year.

After endless of orders, knocking on doors, she fell asleep face-down on a half-finished worksheet, the highlighter uncapped and bleeding neon yellow into the page.

When she slept, she was impossible to wake—like the world could end outside her window and she’d sleep through the fire. It had become her escape, her only silence. But not tonight.

Her phone rang loud and sharp, slicing through the quiet like panic often does. She stirred, groggy and annoyed, until her eyes caught the caller ID: Hospital.

She blinked.

Hospital

Her heart didn’t stop—it collapsed.

She answered without thinking, her voice breathless, the fear already creeping up her spine. “Hello?”

The voice on the other end was formal, wrapped in professional indifference. “Hello. Is this Dokja-ssi’s phone?”

Her breath hitched. Something about the tone felt wrong. Off. Too careful. “Yes—yes, this is her. I’m Dokja. Why? What’s going on?” she asked, already standing, legs shaky, the panic flooding her veins.

“There’s been a complication,” the voice replied, each word like a crack in her chest. "Patient Anh Suho, is in a critical condition, Unfortunately, Sieun-ssi responded but he didn't came. Are you able to come?" The nurse voice replied.

For a second, time slowed. Then it shattered.

She didn’t respond. The call had ended. Or maybe she had ended it. She couldn’t remember. Her limbs moved on instinct. She didn’t change clothes. She didn’t think. She just ran.

She ran like she did the night everything fell apart.

She ran like apologies could catch up to prayers.

She ran like her heart would stop before she made it.

She ran even if her tears wouldn't stop streaming until her eyes became blurry at the sight.

She called and called Suho’s grandmother, but the line rang endlessly. The silence on the other end pressed against her ears like grief.

When she burst through the hospital entrance, breathless and wild-eyed, she was met with chaos—blurred voices, sharp lights, the dull smell of antiseptic, and somewhere behind it all, fear.

A nurse met her halfway, calm hands reaching to steady her. "Dokja-ssi? "she asked gently, guiding her to a seat. She nodded, unable to speak.

Then everything came too fast— loud shouts, jarring footsteps.

Too real.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. She just stood there, rooted to the floor as the world blurred into chaos.

Through the small square of glass, her eyes locked onto the scene like it might disappear if she looked away. Suho’s body, too still on the stretcher, wires snaking across his chest. The defibrillator pads were already in place. The sound of machines echoed even through the door, shrill and unrelenting.

She saw the moment his heart flatlined.

The jagged spike of the monitor became a flat line.

"He's in cardiac arrest!"

Doctors shouted orders she couldn’t understand, but her body translated their panic anyway. Hands moved fast, efficient and desperate, as if time could be bribed to give them more.

His chest lifted—once, twice—under compressions, and she could barely hear the nurse behind her asking her to sit down.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

All she could do was stare at the blinking lights, watching as they flickered like dying stars in a collapsing sky. He had always burned so bright. And now—Now he was fighting to stay lit.

Tears clung to her lashes, but she didn’t cry. Not yet. Not when he was still in there. Not when he might still wake up.

She placed a hand against the glass.

“Suho,” she whispered like it was a promise. Like her voice could reach him where machines couldn’t.

She didn’t know how long she stood there. Could’ve been minutes. Could’ve been forever. Time twisted itself into knots.

All she knew was that she had never felt so helpless.

Inside, the doctor called for another round. The paddles pressed to his chest.

Clear.

His body jolted.

She flinched.

Her knees gave out before she even realized she was falling. The cold linoleum kissed her skin, and her fingers clawed at the base of the emergency room door—desperate, aching, as if she could tear through it and pull him back with her own bare hands.

“Suho,” she choked out, once, then again—until his name was no longer a name, but a prayer dragged through broken sobs.

Her body folded in on itself. Shoulders shaking, forehead pressed against the wood like it could listen. Like maybe if she stayed close enough, he’d hear her crying and come back just to scold her for it.

She wailed quietly at first, then louder, all the grief she had buried beneath discipline and duty unspooling in the rawest of ways. She gripped the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth, nails digging in until her knuckles turned white.

Her voice cracked, mouth trembling as she whispered, “Please… please don’t go.”

No one answered.

Only the muffled chaos of the emergency room beyond the door. The soft buzz of machines still fighting to keep him here. The frantic shuffle of shoes and fabric and sterile urgency.

She quickly kneeled, blood in her throat and prayers in her lungs. Asking the universe, begging God, “If you're here, save him.”

Not long after, the noise settled. The beeping of machines, the shouting of doctors, the chaos in the emergency room all blurred into a dull hum as Suho’s heart slowly found its rhythm again.

She sat there, knees still trembling beneath her, as a nurse gently approached her. She had no words to offer, no comfort to give, but the way she placed a steady hand on her shoulder said enough. It was an anchor in a sea of uncertainty.

“Suho’s stable now,” the nurse said softly, but her voice was still kind, despite the exhaustion that clung to her like a second skin. “He’s in critical care, but the immediate danger has passed.”

“His vitals are steady. We’ll monitor him, of course.” The nurse’s tone was reassuring, but she couldn’t shake the cold dread that clung to her, the fear that, at any moment, everything could tip back into the unknown.

The doctor stepped in next, his presence steady but brisk, offering the facts as they were. “His heart stopped for a few moments, but we were able to stabilize him,” he said, glancing at the monitor and then at her. “We’ll continue monitoring him closely for the next few hours. He’s strong. He’ll pull through. But it’s too early to say much more.”

She nodded, the weight of his words settling into her bones. But her mind couldn’t quite rest on the relief; it was tangled in the knots of everything she had felt before this moment, the panic, the helplessness, the feeling of losing him before she even had the chance to understand what he truly meant to her.

She managed to speak, though her voice felt foreign. “Can I see him?”

The nurse and doctor exchanged glances. The doctor nodded. “Just for a moment. He’s sedated, but we’ll allow a brief visit.”

As they led her to Suho’s room, She felt her legs heavy, like she was walking through water. When she reached the threshold of his room, she stopped, standing there in the doorway for a moment, watching him. The sight of him—his face pale but familiar, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the monitors—was almost too much to bear.

But she stepped inside. Slowly. Quietly. As if afraid that if she moved too fast, she would wake from this nightmare too soon.

There, in the quiet hum of the hospital room, she sat by his bed, her hand carefully brushing through his hair.

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t need to.

All she could do was stay. And wait.

"You scared the shit out of me, you bastard." Her voice cracked, soft but heavy with the weight of everything she had felt in the past few hours.

A bitter chuckle escaped her lips, her fingers trembling as they lingered on his hand, still warm, still steady. The tears she had held back now fell freely, pooling on the edges of her lashes before they slipped down her cheeks.

"I thought... I thought I was going to lose you," she whispered, the words raw and honest, the fear she hadn’t known how to voice finally spilling from her. "I didn't know what I'd do without you."

"You always make me worry, don’t you?" she said, her voice quieter now, almost a fond reproach, as if she was talking to herself more than to him.

The sterile room felt colder now, quieter, but her presence by his side warmed the space. She could almost pretend that things were normal, that this moment was just one of those fleeting, quiet moments they used to have—when everything felt right, when there was nothing but them, no chaos, no questions. Just the quiet hum of being together.

"If you scared me like that again, i will kill you." she murmured, her hand brushing over the cool fabric of his hospital gown. "Please, wake up."

But silence was the loud answer.

Soon, she would hear his voice.

Again.

Soon she left the room, as the doctor checked his vitals.

She stepped away from the cold, sterile walls of the waiting room, seeking solace in a quiet corner where she could break without being seen. Her breath caught in her throat as her body trembled, each sob a sharp, painful release of everything she had held back.

She pressed her hand against her mouth, trying to muffle the sound, but it was useless. The grief, the fear, the desperate prayer to some higher power—she couldn’t contain it any longer.

"Please," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Please, don’t take him too."

She was lost in her own panic, until her gaze lifted, and through blurred eyes, she saw them.

Three figures in the distance, standing near the entrance of the waiting area.

Their presence felt like a strange disruption, their calm demeanor a stark contrast to the storm inside her. She quickly wiped her tears away, forcing herself to steady her breathing, her chest still tight, aching from the earlier rush of emotion.

She couldn’t show them the cracks. Not now. Not here.

Her eyes darted to the sound of heels clicking against the floor, the sound sharp and confident as it drew closer. Without even looking, she knew.

She recognized the familiar cadence, the polished, poised steps of someone who had a presence that filled the room. And when she heard the words, soft yet piercing, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing over.

“Sieun,” his mother’s voice echoed, a quiet, clipped tone that made her blood run cold.

Her heart stopped for a moment, suspended in time. She didn’t move. She didn’t dare.

She had to stay still. To breathe. To keep herself from trembling at the sight of his mother, at the thought of Sieun.

As the woman turned, disappearing into the hallway, the rest of them—those familiar figures from long ago—remained.

She heard those words again, echoing in her chest like a cracked bell, "Don't worry. He's stable now."

But “stable” felt hollow—an empty promise carved from glass. It pressed against her ribs until she could hardly breathe. Stable meant he had already teetered on the edge.

Stable meant the world had nearly slipped him away once, and could do so again.

In that moment, the corridor’s light blurred into silver dust, and every step she took felt haunted by the question: What had broken him, and could she piece him back together?

Her legs moved before her mind could catch up, standing up as the need to know, to understand, burned through her chest. She walked toward them, each step hesitant but determined, her feet carrying her forward as if they knew the path she needed to take.

When she reached them, her voice was steady, but the question she asked felt like it came from someone else, someone too broken to stop herself.

“What happened to Sieun?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, though she hoped it didn’t sound as fragile as it felt.

Her eyes caught theirs, scanning each face, searching for a truth that had eluded her. And for a split second, in that fleeting moment, she realized how deeply she had missed them, how much she had needed to see them. But all she could focus on was Sieun. Where was he? Was he okay?

They met her gaze, each face shifting with something—pity? Worry? It was hard to tell, but she needed to know. She had to know.

The first met her gaze for an instant—his head shaved close, eyes hard—before he looked away. The second hunched forward, hood drawn tight, fingers drumming an anxious rhythm against his knee. The third leaned back, arms crossed, but his glance flickered to her like a startled bird.

“Who are you?” the one wearing a blazer asked, voice cautious.

Her throat constricted. “I—” She forced the words out. “I’m just asking if he’s okay.”

“Why do you care?” the first boy challenged, sharp eyes narrowing.

“I was his friend,” she whispered, voice thin as spun glass. “Please… just tell me.” They exchanged hesitant looks, the silence stretching between them like a wound.

“We weren’t there,” the boy with folded arms finally said, each word weighed by uncertainty. “Someone brought him in. He… hasn’t woken up yet.” She bowed her head, letting the news settle like snow in her chest.

The boy with a fur jacket on as his voice softened, almost a murmur: “You close to him, then?” She blinked at him, She didn’t know how to answer him. Are you close to him? — the question wasn’t cruel, just curious. Simple. But it rattled something. She would've said we are, once. It would’ve been easy. Natural.

But they weren’t.

Not anymore.

So the silence stretched for a second too long, and she could feel it waiting — the question, the boys, even the fluorescent lights buzzing above. “I was,” she said. Quiet. Honest. Maybe too honest. She didn’t know what else to say. Nothing she could say would explain it anyway.

The words hung in the air behind her as she walked, not really expecting them to understand.

The three boys watched her go, but none of them tried to stop her. It wasn’t like they could.

As she neared the hallway where Sieun’s mother had disappeared, the heels clicking sharply on the tile floor were unmistakable. The woman, tall and dressed in black, walked with a certain kind of authority, but there was something fragile about the way she moved — like even the weight of her own footsteps might be too much for her.

She didn't hesitate. Her legs carried her forward, and before she could second-guess herself, she was standing at the door where his mother had entered.

By the time she reached the door — the same one his mother had disappeared through — her hand was already on the frame, fingers trembling.

She leaned in.

The glass was small, but clear enough to steal her breath.

There he was.

