Alis World

The ticking sound of the clock as it hangs above the classroom door is all that can be heard on a late Wednesday afternoon. Tic, toc, tic, toc… It goes as the minute hand moves a step forward, then another and another. Minutes turn into half an hour, then an hour — then two. Finally the hour hand stops right above number six and you let out a sigh that leaves your chest deflating like a balloon. 

Glancing around the empty classroom, your eyes linger on the unused cameras, all neatly polished for this day. Then to the polaroids that lay lined up in rows on the tables. You had taken the liberty of printing out some of your larger works, the ones you were especially proud of. Across the large white board you had plastered some, almost like an art exhibit. 

You had spent so many hours making the sign over this past weekend. It included colorful and funky letters, all hand made as you had cut through paper with precision before glueing on flowers and butterflies, spelling out the words "Photography Club" with the 'C' being slightly wonky. Now it hangs crooked on one of the walls, staring out into the void. 

This was supposed to be your big day, the one you had been preparing for for weeks on end. The opening of your very own school club, somewhere for you to share your passion with your peers. Only, no one came. Two hours had passed and there had been but a single appearance. "Perhaps they simply forgot, maybe they missed the announcement." But you know better. 

The head of the school committee had been skeptical when you first approached. You still remember the stuffy air of his office, the wilted flowers on the windowsill and the unfinished cup of coffee from that morning sitting on his desk. "A photography club..?" Mr Yoon had asked as he leaned back in his chair, hands clasped over his chest like a man thoroughly entertained. 

"Most students opt for something more… solidified. Take the maths- or language clubs for example." One of his fingers fiddled with the top button of his shirt mindlessly, "You would do better choosing something more academically tied." 

More academically tied? Was that all he thought of you? Photography has been your biggest passion for as long as you could remember. The art of preserving a moment and transforming it into something timeless — that was what you burned for. How could he be so ignorant and look past your clear efforts at something you deemed important. 

It wasn't rejection, at least not straight up. Mr Yoon still had an impassive look on his face as he reclined back in his chair, one which clearly said 'impress me'. That meant you still had a shot at convincing the head of the committee. 

You had braced yourself, back straightened and knuckles clenched by your sides as you looked him dead in the eyes. "With all due respect sir, photography is my passion. Have you never truly burned for something in your life? If so, you would know why I'm standing in your office today." You inhaled as your expression softened back into the smile you always wore, "I'm sure those who decide to join my club might have similar feelings or at least an interest in the subject. Do you not think it prejudiced to deny me this opportunity when it is given to so many others?" 

After that you held your tongue, waiting silently for your verdict. Mr Yoon appeared unfazed, his gaze had been fixed on his hands that still splayed across his chest. Finally after a long and agonizing moment of stillness — he'd looked up. "I'm not permitted to deny anyone who wishes to start their own club, as long as it's not of violent nature", he paused as his attention shifted to the pictures you'd brought to show, "I suppose photographing butterflies after school hours do not fall within said category." 

He picked up the cup of coffee, like he'd suddenly remembered it was there in the first place. Then he'd taken a small sip, face scrunching at the bitter and cold taste. "Do not fault me if it promises more than it delivers." After that he had dismissed you with a simple wave, going back to whatever nonsense work he claimed to be so busy with. 

Perhaps Mr Yoon had been right all along. The grand opening of your photography club had been a complete failure. Not as much as a single interested participant had shown. You should be disappointed, you should just give the idea up all together. Should. You hated that word more than anything. 

"Oh well", you hum, clasping your hands together as you glance around the empty classroom, "No need to cry over spilled milk!" With that you grabbed your awkwardly big and worn out duffel bag as you began shoving cameras, polaroids and photos back inside. The large sign wasn't particularly heavy and you easily shoved it under your arm before heading out. Next time things would turn out differently, you thought as you gave yourself a smile. 

The classroom is buzzing with life the very next morning. Outside frost bites into the grass, the February air is still chilly enough for you to have your scarf wrapped tightly around your neck. "Heaters must be out of order", you murmur to yourself as you walk past the board. Math was your first class of the day, and though there were not many things you disliked, math had to be one of the few. Numbers and symbols were not your strong suit, you much preferred art or literature. 