Sieun. Still. Pale. Wires crawling across his skin like questions with no answers. Machines blinking quietly beside him, a soundless rhythm of worry. Her stomach turned. Something inside her dropped.

Her breathe hitched.

Him too?

And she didn't even know.

Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes before she could blink them back, stinging sharp and sudden. Not just because of the sight. But because it felt like some invisible thread had snapped — and she hadn't even realized it was still there until now.

It hit her like a quiet betrayal.

She used to pride herself on noticing things—on knowing when people were hurting even if they didn’t say it out loud. But this?

She hadn’t known a damn thing.

She didn't know what happened.

There was no warning. No signs. Just a body behind glass. A boy who once walked beside her now laid out like a question without an answer.

Her chest ached. Not sharp, just hollow.

She wondered if he tried to reach out. If he hesitated before deleting her number. If he thought about her at all.

Would it have changed anything?

Would she have come running sooner, if she knew?

She didn’t even know what floor he was on until she heard his name from someone else's mouth. And now here she was, heart pressed against glass, breathing in grief like it was her fault she didn’t notice him slipping.

She didn’t notice the door open. Not until a voice sliced through the haze, sharp and clean like a blade pressed too close to skin. “What is it?” The woman’s tone was brisk—businesslike, wrapped in steel—but not cruel. Not yet.

And for a moment, she couldn’t answer. Couldn’t speak. She stood there, breath caught halfway, spine tense like she’d been caught somewhere she shouldn’t be.

What was she supposed to say? That she was standing outside the room of a boy she hadn’t seen in months, one who used to walk beside her like a shadow, now lying still behind glass like a stranger? That she didn’t know why she was here, only that her feet wouldn’t let her go anywhere else?

But none of that would sound right. None of that would explain the tears she hadn’t wiped away, the guilt tightening her chest, the ache of realizing she was too late.

“…What happened to Sieun?” She asked the question again, but it felt heavier this time. More desperate.

The woman paused.

Sieun’s mother glanced at her, with a mask of recognition.

“You...” Sieun’s mother said softly, her voice filled with the weight of years of distance. “You’re the girl who visited us... a year ago?”

She nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

“I was,” she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.

The woman paused, studying her carefully. There was something in her gaze—concern, perhaps, or understanding—something that made her feel exposed in a way she hadn’t expected.

Sieun’s mother’s eyes softened for just a moment, her expression unreadable, but there was a kindness in the way she spoke next.

But at her first question, her jaw tensed — a small, silent betrayal of everything she refused to let slip. There was a flicker in her eyes, something restrained and quiet, like a dam holding back too much water. She gave a slow shake of her head — not dismissive, not angry — just tired. The kind of tired that lived in the bones, not the muscles. The kind that grief makes permanent.

For a moment, the hallway felt too still. The soft mechanical murmurs behind the walls seemed distant, unimportant. Time hung suspended in fluorescent light and stale air.

Then, finally, Sieun’s mother exhaled — low, controlled, as if she could force herself to stay composed with nothing but breath.

“He’s in a bad state,” she said, and the words landed with the weight of something half-buried. “Unconscious when they brought him in. He got hit by a bus, thankfully it wasn't that critical. But the doctors are trying. They’re doing what they can.”

The ache hit without warning — a sharp, invisible thing that cracked down her spine like lightning. She didn’t know when she started shaking. Only that it hurt to stand still, and it hurt more to listen.

She wanted to ask more. A thousand questions pressed behind her teeth, begging for air. But none of them mattered. Not right now.

“Do you... want to see him?” Sieun’s mother asked, her voice softer now, like she understood what it meant to be left behind by someone still breathing.

“Yes.” Her voice came out too fast, too fragile. “Please. I— I need to.” The older woman gave a quiet nod and turned, her steps slow and heavy. And the girl followed, unsure if her knees were steady enough to carry her through the weight of the moment.

Behind every step was a memory. Behind every breath was something she wished she’d said.

But ahead… ahead was the hope of seeing him again — and maybe, just maybe, a chance to fix what time and silence had fractured.

“Are... are you a friend of Sieun’s?” Sieun’s mother asked, her voice faltering slightly. “I always believed something must have happened... between the two of you.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut, a sharp reminder of the distance she had put between them, a distance that had been as much her doing as anyone else’s.

“I used to be his friend,” she replied, her voice faltering, unsure of what else to say. Sieun’s mother’s eyes softened for just a moment, her expression unreadable, but there was a kindness in the way she spoke next.

She steps slowly toward Sieun's room, her heart racing in her chest, and each step feels heavier than the last. The guilt still lingers, but she pushes it aside, forcing herself to focus on the present. She can’t afford to think about the past anymore. Not now.

The reality of what’s happening hits her—she’s finally facing Sieun after all this time, after everything that’s happened. She doesn’t know what she’s going to say, or if she’ll even be able to say anything at all.

But she knows one thing for certain: she has to be there for him, even if it’s just in silence.

The sterile smell of the hospital room fills her senses. The sound of beeping machines and the soft rustle of sheets are the only noises that break the stillness of the room. She looks at him, lying unconscious in the hospital bed. His face is peaceful, but his body is marked with signs of his struggle.

It’s hard to look at him—he looks so fragile, so far from the boy she used to know. She’s reminded of all the things left unsaid, of the friendship that was lost, and the connection that never truly faded, even when she thought it had.

His mother gave a small nod, saying nothing, only shifting slightly to offer the empty seat beside her.

She sat down, the chair cold beneath her, the air colder still.

Silence erupted in the room—not hollow, but thick. The kind that fills your lungs until it’s hard to breathe. Machines hummed gently, steady and indifferent. But everything else felt still, like the world had paused just outside these walls.

She didn’t look at him right away. She couldn’t. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers laced tightly together, as if they were the only thing keeping her grounded.

She heard sieun's mother sighed softly, a mix of relief and lingering worry in her voice. “The doctor says it wasn’t critical, but his nervous system was affected. He’s been having trouble...” Her voice falters a bit.

“...trouble sleeping.” Her voice barely above a whisper, heart racing at the realization. As she finished Sieun's mother sentence. Her eyes widen in surprise, as if a flash of recognition crosses her mind. “Did Sieun tell you this?”

She shakes her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips, though it’s drowned in the ache of regret. “No, I haven’t talked to him... not since he switched schools.” She glanced at her lap, fiddling at the edge of her t-shirt, afraid to look at her.

A pause, her gaze softening, yet heavy with understanding. Her voice becomes quiet but firm, almost as if she’s been waiting to say this. “The moment I saw you standing at our door... I knew you had a connection with him. I don’t know what happened between you two, but I could tell you meant a lot to him.”

She is struck by her words, her heart sinking in guilt. She bows her head into her lap, the tears threatening to spill over. She couldn’t hold it back anymore, not with all the emotions swirling inside her, not after everything she wished she’d done differently.

Her voice lowers with empathy, a soft sadness in her words, as she takes a cautious step closer. “Sieun’s always been reserved... He’s never been good at opening up, especially when it matters the most. That’s how he is... always locking everything inside.” She paused as she glanced at the girl's appearance.

She trembled, shoulders tight, voice barely holding beneath the weight that had sat on her chest for far too long.

“I... I let my pride get in the way,” she whispered, each word splintering against the silence. “I didn’t talk to him when I had the chance... I should’ve, but I didn’t. I thought he’d be fine—like he always is. I told myself he’d figure it out. But now—” her breath hitched, “now he’s in here, like this. And I wasn’t there. I wasn’t even close.”

Her hands lifted, covering her face as the tears finally broke through, warm and merciless.

She hated herself for waiting. For hesitating. For thinking there would always be more time.

The silence they once shared now felt like punishment. A distance she could’ve closed, but didn’t. And now the air between them was filled with wires and machines and too many what-ifs.

If only she’d said something. If only she hadn’t let fear speak louder than her heart.

Now, it might be too late to say any of it at all.

Her voice was calm—steady in a way that only someone who had learned how to carry pain without letting it break them could manage. It reached her like a soft touch, like the kind of comfort that doesn’t need to be loud to be heard.

“It’s not your fault,” she said, not accusing, not dismissive—just honest. A breath left her lips, weary but full of knowing. “You can’t predict everything. Especially with someone like Sieun.”

She paused, as if weighing her next words with care.

“Sometimes... people need to fall a little. Walk into the dark by themselves before they can find their way back. That’s not on you. You can’t carry that alone.”

The words lingered in the quiet, gentle but undeniable. A truth that she hadn’t let herself believe. She had been so sure it was her failure, her silence, her pride that led to this—but maybe... it wasn’t all hers to hold.

Then, softer now, almost like an offering:

“If you were once his friend... maybe you still are. Maybe that hasn’t changed. It’s not too late. He’s been through more than we know, but maybe—just maybe—seeing you now will remind him... that he’s not alone. That someone still cares.”

And in that moment, the she felt something shift—not the ache, not the guilt, but the helplessness. It didn’t fade completely. But it loosened just enough to let hope slip in.

She feels a sudden rush of uncertainty—an ache that rises to her throat and threatens to pull her under. Should she stay? Should she leave? What right did she have to be here, after everything?

Her pride claws at her, whispering that it’s too late. That she should walk away quietly, like she always did. But something deeper—something older and softer—fights back. The part of her that still remembers his tired eyes, his rare half-smiles, the way he tried even when no one else saw it.

Regret crashes against her chest like a wave, but it’s no longer paralyzing. It’s a reminder. Of time wasted. Of words left unsaid. Of the cost of silence.

She glances at Sieun’s mother, who doesn’t speak—just waits with that patient, knowing gaze. Her breath stutters, but her feet don’t move. Something has shifted. The guilt is still there, heavy and sharp, but now it’s tethered to something else—resolve.

She can’t go back. She can’t undo the past.

But maybe... she can be here now.

Maybe this is the moment that matters.

For a moment, the room is silent again. The machines continue to beep steadily, and the she wonders if Sieun can hear her. Wondering if maybe, deep down, he knows that she’s here, that she’s trying. Her eyes start to blur with tears, but she blinks them away.

She stands by his bed, her hands shaking slightly as she places them on the edge of the bed, as she closed her eyes and whispered.

"I'm sorry, Sieun-ah"

The next day felt like a blur.

She quietly steps into the sterile hospital room where Suho still lies, unmoving. She finds solace in the mundane, almost as if speaking about ordinary things could bridge the chasm of everything that had happened recently.

She talks to him, her words flowing easily, the way they used to when everything was simple. She tells him about her day—how the schoolwork felt heavier than usual, how his grandmother seemed well despite the worries she had about him. And she mentions Sieun too, his mother, how strange it felt to walk that line between regret and the need to reconnect.

“I saw his mom yesterday,” she continues, her voice softer now. “She said he’s not critical... but his nervous system’s been hit harder than I expected. He’s having trouble... sleeping. I didn’t know, Suho... I thought I was the one to blame for everything.”

She doesn’t expect an answer, but the words feel like they needed to be said.

She pauses, blinking away a few tears, but laughs softly to herself as she recalls the comforting words of Sieun’s mother. “She said I wasn’t the cause of it... that people sometimes have to go through things alone before they come back. I guess... I didn’t think it would be like this.”

The quiet hum of the machines fills the silence as she sighs, her shoulders slumping as though the weight of it all is settling in. She leans back, taking a long breath, her exhaustion creeping in after days of emotional strain.

Her eyes flutter closed, and before she knows it, the chair becomes a quiet refuge, the steady beeping from Suho’s side becoming the lullaby she never thought she’d need.

Her hand, instinctively, rests on Suho’s, and in the quiet of the night, she falls asleep. It’s not the restful sleep of peace, but the kind that brings temporary relief—a brief escape from the chaos of everything around her.

And even if it’s just for a moment, she finds some comfort in the familiarity of the space, the stillness, and the softness of hope that maybe, just maybe, things will begin to heal.

She stirred awake slowly, but didn’t move. The heaviness in her limbs wasn’t from sleep—it was from everything else. Her head remained rested against the hospital bed, her hand still loosely curled near Suho’s.

The room was dim, still caught between the fading night and the gentle glow of morning.

The door creaked open quietly. She heard it but didn’t open her eyes. Part of her wanted to turn, to see—but she stayed still. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was both.

Then, his voice.

“Suho… I’m sorry I’m late.”

Her breath caught in her throat. That voice, distant yet achingly familiar, dragged her right back to every moment she spent waiting—for answers, for closure, for him.

She felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, her fingers twitching slightly.

And then, the second wound.

“I’m sorry, Dokja-ah.”

It was said softer, like a ghost brushing past her.

She heard the shuffling of shoes, the sound of someone about to leave. Her pride could’ve let him walk. Her anger, too. But grief, time, and the ache of everything unspoken pushed her forward.

She sat up slowly, eyes still fixed ahead, and her voice—tired but sharp—cut through the sterile room, as the machine beeping echoed.

“Took you a year to say that?”

The footsteps paused. Silence stretched—long enough for her heart to pound in her ears.

He froze.

The sound of her voice—raspy, fragile, but laced with something unmistakably raw—stopped him in his tracks. He faced her, still seating on the chair faced forward. She didn’t look at him.

Not yet.

Her eyes stayed on Suho, like she was still guarding something, or maybe just trying to keep herself from unraveling.

A long silence passed before she finally turned her head, just slightly. Enough to see the outline of him in the soft light.

Her gaze didn’t soften, but it didn’t harden either. It just held.

“I waited,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Not for an apology. Just… something. Anything.”

Her hand brushed lightly against Suho’s, grounding her. She didn’t want to cry. Not again. Not in front of him.

“But you disappeared,” she continued. “Like none of it mattered. Like we didn’t matter.” Her voice wavered, but her words stayed steady. “You don’t get to walk in and say sorry like that’s enough.”

She wasn’t yelling.

She didn’t need to.

Her silence hurts the both of them.

She looked at him then, fully—and for a moment, he looked like the boy she used to know. And someone else entirely.

Still, her next words weren’t bitter. Just… tired.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Sieun.”

And beneath it all, she meant it.

Do you even know what you left behind?

He stood there, caught in the doorway like someone who didn’t belong in the scene he'd wandered into. His hands twitched at his sides, empty. Always empty when it came to her. And yet, somehow, this felt heavier than any fight he’d ever taken.

Her words didn’t cut—they lingered.

Hung in the space between them like mist over a lake he was too afraid to step into.

He wanted to speak.

He wanted to explain.

What could he say that wouldn’t sound like an excuse?

So he just looked at her.

The way her shoulders curved inward now. The way her voice cracked like a fault line trying to stay closed. The way she kept glancing at Suho—as if he were the bridge between them. As if he was the only one allowed to still believe in them both.

He swallowed the guilt, thick and sharp. “I didn’t know how to come back,” he said, barely above a whisper. “And when I finally did… I wasn’t sure I deserved to.”

She didn’t respond—not right away.

But her looked says it all, "You didn't even try?"

So he took a step closer.

“I didn’t stop caring,” he murmured. “I just… didn’t know how to carry it without breaking.”

"You think I didn’t notice, but I did," she said, her voice low, not shaking, not angry—just tired. The kind of tired that sits deep in your bones, where no sleep can reach.

She let out a breath, almost a laugh, but it was hollow.

"I just didn’t want to believe it. So I made excuses. I told myself you were busy, or overwhelmed, or just... thinking things through. I waited. I gave you space. And you took it—so much space there was nothing left of you. No message. No call. Not even a goodbye. Just... absence. You left, and I stayed behind trying to stitch something back together that I didn’t even break." Her hands were still clenched at her sides, but her shoulders had slumped slightly, the weight of it all pulling her down again.

"Do you know what that feels like?" she asked, not looking at him now. "To lose everyone, one by one, and then have you—you—just disappear like you were never part of any of it? Suho ended up in a hospital bed. Beomseok vanished like smoke. Yeong-i stopped answering. And then there was just me. Alone. And you were supposed to be the one who stayed." She turned her head toward him, finally meeting his eyes again.

"I waited for you. I waited so long, and it got quiet. So quiet that it hurt. I’d stare at my phone for hours. I'd start typing something to you and delete it before I sent it. I’d run out of reasons to pretend like it was okay, like you were coming back. But I still hoped. Isn’t that sad? I still hoped." Her voice wavered now, just a little. But she didn’t let it fall apart.

"I kept asking myself, what did I do wrong? Was it something I said? Something I didn’t say? Should I have asked more questions, held on tighter, yelled, cried, anything? I was folding myself into pieces trying to find the version of me you wouldn’t walk away from." Her breath caught, but she blinked it back.

She didn’t cry.

She didn't want to anymore.

"And now you're here, and you look sorry, but sorry isn’t a time machine. Sorry doesn’t put things back where they were. Sorry doesn’t tell me why you thought I couldn’t handle the truth when I was already surviving the wreckage you left behind." She took a step back.

"You left. You made that choice. And I lived with the silence. Don’t come back now and act like you were the one hurting."

She stood now, walking past the bed until she was closer to him—arms still at her side, fists clenched.

She shook her head, a bitter laugh slipping past her lips before she could stop it. It sounded smaller than she expected. Tired, too.

“I waited,” she said, the words sitting heavy in her throat. “Every day, I waited for you to come back. And when you didn’t… I started to hate you. But worse than that—I hated myself.”

Her voice thinned, the way it does when something old and buried rises too fast, too sharp. Like the weight of it had finally lodged in her chest and was pressing, hard.

“Because I kept thinking—if I’d just opened my mouth. If I hadn’t let my pride win. If I’d said anything instead of staying silent... maybe we wouldn’t be here. Standing like strangers, pretending we used to be something more.”

Sieun looked pale, like the guilt in his chest had found its way to his face. He looked like he wanted to reach for her, but didn’t. Couldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Softer now. Like he meant it, but didn’t believe it was enough.

She looked at him, hollow-eyed.

“I don’t need your sorry,” she said. “I needed you.”

The silence that followed didn’t feel empty. It felt deafening—like the aftermath of a scream. Like the room itself was holding its breath.

She turned away and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket, pretending the motion was casual. It wasn’t.

“If you’re going to leave again,” she said quietly, “just go now.”

“I’m not—” he stated.

“Don’t promise me things,” she snapped, too fast. “You’re not good at keeping them.”

That stopped him. His gaze dropped for a second, shame flickering across his face. But when he looked up again, something had changed. His eyes weren’t defensive or desperate. Just steady. Heavy with everything he hadn’t said until now.

“I know,” he said. “I know you did. You waited.”

He stepped away from the door, not closer to her—but toward the weight between them. Like he was choosing, finally, not to run.

“You think I didn’t want to come back?” he said, his voice quiet. “I did. Every day I told myself—just one message. Just one call. But then I’d remember the way you looked at me the last time. Like I’d already broken something important.”

She opened her mouth—maybe to argue, maybe to agree—but he kept going.

“I couldn’t face Suho. Or you. Or who I used to be. Because after everything fell apart, I thought it was my fault. I thought I ruined everything. And maybe I did.”

There was no anger in his voice. Just weariness.

“I told myself staying away was cleaner. That I wouldn’t hurt you more by showing up broken. But the truth is... I was just scared. Scared of being the one who couldn’t fix what he shattered.”

She didn’t speak. She just stared, hands clenched at her sides, like letting them relax might make all of this too real.

“I thought forgetting would be easier if I stayed gone. But I didn’t forget,” he said. “I just kept losing parts of myself, until there was nothing left that felt like enough.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. His words came steady, quiet—but sharp enough to cut.

“I couldn’t face it. I told myself I was protecting you, giving you space, whatever lie made it easier to breathe. But the truth is—I was a coward. Not the dramatic kind, not the ones who run screaming. The quiet kind. The kind that slips out the back door and convinces themselves it’s mercy.”

He looked at her then, really looked—like maybe it had taken this long to let himself.

“I thought if I stayed away long enough, you’d stop needing me. That you’d forget whatever version of me you used to count on. That you’d move on, and I could pretend I didn’t break anything.”

She didn’t say a word. Her jaw was tight. Her eyes were red. But she listened.

“I saw Suho in that bed,” he went on, softer now. “I saw you next to him. And I realized how much I missed. How much I left you to carry. Alone. You always carried everything so quietly—I think I convinced myself you’d be okay without me. But you weren’t. And I wasn’t okay without you either.”

He took a step forward, not asking permission. Just letting her see that maybe—for once—he wasn’t hiding behind silence.

“I’m not going to make promises. I don’t think I have the right to anymore. But I will say this: I never stopped thinking about you. And I was wrong. You didn’t deserve that kind of silence. You didn’t deserve to feel like you were the one left behind.”

“I’m not here to undo it,” he said, voice low, steady. “I know I can’t. I know showing up now doesn’t erase anything.”

His gaze lingered on her—the shine in her eyes that wasn’t light, but tears; the shadows beneath them carved by sleepless nights; the way her hair had grown longer, falling like silence across her shoulders.

She looked heartbreakingly beautiful. Not in the way the world defines it, but in the way sorrow shapes someone who kept going anyway.

And it killed him—

That he was the reason her eyes were wet.

That her sadness wore his name.

She stood there, shoulders tight, something trembling at the edges of her expression. She wanted to scream. Or cry. Or fall into his chest and tell him to hold her like nothing ever broke. But all she could say was, “Then don’t leave again.”

He looked at her, really looked—no flinching, no turning away.

“I won’t,” he said. “Not if you want me to stay.”

The moment his words settled between them, she didn’t think—she moved.

Two steps. Three.

She crashed into him.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders with a desperation that trembled. He froze at first, caught in the sheer force of her pain, then slowly—gently—his arms came up, holding her like she might disappear again if he let go.

Her voice broke between sobs against his shoulder. “I hate you… for disappearing from me.” Her fists curled into his jacket like she wanted to push him away and pull him closer at the same time.

“I hate that you left without a word. I hate that I waited. That I made excuses. That I let you take everything with you.” Sieun didn’t flinch. He just held her tighter, his chin resting lightly against the top of her head, grounding her in the way she didn’t know she still craved.

"I know" he whispered into her ear, as his hands rested carefully on her waist, "I hate myself too."

Her crying wasn’t loud—but it hurt. It was the kind of crying that sounded like years of swallowed grief cracking open in the arms of someone who once knew her heart.

And in that hospital room, with the beep of Suho’s monitors humming steady in the background, it was the most honest they’d ever been.

No more pride.

No more what ifs.

No more sleepless nights.

No more wondering.

No more pretending.

Just them.

The two of them.

And maybe Suho too.

Just them—tired, broken, but finally, finally not alone.

The sobs had quieted into soft sniffles. She didn’t let go at first—but Sieun gently pulled back, just enough to meet her eyes. His voice still low from everything that had been said. "I have to go."

She didn’t flinch. She just blinked, slow and steady, like she was trying to brace herself for something she already knew. “They’re waiting for you, aren't they.” she said to him.

That made him pause. His brow pulled in, confused. “Have you met them?” She nodded once, wiping gently under her eye with the edge of her thumb. Her voice softened, raw at the edges. “They remind me of Suho, Yeong-I and...Beomseok before.” She whispered like a broken tale.

There it was—the way his shoulders dipped, almost imperceptibly. Something in him shifted. A ghost passed between them. And for the briefest second, something rare flickered across his face: a smile. Small, hesitant. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it curled faintly at the corners, like it was trying.

Like it still hurt.

“You want to meet them?”

The question sat between them like glass. Fragile. Waiting.

She looked down, flexed her fingers once, then met his eyes again.

“Do you want me to?”

The air shifted—just slightly. It was still thick with history, but the weight of it wasn’t unbearable anymore. Something in it had softened. And for once, there was no panic in his silence.

He didn’t rush to answer. He just breathed.

“Yeah,” he said at last. “I think I do.”