Your eyes scan the room, lips pursed as you scour out an available seat. There was one up by the front, unclaimed since it sat so close to the teacher's desk. You scoff at the ridiculousness of your classmates as you approach. But just as your fingers grace the table's corner, you pause. There, in the far end of the room, just by the windows, sat a tall and lonesome figure. 

Choi Soobin.

You didn't know Soobin per se… Barely anyone did, aside from Beomgyu and Yeonjun who he spent his days with. No one else seemed allowed the privilege of breathing the same air as they did. The Choi's had held quite the infamous reputation at your college for the past three years. Though things changed last fall when Yeonjun suddenly decided to settle down with one of the juniors. Now both him and Beomgyu were always seen with their girls on their arm, chatting away as though nothing else mattered. 

Soobin kind of just… lingered. You would pass them in the halls every now and then, Beomgyu and Yeonjun walking in front with their girlfriends whilst Soobin's tall figure trailed behind them soundlessly. He still sat with them at lunch, hung out with them on breaks, and the few classes they shared would lead to Soobin occupying an empty bench behind the four. 

It wasn't like you felt bad, that would be ridiculous. The Choi's had done nothing but cause dismay around everyone in your year — and though you had never been one of their targets, the solemn looks on your classmates' faces were enough to make something inside your chest twist. 

But that was months ago, and now Soobin sits all by himself as he stares out the window with an almost sullen look on his face. His hands are folded across his chest, his jacket hung on the chair behind him despite the cold temperature inside the classroom. No one as much as glanced his way, despite the fact that he was the only person sitting alone. That might have to do with the unspoken set of rules that had accumulated around Soobin. They read as follows; 

1. Do not sit beside Soobin. 

2. Do not talk to Soobin. 

3. Do not acknowledge Soobin. 

People simply avoided the guy, and for good reason too. Soobin wasn't exactly the friendly type. Even back when The Choi's had ruled your school, he had always been the one people cowered before. Not because he was even half the punch Yeonjun was or even a semblance of Beomgyu's snide comments — but because he was nothing but presence. His tall figure loomed over everyone in the hallways, silence settling around each room he entered without him having to say a word. 

And though things were different now, people still made sure to stay clear of Soobin's path. Well at least most people did. You never really understood what about him was so big and scary. Today he looks just as much the student as anyone else in your math class, albeit a little lonely. 

As you regard him silently from where you stand, you take in the softness of his features. The slight furrow of his brows and the natural slope of his nose. Your immediate thought was that he looked oddly photogenic. Your mind is transported back to the opening of your photography club yesterday, which had been a total flop, to put it mildly. You desperately needed a new approach, that much was clear. 

Shifting your weight from one leg to the other, your gaze flickers between the empty desk you stood by, and over to the tall figure sitting by the far end of the room. It is then that a thought crosses your mind… If you couldn't bring people to your photography club, then you would have to bring your photography club to them — and Choi Soobin could use a new friend, couldn't he? 

Your heavy duffel bag slams against the table when you drop it down next to Soobin. He startles at the sound, pulled from whatever trance he had been under as his attention is ripped from the pale trees outside the window. His eyes are dark and narrowed when they seize you, his expression carrying a hint of both confusion and apprehension — none of which you pay any particular mind to as you flash him a smile. 

"Hi." You extend your hand, an open invitation for something beyond just fleeting conversation, "Nice to meet you." But Soobin doesn't appear interested in the slightest. He regards your outstretched fingers with disdain, his brows scrunching together yet betraying nothing short of what he thought. 

Not one to give up, you try again. "Is this seat taken?" You ask, gesturing to where you had just thrown your belongings. Of course it wasn't, everyone knew that, he knew that you knew that too. Soobin doesn't respond, his posture lazy enough to mask any unease as he watches you quietly. Well, at least he made no direct move to stop you. 

Pulling the chair out, you slump down on it with a sigh, garnering stares from your classmates as quiet whispers pass along the desks. It had become custom to avoid the seat you currently occupied with all your might. It was safe to say that your impulsive decision would become the new hot topic of today. But you hardly mind it, instead focusing on getting set up for the class.

Soobin's gaze is heavy on you when you undo the zipper of your bag, pulling out a small pencil case and a notebook covered in doodles and stickers. Methodically you begin lining up your work material, from colorful highlighters to erasers in funky shapes and sizes. He continues to study your every move like he was solving a Rubik's cube. For a moment it felt almost like he was about to say something, you could hear the subtle shift in his breath — like something else was lingering just beneath the surface. 