She took a breath of her own, the kind that comes from choosing to stay, even when the past clings to your ribs. Then she stepped forward—close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed, not quite touching, but near enough that warmth moved between them again.

“Then let’s go,” she said.

So they did. No grand declarations. No clean endings. Just two people walking slowly through the quiet, side by side, carrying what couldn’t be fixed—but not alone this time.

They stepped into the lobby, their fingers still loosely threaded—barely holding, but not letting go. The world outside the hospital buzzed with fluorescent hums and distant footsteps, louder now, clearer somehow. And yet, the quiet between them was no longer something sharp. It was calm. Steady. A kind of peace.

Sieun’s pace faltered when he saw them.

Jun-tae stood with a gaze filled with worry. Go Tak was next to him—always alert, the crease between his brows softening the moment his eyes landed on Sieun. Baku sat on the bench, knee bouncing restlessly like he’d been trying not to bounce off the walls entirely.

Jun-tae noticed first.

“Sieun,” he said simply.

Go Tak straightened, the edge in his posture lifting slightly. “You okay?”

Sieun gave a small nod. His voice was low, but there was something solid in it now.

“Yeah. I'm pretty sure.”

He didn’t elaborate, but none of them needed more than that.

Jun-tae gave a tearful confession, she smiled at him. He was a nice kid. Then this guy—stands up and pats him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Saying that he doesn't need to worry about Sieun at all. Go Tak offered a small nod, concern folding quietly into relief.

“Took you long enough,” he said, voice just above a murmur.

This guy, Baku.

He stood with all the dramatic energy of someone who’d been holding back a performance, like the entire hospital lobby was his stage and he’d just found his cue. With a flourish only Baku could pull off, he patted Jun-tae’s shoulder—a casual gesture that somehow still managed to be loud—and then turned, eyes narrowing like he’d spotted something scandalous.

His gaze dropped to their hands—still loosely laced, still warm from all the unspoken things they hadn’t let go of yet. Baku’s eyes darted between them, growing comically wide. He pointed, slowly, accusingly, like he’d uncovered a government secret.

“WAIT—SIEUN—YOU—SHE—YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?!”

Sieun blinked.

She blinked.

The hand-holding, still soft between them, hadn’t quite registered until that exact moment.

Sieun looked down at their hands like he was just now remembering he’d been holding hers. She didn’t let go, though. Neither did he.

Go Tak rolled his eyes with a sigh. Jun-tae chuckled softly even with tears brimming his eyes.

But Baku was already mid-spin, arms out, voice raised dramatically.

“Can we just take a moment to appreciate this development? Sieun! With a hand-holding—a hand-holding!—in public!”

Sieun groaned under his breath.

“It’s not like that.”

She lifted her chin a little, trying not to smile.

“We’re just close.”

Baku gave them both a slow, skeptical once-over before the corners of his mouth curled up into a knowing grin.

“It’s like the confession scene in Slam Dunk,” he said, voice dipped in exaggerated awe, clutching his chest as if overcome by the sheer romance of it all. “You know—when Rukawa says nothing but it’s everything? The hands, the silence, the undeniable tension—ah, iconic.”

She laughed at him, “…Rukawa never confessed.”

“That’s the point!” Baku cried, throwing his arms up. “The beauty is in the restraint! In the mutual understanding! In the unspoken emotions shimerring beneath the surface!”

Go Tak sighed, clearly done with this.

No one bothered correcting him again.

The group moved on, steps falling into rhythm. The jokes kept coming, the teasing never quite biting. And between all of it, their hands stayed where they were—still laced, still sure.

She smiled as she watched them—three boys tangled in their usual chaos, laughter sparking like old warmth in a place too quiet for too long. Her voice came low, almost a sigh dressed in fondness.

“Wah… he really is like Suho.” She murmured quietly but enough for Sieun to hear. At the sound of her, Sieun turned. His gaze found hers, lingering—not with surprise, but something quieter. Something like recognition. “You’re leaving?”

She nodded, the edges of her smile softening. “I should. I’ve been here too long… and you’ve got company now.” But he was already moving before she finished, closing the distance like a reflex he hadn’t forgotten.

“I’ll walk you out.”

The three looked at them, and just let them be.

They stepped into the hall together, silence pressing gently between them—not heavy, not awkward, just full of all the things neither of them had the courage to name.

Then, from behind them—

“YEAH, SIEUN—TAKE CARE OF YOUR GIRLFRIEND!” Baku’s voice rang out, unfiltered and obnoxiously proud.

Sieun didn’t miss a beat.

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

He stated, but his eyes glint at him. "Back off"

Baku grinned wider, unbothered. “So I can ask her out?” A sharp thwack cracked through the air as Go Tak smacked the back of Baku’s head, exasperated. “You idiot.”

She laughed, quietly.

And Sieun, for a moment, almost smiled too. He grasped tightly to her hand as they walked side by side.

The automatic doors slid open in front of them. The cold outside air kissed her cheeks, sharp and sobering. Sieun stepped out beside her, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes cast toward the horizon like he was searching for something that hadn’t quite arrived yet.

They walked a few steps in silence, their shoulders not quite touching, but close enough to feel the presence of one another.

“I wasn’t planning to stay long,” she said quietly, watching her breath curl in the air like smoke. “But it felt hard to leave.”

Sieun looked at her. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

She nodded, eyes fixed on the ground. “I didn’t know what I wanted to say when I saw you again,” she admitted. “But it was never about the words, was it?”

“No,” he murmured. “It was about showing up.”

The silence this time wasn’t heavy. It hung between them like a thread, soft and delicate, but strong enough to hold something unspoken.

She paused near the curb, the edge of where she had to go. He stopped with her.

“Text me,” she said again, barely above a whisper. “Even if it’s just one word.”

“I will.” This time, she smiled—not wide, but real. She took a step backward, eyes still on him.

“Take care of them, okay?” He nodded. “I will.”

And when she turned to leave, he didn’t stop her—not out of apathy, but trust. Trust that she would turn around if she ever needed to, and he’d be there.

Sieun stood beneath the washed-out glow of the awning, the light pooling softly at his feet. He didn’t call her name. Didn’t move. Just watched as she walked into the night, her figure slowly swallowed by shadows and streetlight.

She didn’t look back. Not at first.

But a few steps before the crosswalk, she stopped. The kind of pause that wasn’t hesitation—it was decision.

Then she turned.

Her eyes weren’t bright with tears, and her expression held no drama. Just a kind of quiet knowing. She walked back toward him, deliberate, steady. When she stopped again, it wasn’t hesitation—it was declaration.

From her pocket, she pulled something small.

Then—flick—the arc of motion was smooth, unceremonious. It landed in his hand with the soft clink of metal.

A black punch ring.

Sieun blinked down at it, the cool weight settling into his palm. He didn’t need to ask why. Her voice came low and firm, laced with something fiercer than sadness. “You can’t possibly win with just a ballpen, Sieun-ah. I don’t know what you’re fighting for… but you better win.”

And just like that, she turned.

No goodbye. No glance over her shoulder.

Only the echo of her footsteps and the charged silence she left behind.

Sieun stared at the ring, the hard curve of it pressing into his lifeline.

And then—just barely—a smile found its way to his face.

Not joy. Not hope.

But the kind saying that he was ready.

Ready for her.

Reay to face it all.

After all, he is a hero. A weak one.

♡ note ───── I'd do anything just for you to be mines again. I felt sadness pour into me. When you became a stranger, I knew that you'd be leaving me. Then you became a danger, I felt sadness pour into me.

♡ note ── hope you enjoy it, this would be the last part <3 Probably there would be another one but in S3

───── ★ requested by : @heeknow @alwaysgenerousvoid @snowflakemoon3 @yeon103 @kellystyles18 @littlebluebird2000 @hollxe1 @dripoftheseus @enhajungwonheart @energydrinkstastegood @zuwizy @trasshy-artist @cassieeelim @myouiwp @dutifullyannoyingstrawberrie @rexxiiia @aple-piie @sarangs-world-02 @enhacolor

[hannie-berrie]

can you write something about baekjin

maybe something about the reader getting her revenge on her bf’s death. do you know the scene of "the worst of evil" when lee haeryeon was covered in blood with a cigarette in hand and a man asks her "why did you do this?" and she replies

"there's someone, i want to protect in my heart.”

something like this would be great and if you can do it maybe something their relationship before the fight.

love your writing btw!!!

Thank you so much Anon!💗 I don’t know that scene but I’ll try my best to write you something with similar vibes 🫶

A Beautiful Poison

Baekjin wasn’t loud. He didn’t need to be.

He was the kind of man who entered a room and made everyone fall silent without saying a word. People mistook his quiet for calmness, but you knew better. You had seen what he was capable of beneath his silence.

And you loved him.

He held your hand like he was always half a second away from pulling you into something irreversible. He kissed you like the world would burn, and he’d be the one lighting the match.

Sometimes, he scared you. Not because he was cruel, but because of how far he was willing to go for you.

“I’d kill for you,” he said once, his voice soft, almost gentle, but with a very deep gaze. “Even if it meant you’d hate me afterward.”

You believed him.

But you didn’t know they would kill him first.

He had enemies, many. People who smiled in public and slit throats in silence. He never told you exactly what he was doing, what he was planning. But you found the notes. The encrypted files. The gun he kept in the nightstand.

You found the list.

And now, you’re following it.

Each name crossed out is a whisper in the dark. A promise you made on his grave.

__________

The last name on the list was in a penthouse suite above the city. Hoomin. He thought he was safe there, untouchable.

He didn’t expect you.

By the time you stepped into the elevator, the steel walls reflected red. Your shirt was soaked, fingers raw and trembling around the knife you never planned to use again, but did. The blood wasn’t yours. Not this time.

And when it was over, when the final name bled out on a pristine white carpet, you stood there, staring, breathing, trembling.

The room was silent now, except for the distant hum of city lights bleeding through the windows.

Baku lay half dead near the shattered coffee table, his eyes wide in disbelief, blood pooling beneath him like ink from a broken pen. He hadn’t begged. He hadn’t even tried to run. He just stared at you when you whispered Baekjin’s name, like it was a fate he knew he was awaiting.

And maybe it was.

The knife slipped from your grip with a dull clang on the floor.

That was when Sieun came in.

The door slammed open behind you. You turned, slowly, already knowing the look he’d have on his face.

“You—” His voice caught in his throat before it exploded. “What the fuck did you do?!”

You said nothing.

Sieun stormed forward, grabbing you by the arm, shoving your back against the wall with more force than usual. “What the fuck did you do to him huh?! What the fuck did you do to Hoomin!”

You whispered with a deranged smirk “I revenged Baekjin”

“He didn’t kill him!”

“He sold him out!” You shouted, voice breaking. “He handed him to the people who murdered him like he was nothing, because it was cleaner that way. Because he didn’t want to get his hands dirty.”

“You don’t know the full story, Hoomin is his friend!” Sieun yelled madly, eyes full of tears.

“He was his friend once” You pushed his hands off your collar. “Baekjin trusted him. That’s why it hurt more.”

Sieun’s jaw clenched, a thousand thoughts behind his eyes. “You think Baekjin would’ve wanted this?” “You think he’d be proud of what you’ve become?”

You looked him dead in the eyes, blood still warm on your skin, and said, “He’s dead. And I live with that every day. But I’m still here, and there’s someone I want to protect in my heart.”

Sieun stepped back like her words had hit him harder than any blade.

“I did it so he can rest.”

For a moment, he said nothing. Then ran off to his lifeless friend laying on the cold pavement floor.

[kpop-ruins-our-lives]

Bet - Choi Hyunwook scenario (Smut, angst, some fluff) Part 2

Summary: Choi Hyunwook was a so called "bad boy" in school, has his group of friends and always makes trouble. Even though you didn't know him personally, you just want a minute to feel, to take this man and infact you did get lucky. Sometimes taking a bet just to feed your pride is not a good idea.

PART 1 / PART 3 / PART 4

A/N: This is part 2 to the "Bet" scenario that was originally requested! Hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writting it!