You peek at him through the corner of your eye, catching his gaze for a brief second. His face twists into something you can't quite place. Then he turns his attention back to the window without as much as a word. Oh well, you thought to yourself with a shrug, perhaps he was just shy around new people. 

A minute later the classroom door swings open as Mr Hwang strides inside, the heel of his shoes clacking against the floor as he approaches the board. Your professor was a tall and lanky man, with dark hair that fell in uneven sections down the sides of his face and glasses that sat crooked on his nose. Placing his briefcase on the teacher's desk, he clears his throat before turning to address the room. 

He pauses to look out over the class, his greeting stuck in his throat for a moment uncharacteristically long. Perhaps it had been nothing but a flicker of your imagination, but you could have sworn that his eyes lingered a fraction on your desk, his brow arching slightly before commencing his lecture. 

"Good morning students." He starts off by grabbing a pen, twisting the cap open with the help of his teeth, "Why don't we start by opening our books on page two hundred and forty nine." The sound of books being pulled open and the flipping of pages fills the room as everyone prepares for the long hour ahead. 

You quickly found out that Soobin was a mathematical genius. He hardly paid any attention to the professor's lecture and yet he was able to solve each problem in his book with surprising ease. You found yourself watching him without even meaning to. The pencil in his hand looked comically small between his long fingers, the flick of his wrist sharp and efficient as he jotted down numbers without hesitation. 

How did he get it without even glancing at the board? He must've studied beforehand, you thought to yourself as you twirled your own pencil in your hand. You, on the other hand, were struggling significantly in comparison to your new desk mate. Each one of Mr. Hwang's equations added yet another set of confused scribbles to your notebook. Having given up on the colorful highlighters, your page was now a mess of question marks and crossed out rows of numbers. 

By the end of class Soobin had finished all of his work and it appeared he'd gotten a decent amount done on tomorrow's section as well. Now he was just mindlessly tapping the butt of his pen against his book, his thoughts seemingly elsewhere. You were nowhere near done, having been stuck on the same question for the past twenty minutes. With a barely audible sigh you finally gave up, instead turning in your seat as your attention fell on Soobin. 

"You seem really good at this", you nod toward his solved equations with a small hum. Soobin responds only with a grunt, his eyes still not meeting yours as he continues to fiddle with his pencil. "Are you in the math club by any chance?" It would be ridiculous for someone like him to waste his talent on just exams and graded papers. But he only scoffs, giving the tiniest shake of his head. 

"Clubs aren't for me." 

Not for him? How would he know if he wasn't even in any of them? Pursing your lips, your gaze drifts back to your own notebook. The failed attempts stare back at you mockingly and you nearly stick your tongue out at the scribbled numbers. Then you catch the sight of the small butterfly you had doodled onto the corner of the page. Bringing your pen to the drawing, you line a square around it — framing the butterfly like you would a picture. 

"Have you ever tried photography?" Your question is lighthearted, and you don't even bother looking at him as you continue to refine the edges of the doodle. 

Somewhere beside you Soobin makes a small disgruntled noise, "Photography?" The response was short and almost snappy but there was an undeniable hint of curiosity behind his words that you weren't late to pick up on. 

"Yeah", you hum between scribbles, "You know, taking pictures and stuff." With a hopeful smile you turn back to him, "It's a great deal of fun, and we could use more members." You did not mention the fact that your club had opened less than two days ago or that you currently had a grand total of zero participants. 

Around you the once quiet murmur of your classmates grew louder as the last few minutes of the lesson ticked by. People were pushing their chairs back and shoving books into their bags as they prepared their leave. You don't spare them as much as a glance, your gaze still fixed on Soobin as you try your hardest to advertise your photography club. "There's a lot to learn, I think it would be a fun opportunity to—" 

The sound of Soobin's chair scraping against the floor cuts you short as he rises to his feet. You hadn't even noticed him gathering his stuff and before you knew it he had his bag flung over his shoulder. When standing up, he towers over you, his tall figure casting shadows beneath him as he peers down at you with dark and narrowed eyes. His face is set into stone, his expression unreadable as he scoffs. 

"I'm not interested." 

It's the last thing he says before brushing past you forcefully and heading for the door. You're left still sitting by your joint table, markers scattered across its surface and nothing but defeat staring you back in the face.

Okay, you would admit that Soobin was a tough nut to crack. You had learned that a friendly smile and the right mindset would get you just about anywhere in life. Only Choi Soobin did not seem to follow that code. Your morning class keeps replaying in your head as you make your way down the busy halls, arms folded across your chest, you wander deeply lost in thought. 

Bumping into people from both left to right, you give out apologies and polite nods as you make your way to the cafeteria. Maybe approaching him when he was clearly in a sour mood had been a bad idea. Or perhaps you just needed to be consistent? 

You keep mulling over different ways to interact with him as you wait in line with a tray in your hand. School lunch wasn't exactly a luxury but it did its job at keeping you full until dinner. Today everyone seemed to be crowding the rather small cafeteria, likely having run out of money to splurge on nearby supermarkets and fast foods. Standing behind a couple of girls that chat away excitedly, you can't help but listen in on their conversation just a little. 

They're talking with deliberate hand gestures, giggling between sentences and nodding ecstatically. They seem to be having a great deal of fun despite doing something as mundane as waiting in line for lunch. Deep down you knew that one of the reasons you had wanted to start your own club had been in a desperate attempt at making friends. It wasn't like you were completely alone… You talked to your teachers after and before class, the lunch lady and sometimes the janitor during late evenings or that one time when you'd had a water leakage in your dorm. And yet you couldn't help but envy the girls who sat together during lunch, who had someone to listen to their day and to ask about your life. 

You don't know why it has been so difficult to make friends in college. It wasn't like you were that shy of a person, quite the contrary. Still, every time you had tried to approach someone, you had been met with polite smiles and brief conversation. Nothing was ever permanent, everyone already had their own circle and few were looking for additions to that. 

Gripping your empty tray a little harder, you swallow as you force yourself to tear your gaze away. The right people will come along, you tell yourself as you let your eyes wander across the crowded cafeteria. Nearly every table was taken, students cramming together as they fought for a seat. You pause when you spot a familiar face among the many. 

Soobin was sitting on a round table not far from where you were standing. His tray was filled with untouched food as he twisted a red apple between his large hands. Opposite him sat his friends, both Yeonjun and Beomgyu seemed to be in deep conversation about something with the girls seated on their table — neither paying Soobin much thought. Your stomach twists a little at the sight, a flicker of recognition sparking inside of you as you regard the way he seemingly just exists in the presence of the others. 

He doesn't try to grab their attention, nor does he look up from the fruit he grasped in his hands. There was something around him that felt almost like grudging acceptance, as though this was just how things were for him and he had come to terms with that. To feel empathy for him would probably be a ridiculous thought if you asked your classmates, but you can't help the way your brows tug into a frown as you regard him quietly. 

Beomgyu says something, his hands moving quickly in front of him as he speaks. Suddenly the table erupts into laughter — at least almost the entire table. Everyone but Soobin seems to be taking part in the joke, giggling and snorting loudly. Soobin on the other hand, glances up for only a brief second, then his attention returns to the apple without as much as a twitch of his jaw. 

You had probably been staring at them for a good while when someone behind you gave you a light push. Blinking rapidly, you apologize as you continue to move forward with the line, your eyes momentarily shifting from The Choi's table and back to those in front of you as you stumble to catch up. There were still a handful of students left until it was your turn to get food, you hum to yourself as your finger taps against the edge of your tray. 

Through the corner of your eye you could see that people were slowly filing out of the cafeteria, likely heading to their afternoon classes as they'd had an earlier lunch. Without even meaning to, you find your attention back at the table where Soobin and his friends had been sitting only a minute earlier. To your surprise, you find it empty. Craning your neck, you just about manage to catch the sight of his tall frame as Soobin slips out through the entrance. 

You don't know what exactly came over you, but next thing you knew, you were moving. Tray discarded and your bag still heavy on your shoulder, you walk past the line you had been waiting so patiently in for well over ten minutes.

The hallway is quieter now, almost vacant save for a few stragglers that made their way to the busy cafeteria. And then there is Soobin. He's walking a few feet behind both Beomgyu and Yeonjun, who seemed far too engrossed in whatever their girlfriends had to say at the moment. He holds his bag in one hand, letting it sway back and forth with each slow step he takes. 