Members: Choi Hyunwook x Reader Genre: angst, smut, some fluff Warnings: mature language, fighting, minor injuries Word count: 4779

The morning after the party, everything feels strangely distant like a dream that lingers just enough to blur the lines between reality and fantasy. The sunlight filters through your window, casting soft golden streaks across your room, but instead of warmth, you feel a quiet unease settling in your chest. You replay the events of the night before—the laughter, the music, the teasing exchanges. And then, of course, the closet. Those seven minutes with Hyunwook had been charged with something you still couldn’t quite name. The way he touched you, the way his gaze held yours with that cool intensity, the way his teasing words sent shivers down your spine—it had all felt so real at the moment.

Before you can fully process your emotions, the door bursts open. Ji-eun storms in, her expression a mix of shock and frustration, her phone clutched tightly in her hand. “Are you kidding me?” she blurts out, eyes wide with disbelief. “I wake up, check my messages, and the entire dorm is buzzing about how you and Hyunwook—” She stops herself, shaking her head as if saying it out loud makes it even more impossible to believe. “Did you—did you have sex with him?” You quickly covered yourself with a blanket over your head. Jieun walked towards you, moving the blanket away, looking at you with a deadly serious expression on her face. "Y/N… You have 10 seconds to tell me what you did-" "Jieun It's nothing- "9…" "8.." "Seriously Jieun!" you shout in desperation trying to grab onto her hands "Y/N, I am counting-" "Fine I'll tell you!" you gave up and took a deep breath "Hyunwook and I were picked for this "7 minutes in heaven" game and things got…-" you slowly spoke looking up at Jieun "Got what?" she asked "Heated. We had sex." "Oh my God nooooooo!" Jieun placed her hands on her head and laid back on her bed.

“I don’t know,” you admit, voice quieter now. “It all happened so fast. One second we were teasing each other, and then—” You shake your head, unable to finish the thought. “I don’t know how to feel about it.” Ji-eun exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. “I just—ugh, I can’t believe you did this,” she mutters, half annoyed, half exasperated. “You know what he’s like. He doesn’t do feelings. And now everyone thinks you’re just another girl he’s played with.”

You remember how effortlessly he slipped back into his usual self after you both stepped out—laughing with his friends, moving through the party like nothing had happened. No lingering glances, no quiet acknowledgment of what had just transpired between you. Just Hyunwook, as untouchable as ever. And yet, there had been moments—fleeting, almost imperceptible where his eyes had found yours across the room. But they had held no answers, only more questions.

Hyunwook's mind flickers back to the closet—the teasing, the touches, the way your lips had felt against his. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. It had been… interesting. Later, he meets up with Taewoo and Minho at their usual spot—a small café. The two are already deep in conversation when he slides into the seat across from them, his usual cool demeanor intact. “Alright, Hyunwook,” Taewoo began with a sly smirk, leaning forward as if sharing an inside joke. “The rumors are wild. Did it happen in that closet, or are we just imagining things?” Hyunwook tilted his head slightly and allowed a confident, almost cocky smile to play on his lips. In the span of a heartbeat, he responded, “Yeah, I had sex with her. End of story.” His voice was even and cool, deliberately casual as if confirming a well-known fact that needed no further explanation. Taewoo laughed softly, shaking his head. “I knew you had that effect on her. You always get what you want.”

The corridors of your school buzz with whispers. Gossip about the Saturday party and that notorious "7 minutes in heaven" game between Hyunwook and you floats through every conversation. Yet, as you move through the halls, you remain untouched by the chatter. You walk with quiet confidence, your head held high, every step measured—as if nothing at all had happened.

As the day progressed, a new kind of chaos emerged on school grounds. A group of boys from another class, driven by envy and reckless bravado, had escalated their verbal jabs into an all-out brawl. Hyunwook was once again at the center of it all. At first, he moved with his trademark cool detachment, dodging and parrying with calculated precision. Then, two of the aggressors closed in. One landed a vicious punch square on his face, snapping his head back and drawing blood from a split lip. A second punch struck his stomach, winding him momentarily as he doubled over in pain. The strikes were brutal enough to momentarily shake his unflappable aura. The crowd of students surged closer, each breath caught in their throats as they watched the unexpected vulnerability flicker in his eyes. Then, as one of the aggressors surged forward with a swing aimed straight at Hyunwook’s face, something within you snapped. Without thinking, a surge of protectiveness drove you forward. In one swift motion, you stepped into the fray and pushed the attacking boy aside. The force of your intervention sent him stumbling backward, interrupting his momentum. For a brief heartbeat, everything seemed to slow. The surrounding students, caught off guard by your unexpected move, fell silent in shock. Even the other fighters hesitated, eyes wide as they registered that you—a girl who had always maintained a composed distance—had just defied the expected roles. Hyunwook’s eyes, still burning with the adrenaline of combat, locked onto yours. At that moment, his expression transformed from one of fierce concentration into stunned surprise. Before you could register a single thought, he barked out, his voice a mixture of reproach and worry.

“What are you doing? Get away from here!” His words cut sharply through the clamor, a clear admonition not only to protect him but to keep your distance. For milliseconds, you saw a vulnerability in him that no one else had witnessed—confusion, gratitude, and perhaps a hint of worry flickering in his gaze. The world around you surged back into motion as Taewoo and Minho finally arrived on the scene, just as teachers burst onto the grounds to break up the fight.

After the chaos had finally calmed and the teachers had dispersed the remaining troublemakers, you found yourself lingering near the corridors when Hyunwook's eyes caught yours. His face was a complex mask of anger, lingering pain from the blows he’d endured, and something that you couldn’t quite deny was worry. Without a word, he strode straight toward you, his presence as overwhelming as ever. Before you could even react, he grabbed your wrist firmly and pulled you into an empty classroom down the hall. Inside the sparse room, the tension was palpable. Hyunwook’s eyes, usually so cold and unreadable, burned with a mix of fury and concern. “What do you think you were doing?” he demanded, his voice low but sharp. “You had no business barging into that fight.” His grip on your wrist was unyielding, a physical reminder that his world wasn’t meant for interference, even if your heart had urged you to protect him. You tried to look up at him, searching his expression for an explanation, but he continued, his tone clipped. “I don’t need you trying to save me,” he said, a note of genuine worry hidden beneath the harsh words. “This is my mess to handle.” For a moment, his icy demeanor softened ever so slightly, as if he wished you hadn’t felt compelled to intervene.

After a long, charged pause, he let go of your wrist, stepping back and running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Just… stay out of it from now on,” he said, his voice regaining its usual detached coolness, even as the worry lingered like an aftershock in his tone. He turned around walking towards the door.

"Hyunwook-" you spoke up making him stop and turn around towards you. "You don't- We didn't speak about-" you continued not knowing how to finish the sentence. It's been bugging you that he never even contacted you in any way, or even today, that he just was observing you, not talking to you in any way like nothing ever happened at that party.

"Y/N. We don't have to speak about it. It was just a game. Don't get all fired up.-" he almost laughed. "But wait- Did you fall for me already?" he added with a smirk across his face.

Nothing but anger bubbled up in your body. The way he moves, acts, speaks, the choice of his words. Even though you could've expected him to answer this way, for a split moment you thought he wouldn't, that maybe somewhere in that "bad boy" aura is a soft Hyunwook.

"You know what. Forget it." you simply said walking past him like he wasn't even there.

After you stormed out, the classroom door slammed shut with a finality that echoed in Hyunwook’s ears. Left alone in the quiet space, his anger slowly ebbed into an unsettling silence. For a long moment, he just stared at the closed door, replaying every biting word and every frustrated glance you’d given him. Beneath his cold, hard exterior, an unfamiliar pang of regret stirred.

In the days following your argument, Hyunwook transformed into a stranger you scarcely recognized. Once known for his teasing glances and effortless charm—even when wrapped in a cold demeanor—he retreated behind a wall of indifference. During lunch breaks and between classes, he could be seen surrounded by his loyal circle of boys. With Minho, Taewoo, and the others, he laughed loudly and joked as if nothing had ever happened.

All of you sat in the classroom as the teacher walked in with a new transfer student. He walked slightly confidently, had dark brow hair that fell perfectly over his forehead, and had a sharp jawline you couldn't miss. The school uniform showed the lines of his body nicely. When he turned around to face the class, he had a slight smile on his face. "Everyone! We have a new transfer student… Please introduce yourself." your teacher said.

"Hello everyone, I'm Park Jihoon. Nice to meet you." he nodded with slight nervousness in his voice. Everyone started to clap and greeted him. Park Jihoon sat down at a table next to you that was empty.

After class that day, the atmosphere was relaxed as students began dispersing down the corridors. Hyunwook was leaning against a wall with Minho, Taewoo when he noticed Park Jihoon still lingering near the classroom door, chatting with a few classmates about the morning’s introduction. Without much ceremony, Hyunwook walked over and greeted him with a simple nod. “Hey, you’re Park Jihoon, right?” he said, extending a hand in a friendly, matter-of-fact manner. Jihoon accepted the handshake with an easy smile, responding, “Yeah, that’s me. Nice to meet you.” At that moment, there was no grand declaration of destiny or a dazzling connection; it was just a natural, straightforward meeting. The boys around them, having caught wind of the new arrival, welcomed Jihoon with casual comments about the best spots to grab lunch or the quirks of the school. Soon enough, the conversation flowed effortlessly—from shared jokes about early morning classes to light banter about the best places to hang out.

Late that afternoon, the familiar haunt—a cozy corner by the student hangout spot where music pulsed softly, drinks clinked in idle celebration, and laughter mingled with low conversations—was already buzzing with its usual crowd. Hyunwook, Taewoo, Minho, and even the freshly arrived Park Jihoon were gathered there, immersed in effortless banter and easy camaraderie. You arrived with Jieun at your side, the warmth of the gathering contrasting sharply with the chill you felt whenever you caught sight of Hyunwook. His silent, distant demeanor over the past few days had made every accidental close encounter feel nerve-wracking. Today, his aloof presence was unmistakable as he sat with his friends, his gaze intentionally avoiding yours. The weight of the unsaid hung heavily between you, a reminder of the recent argument.

Taewoo leaned over to Hyunwook and, with a playful smirk, murmured, “Hey, remember your bet? Don’t let it go unfinished.” That small nudge seemed to spark something in Hyunwook. To shrug off the lingering regret and reclaim his usual game, he pushed aside the residue of his vulnerability. With a purposeful stride, Hyunwook left his group, his eyes locking onto yours. Determined to break the silence, he approached with a flirtatious lilt in his voice. “Hey,” he said, his tone light yet edged with challenge "Y/N, are you following me around or is this an actual fate for us to see each other at these places?” His attempt at casual charm was designed to pierce the cold distance he’d erected since the argument. You met his approach with a guarded expression and a slight roll of your eyes, your irritation bubbling beneath the surface. “I don’t have time for your games today, Hyunwook,” you replied, your voice steadier than you felt. For a brief moment, the space between you vibrated with unresolved tension. Despite his calculated charm and flirtatious quip, his words failed to thaw the chill of your discontent. The game was back on—or so he hoped.

Later on, as you neared the bathroom door, you sensed a presence behind you. In the narrow hallway lit by harsh fluorescent lights, he swiftly closed the distance between you. Before you could simply vanish into the relative privacy of the room, Hyunwook stepped in front of you and, without a word, reached out to intercept your exit. His hand was firm on your wrist, and in one smooth, deliberate motion, he guided you against the cool wall. He placed each of his hands beside you, blocking your way of escape. The silent tension between you was electric. His nearness was overwhelming: you could feel the heat radiating from him, igniting a desperate flicker of something both raw and familiar within you. In that suspended heartbeat, every guarded emotion waged war with an unbidden urge to feel him close again—to reconnect, to recapture what had once bound you. His usually impenetrable façade now seemed to crack, revealing a vulnerability that mirrored your own conflicted heart. The closeness was more than physical. Each of your shallow breaths bore the weight of past intimacies and a shared, unintentional longing pulsed in the space between you.