With a newfound sense of determination, you quicken your pace. It was easy to catch up to him, and without thinking through your next move twice, your reach for him. 

"Wait up!" You call out. Soobin freezes when your fingers curl around his wrist, halting his movements abruptly. He turns to you, his expression reflecting stoicism. At first he doesn't say anything as he lets his dark gaze wander between your face and where your hand holds onto him tightly. "I… Sorry!" You apologize with a sheepish smile, clearing your throat rather awkwardly when you let go of him again. 

Soobin doesn't respond as his attention diverts to his friends that were progressing down the hall. None of them seemed to have noticed the absence of their third part. He watches after them for a moment longer, like he was making sure they were out of earshot before he exhaled sharply through his nose. "What?" He barks as he turns back to you, his face sending you a look that clearly says 'You better have a good explanation for stopping me like this.' 

You actually didn't know why you had chased him all the way out here, it wasn't like you knew him at all. But then again, there was always time to change that. So you straighten up, giving him your most convincing smile as you adjust your bag over your shoulder. "Hey, about the photography club…" You slowly begin to, treading carefully like the thin ice you stood on could break at any moment, "You sure you don't want to join?"

The scoff Soobin emits echoes down the hall, he looked personally offended by your question. "And why on earth would I do that?" He retorts as he watches you with a scrutinizing stare. 

His words were meant to discourage you, possibly even scare you away — but if anything, it made you all the more stubborn about having him in your club. "Well it would be fun and I think you'd be a great addition to the team. Plus… I thought you could use a friend." The last part was half a lie, half truth. While Soobin did indeed look like he needed a new friend, you desperately needed one even more. 

For a moment he doesn't say anything at all, only watching you with those same dark and distant eyes — almost like he was evaluating the worth of this entire conversation. Then he makes a low sound at the back of his throat, somewhere between a scoff and a menacing laugh. "I think you're the one in need of a friend, sunshine." The nickname sounds bitter on his tongue, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand. 

He takes a step back, shifting his bag from one hand to the other. It looks like he might say something else, his lips parted as he regards you wordlessly. Then he tsks and turns on his heel, descending down the hall where his friends had disappeared. 

You watch after him as he leaves, your lips pursed into a disappointed pout. A tough nut to crack indeed. 

The desk chair creaks under your weight as you lean back a fraction, reminding you that you were due to buy a new one, sooner rather than later. Your small dorm is silent, save for the ticking of the clock on the wall and the sounds of students chatting down the hall, their voices easily slipping through the crack beneath your door. Sat by your desk, you were making preparations for the day tomorrow — when your second attempt at getting participants for your club would take place. 

Outside the sun had early begun to set, despite it being well before dinner time. You were catching the last rays as you organized the recent pictures you had printed out in the library. They had been taken just outside campus, by one of the large oak trees. A little squirrel family inhabited its long and sturdy branches. You had waited out in the cold for nearly two hours in the hopes of catching a glimpse of them. It had all been worth it in the end, and you let out a pleased sigh as your finger trails along one of the pictures showcasing a tiny squirrel holding a small acorn. 

You were especially proud of how close you had managed to get, capturing even the tiny details on the rodent's brown fur. Photography wasn't as easy as it looked. It required both patience and skill, and that you were very silent at times. It had never been a problem — you knew that all good things took time, you just had to give them a chance.

Your attention shifts to your camera where it sits on your desk. It was an older model, but you held onto it dearly. It was the first one you had ever gotten, gifted to you by your parents on your fifteenth birthday. You had been begging them for that exact one for months, boasting about all its cool features and the quality of the pictures it produced. They had been skeptical at first. 

"What if it's just a phase, honey?" You had overheard your mother asking your father one evening in the kitchen when they cleaned up after dinner. 

Your dad had scoffed, "Kids go through phases every week. Spending that much money on a camera she will never use is irrational." 

Hearing that should have been enough to make you drop the idea entirely, but you had always been stubborn. So the very next day at breakfast, the first thing to leave your lips was your undying desire for said camera. You had kept pestering them about it until eventually they caved. And when you unwrapped your present on the morning of your birthday — the world had felt complete. 

Now it was worn out, battered around the edges after its long lifespan of constant use. But it was well loved. 