"Why do you act like this? It's like you're trying to escape me every time we are somewhere or you're just scared?" he said "Or maybe I just don't like being trapped by you every time you decide to show up and pay attention to me," you replied back dryly.

Hyunwook chuckles softly, looking away for a second. "Trapped, huh? Maybe you secretly enjoy it. You always act like you have better places to be."

A small, half-smile tugged at the corner of your lips even as you maintained your stubborn retort. "Keep dreaming, Hyunwook. I’m not that easily swayed."

Hyunwook froze for a split second, a mix of surprised admiration and a quiet acknowledgment of your defiance. His eyes, usually so sharp and indifferent, softened briefly as if caught off guard by the sting and sincerity of your retort. Then, with a deliberate exhale that seemed to dispel that moment of vulnerability, his features reset into the mask he was so accustomed to wearing. A half-smile played at the corner of his lips—a smile that held both teasing mischief and the bitter acknowledgment that you’d struck a nerve. His chin lifted slightly, and he met your gaze with a burning, determined glint as if silently daring you to push further. In that lingering instant, his body language shifted—a subtle tightening of his posture suggesting that while he might have felt that brief stirring of something genuine, his pride and his game were paramount. “Keep dreaming, huh?” he murmured in a low voice.

Locked in that charged moment, you and Hyunwook continued to stare at each other. The air between you pulsed with tension as if the corridor itself held its breath in anticipation. Just then, Jieun’s footsteps approached her eyes quickly flicking between the two of you. Sensing that the silent standoff had grown too intense, she stepped forward decisively. "Alright, that's enough," Jieun chided in a firm tone "Hyunwook, get back to your friends now."

Hyunwook had a smirk all over his face as he moved away from you. "Y/N likes me you know… She can't stay away…" he winks before walking back to his group of friends.

Jieun and you came back to your table, sitting down and having a conversation. A few moments later walks up Jihoon with a small smile. "Girls… How about we all go buy beer and all of us hang out together by the river?" Taken by surprise, Jieun and you share eye contact. Jihoon waited patiently for the answer. "I think he's hot…" Jieun leaned towards you. Whispering. Smiling, almost letting a laugh you nod your head answering. Even though Hyunwook will be there, you don't care, you just want to have fun. "Let's goo!" Jihoon was happy, already tipsy from a few drinks. All of you were tipsy.

The air was refreshing, carrying the subtle scent of fresh grass and a hint of water as twilight deepened into the night. Above, a tapestry of stars began to emerge, each twinkle reflected in the gently rippling river below the bridge. The hum of distant traffic merged with the soft clinking of bottle caps as the group relaxed into easy conversation, laughter punctuating the cool night air. Every detail, from the comfortable murmur of voices to the shimmering glow cast by the city lights, felt like a slice of serenity after the day's earlier tensions. As you found a spot against the soft grass, Jieun settled beside you and offered a gentle smile. While the playful banter of Hyunwook and his friends floated from across the group, you couldn’t help but feel the lingering nerve-wracking energy from your earlier encounters with him—a tension you sensed even amidst the relaxed atmosphere. But tonight, the view of the starlit sky, the sparkling river, and the quiet confidence in Hyunwook’s eyes across the way gave you a strange comfort. In the quiet spaces between the group's lively conversations and playful jokes, you found yourselves locked in a silent dialogue—a language spoken only through exchanged looks. Every glance carried layers of unspoken words, vulnerability, and a subtle, undeniable longing.

As conversations flowed and laughter filled the air, Hyunwook and his crew decided to switch things up with a little impromptu lesson on defense techniques. "Alright, Jihoon, time to learn the basics," Taewoo declared with a mischievous grin. Hyunwook and Minho joined in, playfully corralling the new transfer into a small circle away from the more raucous part of the group. With genuine ease, they demonstrated simple stances and blocking maneuvers: Hyunwook showed how to angle a block against an incoming punch, while Minho added his own humorous twist by exaggerating a clumsy counter, earning a roar of laughter from everyone nearby. Jihoon, for his part, mimicked the moves with a mix of concentration and amusement, his initial hesitation giving way to growing confidence under their teasing guidance. Sitting a little apart from Jieun, you couldn’t help but smile at the unexpected spectacle unfolding before you. It was the first time you truly enjoyed watching this side of Hyunwook and his friends—a slice of life so unguarded and genuine that it made the earlier tension feel like a distant memory. Between playful jabs and good-natured corrections like, "Come on, not like that!" and "Watch the angle, Jihoon!", the group shared a series of jokes that turned every misstep into a shared moment of joy. Even Hyunwook’s usual cool detachment was softened by the humor of the night, and his eyes twinkled with genuine amusement every time Jihoon overdid a move or when Taewoo cracked another witty remark.

Later that evening by the river, under a blanket of stars twinkling softly above, the atmosphere had settled into a gentle calm. Jieun was standing at the river's edge, her eyes fixed on the rippling water as she talked quietly with Jihoon. Their conversation drifted effortlessly—a mix of light teasing and thoughtful musings about everything from favorite songs to hidden dreams—while the group’s earlier exuberance mellowed into a comfortable hum of laughter in the background. With a half-empty bottle of beer resting in your hand, you were still sitting down in the same place as all of you arrived. The gentle murmur of the water and the distant city lights provided a soothing counterpoint to the lingering tension of the earlier day. Yet, your thoughts were swirling. Hyunwook appeared from the shifting shadows of the gathering. Without any grand announcement, he took a step toward you and slowly sat down beside you. There was a quiet earnestness in his eyes—a softness that contrasted with his usual guarded demeanor. As you sat quietly, your eyes met his, and for a moment, the unsaid words of days past seemed to hover between you. With a deep, steadying breath, Hyunwook broke the silence. His voice usually edged with playful defiance, now carried a sincere softness.

"Look, I need to talk to you about what happened in the classroom the other day. I… I was such an ass honestly, and I've been carrying so much regret about it."

His eyes searched yours, pleading for understanding even as his pride fought to keep him strong. There was a tremor of sincerity, a crack in that wall he always wore so well. You could almost see the conflict in his gaze—the battle between vulnerability and his need to stay untouchable.

"I appreciate that, but it's hard to tell if this is just the alcohol talking or if it's the real you trying to say something." you quietly said

Hyunwook's lips parted in a half-smile, tinged with both remorse and resolve.

"I wish it were just the alcohol. I’m not just saying this because I'm buzzed, or trying to smooth things over." “You know, sometimes it’s in these still moments that everything seems a little clearer.” His words were simple yet carried an unexpected warmth, inviting you into a conversation that felt more genuine than any playful banter earlier that night. As you listened, you couldn’t help but notice how comfortably sincere his voice became, a stark contrast to the sharp edges of previous encounters.

For a long moment, the only sound was the soft lapping of the river against the shore, punctuating your shared solitude. The sincerity in his tone, and the warmth in his eyes, made your heart flutter with a mix of hope and uncertainty.

Hyunwook suddenly announced to the group, with a trace of resolution in his voice, "I'll walk Y/N home." His words brought a ripple of murmurs and knowing grins among the boys, while you—half-drunk and brimming with a mix of mischief and vulnerability—found yourself the center of their attention. You were practically tumbling with every step, and Hyunwook made sure to steady you at every turn—grabbing your hand when you wavered, guiding you by the waist to prevent another near-fall.

"One more beer, Hyunwook!" you begged, he obliged with a patient smile and a resigned nod, stopping by a nearby corner store for just that extra bottle. As you continued the unsteady walk home, Hyunwook remained a steadfast presence: his arm often found your elbow, his grip firm yet gentle when the pavement threatened your balance. Amid the lantern-lit street, your conversation was punctuated by his occasional jokes and your sporadic babbles, until a sudden, unexpected quiet fell over the two of you. Without warning, you stopped walking and fixed your gaze on him. The playful banter gave way to a heavy, lingering stare, and for a few charged seconds, you simply looked at him. Finally, Hyunwook broke the silence, his voice low with concern mixed with curiosity,

"Why are you looking at me that way?"

Your eyes shimmered with both vulnerability and unspoken questions as you replied, almost in a whisper, "Why- Why are we like this, the way… The way sometimes I feel like there is something in you, something soft, then sometimes it feels like you pay attention to me—then, suddenly, you don't."

The question hung in the cool night air. Hyunwook paused, taking a slow, measured breath as he glanced around, unsure if he wanted to unravel all the tangled feelings woven between you. But you pressed on, your voice trembling with need for an answer. After another heavy pause, he finally admitted in a quiet, earnest tone,

"By giving you my attention, you would start to like me. I am not someone you should like or have feelings for. I will hurt you in the end."

At that moment, as his words settled between you, Hyunwook felt the weight of his old bet with Taewoo—the foolish game of playing hard to get—crumble. He would rather pay them lunch for 7 days straight than hurt you.

And so, as you both stood beneath the gentle glow of streetlights with the murmuring city around you, the intoxication of the beer and the raw honesty of your conversation blurred together. It was a moment where the usual games and carefully maintained defenses fell away, leaving only a fragile truth: that sometimes, even the most stubborn hearts can change, finding solace in tender care and unspoken understanding.

Compelled by a mix of genuine longing and the boldness that only alcohol could lend, you stepped closer. So drawn were you to him that you nearly closed the space in an instant. Noticing your intent, Hyunwook instinctively took a small step back—as though he knew exactly what you were trying to do. Undeterred, you advanced again, your voice soft yet edged with a question as you asked,

"Why are you moving away?"

For a long heartbeat, his eyes held yours steady. As you leaned in, your hand reached out tentatively, brushing against his cheek—a silent plea for reassurance. In response, Hyunwook, with deliberate slowness, took hold of your wrist and gently removed your hand from his face, murmuring a quiet yet firm "No."

Your eyes widened in both surprise and yearning. With the alcohol still coursing through your veins, you mustered a shaky laugh as you protested,

"Hyunwook—you're not usually like this. Why are you pushing me away?"

His gaze flickered with a mixture of reluctance and responsibility as he replied,

"You're drunk and we need to go."

With that, he guided you away from that charged spot, and the two of you started walking under the soft glow of streetlights. But your heart wasn’t ready to let the moment fade. Suddenly, you halted in your tracks and, turning to face him again, asked with a tremble in your voice,

"Why are you always so close and now you're—distant? How is it that all of a sudden you're acting this way? It doesn't make sense."

Hyunwook stopped, frustration mingling with an unspoken tenderness as he simply looked at you, his eyes heavy with the weight of all the words unspoken. After a lingering pause—one that allowed the cool night air to fill the space between you—your gaze hardened into determination. Stepping closer once more, you declared confidently, locking eyes with him,

"You know what, Hyunwook… You do you, I will do me and do what I want."

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as, for an instant, his guarded defiance gave way to something warmer. His curiosity broke through his restraint as he gently asked,

"What will you do?"

Before he could brace himself for another retreat, you closed the distance entirely. Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his in a kiss that started soft and exploratory, then deepened with the full force of all those pent-up feelings. In that instant—amid the soft hum of the night and the steady beat of your racing hearts—Hyunwook felt something shift inside him. A guarded part of him, long maintained by the games and the unspoken bet, crumbled just a little as genuine emotion began to seep through. Hyunwook's hands pulled up on either side of your face, deepening the kiss. He gave you a few more pecks on your lips before looking at your eyes.

"You really are something, huh?" he said

[lixiaolang]

Reconnection

Pairing: Go Hyuntak x fem!reader

Summary: Having known of Hyuntak from his training days of Tae Kwon Do, you never thought you'd run into him again. What started as admiration from afar quickly turned into the beginning of something more.

Warnings: Suggestive content but mostly fluff

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: previous ☆ masterlist ☆ next

The next morning, you woke up with a headache. That was the first thing you noticed. The second thing was Hyuntak sleeping next to you on his stomach, his arm over you. Images from yesterday came flooding back to you in an instant. If it weren't for your pain, you would have thought this was a dream, or at the very least, a hallucination from your concussion.