As you flip through the other pictures, preparing for the day to come, your mind keeps wandering back to Soobin. Somewhere beneath the avoidant exterior you knew that there was a calm, gentleness to him. You had seen it in the way he'd been sitting quietly in class that morning, his face ungraded as he peered out through the window. 

Picking up one of the other pictures, you regard it fondly. It was a shot of the oak tree itself, without the squirrels. You wondered what it would look like if you got to photograph Soobin in front of it. You imagine his face as the sun hits his skin, your mind already playing around with different angels and camera settings. He would be a natural muse, you think. 

If only you had a way to approach him. 

You arrive to class earlier than you usually would the next morning. The halls were almost vacant as you descended past the lockers. Normally you would use the extra time in the mornings to work on your recent photos — perhaps even take some new ones. 

Today you had woken at your first alarm, rolled out of bed and packed your bag without as much as even glancing at the pictures splayed across your desk. Math was your first scheduled class today as well, and after yesterday's failure you knew that you needed to turn up early and get some work done. 

The sound of your footsteps echo against the floors as you make your way to the door, and to your surprise you find it already ajar. When pushing it open, you step inside the familiar classroom, taking a moment to adjust to the bright morning light that streamed through the windows. The board was empty, the teacher's desk vacant as were the other tables, except for… 

A frown finds its way to your face when your gaze lands on Soobin's figure. He was seated in his unofficially claimed seat, his math book already opened on today's page as he wrote quietly in his notes. To say that you were surprised to see him here out of all people would be an understatement. Never would you think that any of The Choi's, regardless of their seemingly changed ways, took school this seriously. But here he was, and it was clear that he hadn't expected company. 

Soobin's eyes meet yours almost instantly as he lifts his head, his expression undoubtedly mimicking your own as the hand around his pencil stills. Hesitating for only a moment, you glance toward the ocean of available spots, each one of them up for grabs as no one else has arrived. Your gaze betrays you in the end, finding its way back to the tall figure in the very corner as your feet start moving in his direction. 

Noticing your approach, Soobin lets out a small huff before his attention returns to the numbers in front of him. You come to a halt by his desk, placing your bag on the table as you unzip it. Neither of you speak, you know that you should probably greet him, try with a friendly 'good morning' or even ask about his day. Instead you just watch him, letting your eyes wander across his relaxed frame as he works quietly. 

The soft light of the morning sun makes his dark hair glow and his skin almost seems to sparkle. In the most dignified sense possible, Soobin looked gorgeous. 

Your finger brushes against something cool and hard rather than the math book you had been searching for. Glancing down, you spot the polaroid camera you always kept on you, purely out of habit really. A thought crosses your mind as your gaze darts between the small device and Soobin who was sitting only three feet away. Not thinking your next course of action through twice, or even once for that matter, you reach for the camera. 

Soobin doesn't react as you bring it up, seemingly caught up in his work as his brows furrow slightly in concentration. You position it to your face, closing one eye as you peer at him through the lens. It's such a mundane moment, aided only by the rising sun outside and the pale trees as winter clung to nature. Your finger presses down on the button, and a loud snap follows. The sound echoes through the classroom, a small flash illuminating the already bright room for a moment before it fades again. Pleased with yourself, you lower the polaroid camera once more as you wait for the picture to be printed. 

Somewhere in front of you, the rustling sound of someone shifting can be heard. You glance up just in time to catch Soobin watching you with a sharp glare. "Did you just take my fucking picture?" He asks, his voice harsh and accusing. 

Ah, you hadn't really thought about how he would react to that part… With a soft hum, you nod. "Yeah", you say as you pull out the chair next to him and slump down on it. "Do you want to see?" Shaking the polaroid in your hand, you wait patiently for the photo to develop. 

Soobin sits stiffly next to you, his work long forgotten about as he watches you with a tense expression. He doesn't say anything as he just exists next to you, the way he so often would. You avoid his intense gaze as you flick the polaroid back and forth lazily, watching intently as the photo slowly develops. It was perfect — he looked completely unguarded in it, hunched over his desk in his school uniform as he studied. You notice too that his lips were jutted out into a small, barely noticeable pout. 

"See?" You hold the small polaroid out for him to see, hoping that he didn't notice the way your breath hitched as he leaned closer. "You're a natural!" You beam as you point to him in the picture. He studies the photo, and for a moment you think he might actually crack a smile. Then the mask falls back into place, the frown returning and his gaze narrowing as he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. 