Gently moving a strand of his hair, you couldn't believe this was real. You both fell asleep so easily in each other's arms like it was second nature. He was like a magnet, pulling you in, and you willingly complied, never fearing what being around him would bring. Not that you were scared. Yesterday's nonsense was a small price to pay for how you feel now. And looking at his handsome sleeping face, you felt happy.

Sighing, you tried getting up without waking him to no avail. He stirred awake, his arm reaching out to feel you. When he didn't, he opened his eyes.

“Hi.” You smiled at him shly, sitting at the edge of his bed.

Hyuntak rubbed the sleep from his eye and slowly sat up. “Hey. How are you feeling?” His voice was deep and groggy, and he ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

“I'm okay,” You hesitated before adding, “I have a slight headache.”

“I'll get you some medicine.” He gets up from the bed, putting on his slippers. “Stay here.”

You watched him leave, checking the time before crossing your arms. It was almost nine in the morning. You decided to quickly get dressed, not wanting to impose on him more than you should. Your messy bun had come undone in your sleep, so you let your hair flow down, removing the dangling hair tie. As you were carefully folding his blue hoodie and sweatpants on his bed, Hyuntak walked in holding medicine in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

“Thanks.” You smiled up at him.

“Let me get dressed, and I'll take you home.” He said as he took off his shirt, right in front of you.

You almost choked on the water after swallowing the pill and quickly turned around. Hyuntak chuckled, and you were certain he saw you blush before turning away. How can he be so confident around you? You don't know how experienced he was with girls, so you didn't want to judge him for being so self-assured. Besides, it's not like you two were even together. You just told each other you liked one another last night.

Hyuntak touched your shoulder, and you turned around. He had put on a pair of black jeans and a hoodie. His worried eyes held yours as he sat down on his bed and reached for your hands, setting the cup down on the floor. Sitting down, he was an inch or two below your height level.

“Are you still in pain?” His brows were pulled in together as he brought up a hand to your cheek.

You shook your head. A weak smile formed on his lips, but he said nothing. You could tell he was having trouble deciding whether or not he should talk about something. Which was a first. Go Hyuntak was very straightforward and always spoke his mind. He's the type of man who means what he says.

“What is it?” You asked.

Hyuntak's sad eyes turned away as he leaned his forehead on your shoulder. His hands held yours tightly as he struggled to find the words. “I'm sorry… I'm sorry I couldn't protect you.”

That confused you. He did protect you. More times than one.

“But you did. You helped me before it got worse.”

“I can't protect you at your school!” His head snapped up, his voice wavering and eyes full of tears. “What's to stop those girls from going after you again? From hurting you more, especially after I confronted them.”

You felt his hands fist your uniform. He was angry but not at you, you realized. At himself. He must have thought about all this after you fell asleep. Or maybe while you were in the hospital. Either way, you didn't want him to feel guilty, and the fact that he was blaming himself made you almost as mad as him.

“That's just a risk that I'm going to have to take.” You said calmly. You watched his eyes widen at your words.

“You can't blame yourself for what others do to me. That's not something you can control.” You take his face in your hands and wipe away some of the tears that had fallen. “If something happens to me, it'll be because they're lowlives pieces of shit who prey on the weak, not because you couldn't protect me.”

He was stunned at your words at first, but then strong hands pulled you in closer, his arms hugging you tightly, almost afraid to let you go. You felt his breathing calm down, and you were glad you were able to soothe him. After a moment, he pulled back, and a hand came up to hold your face. His expression and atmosphere were different. Your heart started to palpitate. His nose gently bumped yours, and you began to feel dizzy, holding your breath.

“A pretty girl who takes risks for me? How did I get so lucky?” He breathed against your skin, his lips traveling up to place a kiss on your forehead.

You shivered at his words and touch, placing your arms around his neck to hold yourself steady. The next words came out abruptly but truthfully. “I would do anything for you.”

“Anything?” He mused.

He pulled back to look at you, and you nodded. His teasing eyes softened as he gently tucked your hair behind your ear. You watched his eyes flicker from yours to your lips before he asked nervously, “Would you let me kiss you?”

You swallowed hard, equally as nervous, before saying, “Yes.”

He looked at you intently. “Yes what?”

You remembered how he wanted you to use your words from the first time he saved you. I need to hear you say it. You figured it didn't matter in what context. Your nerves and excitement skyrocketed. Looking him in the eyes, you said confidently, “Yes, I would let you kiss me.”

Hyuntak smiled, placing a hand at the small of your back, pressing you to him. His other hand guided your face towards his, and you closed your eyes. His lips touched yours gently at first, then you relaxed into the kiss, pulling him closer, your hands playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He sighed, parting his lips, and this time, you kissed him earnestly. His smell was intoxicating, and you gasped for air. With his breathing heavy, he kissed along your jaw, down to your neck. A whimper escaped your lips at the sensation when he started to gently suck at the skin, his hands touching you under the hem of your shirt but never going above that.

You brought his lips back to yours, feeling like you could kiss him forever. It was new and exciting yet somehow, you wanted more. Before you knew it, you were straddling him, opening your mouth to deepen the kiss. Hyuntak was panting, all the emotions from yesterday and this morning wanting to find relief.

“Fuck.” he whispered against your lips, his hands tangling in your hair.

You smiled, content in the fact that you were making him feel good. When you tugged at his hair, you knew you went too far. Hyuntak moaned, but it also brought him to his senses. He fell back against the bed, taking you with him. Breaking the kiss, he swiftly turned you over so you were now under him, his arms on either side of you, caging you in. You felt lightheaded, but from what you couldn't tell.

Both of you were catching your breath, gazing into each other's eyes as you waited for him to say something.

“Always the troublemaker.” He smirked.

You let out a laugh, reaching up to hug him. He joined in with your laughter as he carefully rolled you over once more so you were on top of him again. He kissed your cheek, the heat of the moment finally cooling down. “Let's get you home.”

◇

Hyuntak held your hand as he walked you towards your door. The conversation from this morning was still replaying in his head. You would risk being in danger, just to be with him? He still couldn't fathom it. What other crazy thoughts were going on in your head, he wondered. Any sane person would have just walked away.

“Hyuntak?”

Breaking out of thought, he turned to look at you. “Yes?”

Your worried expression caught him off guard. He didn't want to make a habit of having you worry, so he brought his hands up to your face and squished your cheeks together. “It's okay. I was just thinking.”

“About what?” You managed to say through your squished together face.

Hyuntak laughed and let go.

“I want you to properly meet my friends.” He said casually, putting his hands in the pocket of his hoodie.

“You do?”

“Of course. You should meet the other people I care about most, don't you think?”

After a pause, you looked up at him with twinkling eyes, saying, “Does this mean we're together? A couple?”

Hyuntak's heart soared. He had assumed that much was obvious after the kiss in his room, but hearing the words aloud sent butterflies to his stomach. He also mentally slapped himself for not asking you first. Reaching for your hands, he brought them up to his lips, giving them a kiss.

“Do you want to be my girlfriend and be with me?” There was a slight teasing tone to Hyuntak's question, but really, he was hopeful.

He watched as your face turned into the happiest he's ever seen. You nodded, throwing your arms around him, “Yes!”

Being careful with you, he gently spun you around, both of you laughing. After setting you down, Hyuntak kissed you passionately. This kiss was different. It was full of promises to protect you, to be your safety now that you were his. And he'll be damned if he ever broke that promise again.

You both stopped to come up for air. He held you close against his chest, and he wondered if you could hear the fast pace his heart was beating. After a moment, you held him by his sweater, looking up at him. His hands were on your waist, his eyes showing nothing but love towards you.

Not wanting to leave you, but knowing he had to, he breathed deeply. “I should go. Will you call me if you need anything?”

“I will.”

“I'll text you later. Go rest and hang out with your friends.”

Leaning down, he gave one last lingering kiss before handing you your backpack and the breakfast he picked up for you on the way. Waving goodbye, Hyuntak waited for you to go inside, and then he took out his phone, dialing the first number on his speed dial.

“Hello?” Baku answered.

“Hey, let's gather at your dad's restaurant. I'll call everyone else to join us.”

“Everything okay? Is y/n joining us, too?”

“No, no, not today. I'll see you soon.”

Hyuntak hung up. He avoided answering the first question because he wasn't even sure himself. Everything should be more than okay. But deep down, he was full of anxiety. All he could think about was if you truly knew the depth of the potential danger that came with being with him, would you still feel the same way?

The restaurant was empty apart from his friends sitting at a booth when Hyuntak arrived. Suho and Sieun were sitting on one side, and Baku had pulled up a chair to sit at the end of the table. Juntae had saved Hyuntak a seat next to him, and he ruffled the youngest's hair as he sat down beside him.

“Thanks for coming, guys.” He said.

“How's y/n? Is she doing better?” Juntae asked.

Hyuntak looked around the table and saw that everyone awaited his answer. Baku must have told everyone what had happened when they didn't show up for basketball that afternoon. Placing his elbows on the table and intertwining his hands, he sighed.

“She's alright. For now.”

“For now?” Suho questioned. “Is she in trouble?”

Baku spoke up. “That's not what he means.” Everyone stayed quiet, and Hyuntak furrowed his brows in frustration. He hated that Baku knew him so well sometimes.

“I.. I just need to know if I'm making the right decision. Am I being selfish by not staying away from her?”

His friends remained silent, thinking his words over.

“I think it'd be selfish of you if you did stay away,” Juntae expressed, “I'm glad she has someone like you now. She deserves to be protected and taken care of.”

“Although, it sounds like she can hold her own.” Suho interjected. “Baku told us she's not afraid to fight back.”

Baku nodded. “She's not as fragile as she looks. Hey, you guys should have seen it! y/n looked so cool.”

“Even so,” Juntae continued, “why not teach her how to fight more?” He smiled. “I'm sure she will do much better than me.”

Hyuntak chuckled. Then he turned to look at Sieun, who had yet to say a word. “What about you? What do you think?”

Sieun looked at him with questioning eyes. “She's important to you?”

“Very.”

“And you're together?”

Becoming a bit flustered, having all eyes on him, all Hyuntak could do was nod his head. There was a hint of a smile in Sieun's face as the rest of his friends exclaimed. Suho and Baku gave one another a high five.

“What? When did this happen?” Juntae grinned.

“Our Gotak is growing up!” Baku reached over to playfully shake Hyuntak, who shrugged him off.

“Hey! Let him finish.” He said, looking back at Sieun.

They all settled down as he continued. “You asked if you're making the right decision. You already made it when you chose to be together. What matters now is to be there for her.” Sieun looked at him with those sad eyes of his. “And to be prepared for whatever comes.”

That struck a nerve. Translation: Be prepared for either one of you to end up hurt. Be it physically or emotionally. And being in a town like this? Full of delinquents and bullies? The chances were high. Hyuntak groaned, rubbing his face in his hands.

“Teaching her how to fight is a good idea.” Suho agreed, looking at Sieun, who blushed. “We can teach her a thing or two.”

Juntae added, “It's also been pretty quiet since the Union disappeared. The only trouble she could get into would be with those girls again.”

It went silent, the boys all knowing that they couldn't protect you while you were at Buil Girl’s High. Which made you that much of an easier target.

“Hey, Gotak. You can only do so much.” Baku said, placing a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder. “You have to trust that she can take care of herself.”

Hyuntak sighed, knowing he was right. He looked at everyone, grateful for such amazing and understanding friends. Sieun was also right. Being together is more important than worrying about what could happen. He promised to keep you safe and happy for as long as he lived.

“I told her I wanted her to meet you all properly. She can come with us to practice basketball.”

“Hey, have you kissed her yet?” Baku teased, changing the subject.

“I bet you she made the first move!” Suho chimed in.

Both of the boys laughed, continuing their banter. Rolling his eyes, Hyuntak turned to Juntae, who had caught his attention. “Jokes aside, we're all very happy for you, Gotak.”

Sieun nodded in agreement. “She must be really special.”

“Yeah.” Hyuntak smiled. “She is.”

Clapping his hands, Suho said, “This calls for a celebration. Let's eat!”

They all agreed, finally digging in at the chicken that was placed before them. Hyuntak smiled happily, feeling more at ease than when he first arrived. Glancing at his friends, he couldn't wait for you to meet them.

a/n: sieun and suho are together in my story in case no one caught the subtle hint :)

I also made a masterlist for this, so it's easier to find the parts. Check out my pinned post.

Thank you all for patiently waiting. Hope you enjoyed the new chapter <3

taglist: @hollxe1 , @l5byrinth , @snowflakemoon3

[honeyscara]

Chapter 8

Sieun tutor masterlist | whc masterlist

《prev chapter next chapter》

Cw: this chapter us gonna be angst, mentions of blood, also s2 spoilers!!

The air grew heavier with each passing second.

You sat still beside Sieun, your back straight, every nerve in your body on edge. The bowling alley, once loud and buzzing, felt distant now—as if the room you sat in had been pulled into another dimension, one laced with tension too thick to breathe through properly.

Then the doors opened with a soft hiss.

Baekjin stepped in.

He walked calmly, almost too calmly, his presence commanding silence without saying a word. His school uniform was still pressed, collar sharp, posture perfect—he looked exactly like the top student everyone once whispered about. But something in his eyes was different. Colder. Emptier.

Your breath hitched.

Baekjin’s gaze flickered briefly to you. Just a glance. But even that was enough to make your shoulders tense.

Then he looked at Sieun.

And stared.

Neither of them said a word for a moment.

Baekjin sat down directly across from the two of you, his movements graceful, calculated, like someone trained to never give anything away. He leaned back slightly in the chair, one arm draped over the backrest, legs crossed neatly—completely unbothered.

His silence spoke louder than any greeting.

"I didn’t expect to see you here," Baekjin finally said, voice calm and smooth—but cool. Detached. Like this was just a formality.

Sieun didn’t flinch. He met Baekjin’s gaze head-on, voice steady but low.

"I had to ask you something."

Baekjin didn’t blink.

Sieun inhaled sharply, then said with deliberate weight, “I don’t know why a top student like you would be in the Union.”

The words cut through the space between them like a blade. You felt your throat dry up as the atmosphere shifted—Baekjin’s eyes narrowing, just slightly, like he was trying to decide whether Sieun deserved an answer.

But he didn’t speak.

He just stared, as if daring Sieun to press further.

Sieun leaned forward, his tone firmer this time—challenging, but not loud. Just sharp enough to slice through the thick fog of silence.

“Humin knows the reason, doesn’t he?”

Baekjin’s jaw ticked.

And still, he said nothing.But something about the look in his eyes told you: the conversation had only just begun.

Then, Baekjin let out a scoff—quiet, humorless.

“Do you think I’m doing this because Baku knows everything?” he asked, voice sharp, tinged with something darker. “That I’m scared of him talking?”

His lip curled ever so slightly in disdain.

Sieun didn’t blink. “No,” he said firmly. “Humin knows everything about you. That’s why you think of him as your only friend.”

Baekjin’s expression barely shifted, but something in his eyes twitched.

A beat of silence passed.

Then Sieun added, softly—but with a bitter edge that cut deep, “But would Baku consider you his friend too?”

That hit home.

Baekjin didn’t speak. Not at first.

Instead, he reached into his blazer pocket and slowly pulled out his phone, eyes still locked with Sieun’s as his fingers moved over the screen with practiced ease. The tension climbed higher with every swipe, your pulse rising.

He turned the screen toward you both.

A video.

Your stomach dropped.

Gotak and Juntae scanning the files at Daesung Motorcycles. Your eyes widened in horror, breath catching in your throat. “No...” you whispered, panic creeping in like a shadow under the door.

Baekjin then said flatly. “My boys will be there soon.”

And in that moment, you knew.

The guys who left earlier. The ones who made your skin crawl with unease.

That’s where they’d gone.

Sieun’s jaw clenched hard, his whole posture going rigid beside you. His hand, which had been resting near yours, curled into a fist on the table.

He glared at Baekjin now—burned through him with a look so sharp, you swore it could cut steel.

Baekjin’s eyes gleamed with a quiet, calculated malice as he slowly leaned in, resting his forearms on the edge of the table. The air around him felt heavier—more dangerous.

“You said I had to separate the variables, right?” he murmured, tone eerily calm. “But I found an easier way.”

He paused, then added with a chilling smirk:

“If I remove the variables... it’s even easier.”

His gaze drifted meaningfully to you—lingering for a fraction too long. That look made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

You instinctively reached for Sieun’s hand, gripping it tight.

Sieun didn’t flinch.

But his fist, clenched on the table, trembled slightly as his glare deepened. His jaw locked. The muscle there twitched.

Without a word, he stood—his body a shield between you and Baekjin. He pulled you up with him, gripping your hand tightly as he turned to leave.

But Baekjin moved.

Effortlessly, he stepped into your path, blocking your way with infuriating calmness.

“Last time,” he said, voice low, “Baku left... to save all of you.”

He tilted his head just slightly, eyes narrowed.

“Can you do the same?”

He glanced at you again, slower this time.

“Can you save your girl... and your friends?”

The room fell into suffocating silence.

Sieun’s patience finally snapped.

His eyes darkened, and without hesitation, he reached for a pen resting on the counter behind him. In a single fluid motion, he lunged forward, arm swinging as he aimed to strike Baekjin.

But Baekjin moved like a shadow—effortlessly sidestepping. His hand shot out, catching Sieun’s wrist just before the pen made contact. He snatched the pen mid-air and flung it to the ground with a clatter.

The corner of Baekjin’s lip curled slightly as he said coolly, “Why are you scared, Sieun?”

Sieun didn’t reply. He just stared, breathing heavy, shoulders tensed—ready to explode.

Then he turned, grabbing your hand again, trying to walk away.

But your eyes caught movement—someone approaching behind from the side entrance.

“Sieun? Y/n?” a voice called out.

You both froze.

Baku.

He stood there, wide-eyed and confused, slowly walking toward you. “What are you guys doing here?”

Neither you nor Sieun said a word.

Baku’s voice suddenly rose, rough with frustration. “I said, what the hell are you doing here?!”

His steps quickened, and without warning, he grabbed both you and Sieun by the arm, dragging you with sharp urgency through the exit.

You flinched at the harshness of his grip but bit your tongue, knowing this wasn’t the time.

Once the three of you were outside—under the dull, flickering streetlamp—Baku shoved Sieun’s shoulder and let go of you roughly.

“Why the hell are you guys here?!” he shouted again, voice cracking with anger and concern.

You took a shaky breath, stepping between him and Sieun, your heart pounding. “Gotak and Juntae… they’re at Daesung Motorcycles,” you said quickly. “We need to save them… t-the union members are already on their way.”

Your voice cracked at the end, eyes stinging.

Baku's expression shifted. His face dropped as the weight of your words hit him like a blow to the chest. He glanced at your arm—the one he’d just gripped too tightly—then a flicker of guilt flashed in his eyes.

“Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Shit…”

The air turned cold. Heavy.

Behind you, the door of the bowling alley creaked open again.

A voice called out, smooth yet cutting, laced with mockery and challenge.

“Park Humin.”

You turned just in time to see Baekjin step outside, his figure backlit by the warm lights behind him. His school uniform still pristine, his face calm—too calm for someone so dangerous. His hands were in his pockets, posture relaxed, but his eyes were locked onto Baku like a hawk circling its prey.

Baku didn’t even flinch. His gaze didn’t leave Baekjin as he growled lowly, “Sieun. Y/N. Go save them.”

Your eyes widened. “Baku—”

“I said go!” he snapped.

But you didn’t move. Not yet.

You looked at Sieun, and he looked back at you. You could see it clearly in his eyes—he didn’t want to leave either. It felt too familiar. And leaving Baku to face Baekjin alone felt wrong.

Baekjin took a step forward. The streetlamp above flickered once, casting eerie shadows across the pavement.

Baku turned to face you both, his voice softer now—but resolute.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, glancing at you first, then Sieun. “So go.”

His words carried something deeper than reassurance—it was trust. He was placing his faith in the two of you.

You bit your lip, heart hammering in your chest. Then, finally, you nodded.

You reached out, grabbing Sieun’s hand.

He squeezed it back.

And without another word, you turned and took off into the night, your footsteps pounding against the pavement, Sieun running beside you, breath ragged.

The night air tore at your lungs as you ran, your hand still tingling from Sieun’s grip just moments before. Streetlights flickered above, casting shifting shadows along the sidewalk. Your legs burned, heart hammering so loudly it nearly drowned out the sound of your own breath. Every step felt heavier than the last, your body pushed to its limit with fear and urgency.

Then—your foot caught the edge of a loose curb.

You stumbled forward, hands scraping against the concrete as you hit the ground with a thud. Pain lanced through your palms, but you barely registered it. Gritting your teeth, you scrambled up, brushing dirt off your knees, your breaths coming in sharp, panicked bursts.

“I’m slowing you down,” you managed to choke out. “Go ahead, Sieun. I’ll catch up—just go!”

He paused, torn, his brows furrowed with hesitation. But you gave him a small nod, trying to mask the sting of frustration and guilt in your chest. You didn’t want to be the reason anything went wrong.

Finally, he turned and kept running—reluctantly, his figure disappearing around the corner as you pushed yourself forward.

You ran as fast as your legs would allow, but your breathing was ragged now, your chest tight. The cold air bit at your skin as the pounding of your footsteps echoed down the deserted street.And then you saw him again.

Your steps faltered.

Sieun stood at a crosswalk ahead, completely still.His phone was pressed to his ear, his shoulders stiff, his eyes wide in disbelief.

Time felt like it stopped for a second.

His expression—shocked, broken—made your stomach twist.

“Sieun!” you tried to yell, but your voice barely carried.

Then you heard it.

The distant growl of an engine—too fast, too loud.

You turned your head.

A truck.

shit.

Your heart dropped like a stone in your chest. The headlights glared through the dark, approaching too fast. Your instincts screamed. You tried to move faster, to shout louder, but your legs felt like they were sinking in mud.

And Sieun still wasn’t moving.

The world slowed into a silent, merciless blur. You saw it before it happened— the glare of headlights,the metallic screech of tires,the way Sieun’s body jerked slightly, as if realizing just a second too late.

And then—

The impact.

His frame flung forward like a ragdoll, limbs weightless. Then crashing against the pavement with a sickening thud that echoed through the hollow street.

Time stopped.

Your scream ripped out of your throat before your mind even caught up.

“SIEUN!!”

Your legs buckled but moved anyway—you ran, faster than you ever had, stumbling to your knees beside him.

Your fingers trembled as you reached out, brushing the blood-matted hair from his forehead. His eyes were shut, lashes fluttering like he was barely hanging on. Blood pooled beneath his head, seeping into the cracks of the road like spilled ink.

“Sieun—no, no, no, stay with me—” you sobbed, cradling his broken body, your voice cracking like glass. His chest was rising. Barely. Shallow. Uneven.

He was still breathing.

You pressed your forehead to his, tears spilling down your cheeks, hands gripping his jacket like it could anchor him to life.

“Please—someone, help!!” you screamed into the empty night, your voice raw, frantic. “Please—he’s still breathing—help us!!”

But there was no response. Just the faraway hum of city noise, and the flickering streetlamp above, casting a pale, cold glow on the boy in your arms.

“Don’t do this, Sieun… Please,” you whispered through sobs. “..please don’t leave me—please…”

Your tears fell on his cheeks as his breathing continued, faint but present.

You held him tighter, rocking slightly, your body shaking uncontrollably as you begged the universe not to take him away.

Taglist: @eijizwrld @night-fall-moon @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @jihooneyluv @hnch33rios @stxr-lilac @mizxuqii @violetwitchmcu @reiofsuns2001 @yourfavoritefreakyhan @slovesyouuu @k1ttyjuice @ellaaa505