"Tch. Throw that shit away", he grunts as he turns back to his book. There was an unmistakable tension to his shoulders now, like he was holding something else back too. Pursing your lips, you glance down at the polaroid in your palm, clutching it a little tighter before stuffing it back into the outer compartment of your bag. Well, there was that, you think to yourself with a small sigh. 

Another minute passes in a rather uncomfortable silence. You occupy yourself with pulling out your math book along with your pencil case, lining things up just the way you liked them. Part of you wants to ask what he was doing here so early, another part of you already knows that you won't get any answer of satisfaction from him. So you remain quiet. 

It's not until you've flipped your notebook open and grabbed a pen that Soobin finally speaks up. His voice is a low murmur, and had it not been for the fact that the classroom was painfully desolate, you probably wouldn't have heard him. "Why are you even sitting here anyway?" The question comes off more as an accusation than an inquiry, but you hardly mind it. 

With a casual shrug of your shoulders, you hum. "I suppose I needed a friend." 

Soobin doesn't respond to that and you don't turn to look at him. Still you were able to feel his gaze on you as it lingered for just a moment too long to be comfortable. He goes back to solving his equations after that, not bothering to pry for further information, your guess was that he simply did not care enough. 

Students begin rolling in ten minutes later, their excited chatter filling the once silent air as everyone settles in for the lecture. Soobin doesn't speak to you for the rest of the class, doesn't even glance at you. Though you never attempted to start a conversation with him again, you couldn't help your gaze from wandering back to the sealed pocket of your bag, knowing that the polaroid lay safely tucked inside. 

That afternoon you made a second attempt at garnering some traction for your photography club. After lunch you had taken the liberty of putting up posters along the walls, pointing students of all years in the direction of your grand opening. At least a few were bound to see the notice this time around. 

The empty classroom you had borrowed was on the first floor, not far from the entrances. You had put your self-made sign above the open door, stuck pictures to the board and laid out cameras on one of the tables. Everything was set and in order — now all that was left was to wait for any willing participants. Crossing your fingers, you anxiously pace back and forth as you glance toward the clock. 

It's barely ten minutes after four when the first few heads peek through the door. A couple of curious juniors had made their way here and now they were all watching you with sheepish smiles. The feeling blossoming in your chest at the sight was truly unmatched and you eagerly welcome them inside as you instruct them to leave their belongings on one of the empty desks. "Here, come along and I'll show you some of the recent photos I've taken", you say as you walk them up to the board where you had put up a variety of pictures. 

One of the girls, a little bolder than the rest, reaches for the one of the photos of the squirrel you had taken only a few days prior. "This is just outside campus right?" She asks as she turns the picture in her hands. "I didn't know we had squirrels living in the trees here, that's so cool!" The other students are quick to gather around her as they peer over her shoulder. 

"How did you manage to get so close?" A younger guy asks without taking his eyes off of the photo. 

You just shrug, watching them with a fond smile. "Patience, it took a lot of waiting", pointing to the second picture of the squirrel with her children, you hum, "But it's worth it in the end." 

After that the handful of students continue to scour the board for another moment, lingering on different photos of all shapes and sizes. Some, you found out, were more into nature and animals, whereas others wanted to take abstract pictures and play around with inanimate objects. 

There's a sudden light tap to your shoulder, and the action startles you. Turning around, you find one of the juniors standing just behind you with a nervous expression on his face. He was tall, his uniform fitting awkwardly around his slender frame. Brushing a few of his soft brown curls from his forehead, he clears his throat. "Hi", he shifts his weight almost nervously from one foot to the other, "I'm Ji-ho." 

You blink, caught off guard by his sudden introduction, though quickly recovering as you introduce yourself. Ji-ho only chuckles, "I already know your name", he says to which you frown. When he notices your confusion he nods toward the board where you had written your name in the center. 

"O-Oh", you exhale, shaking your head at your own short memory. "Of course, makes sense." 

Ji-ho smiles, enough to make his left cheek dent into a cute dimple. "Your work is really fascinating", he compliments as he gestures to the pictures everyone else were currently studying. "Have you been doing photography long?" He then wonders, and you notice him fiddling with his hands nervously. He had this boyish appearance that made your heart immediately swell. 

"A few years now, yeah." You reply as you let your gaze wander across a few photos of some flowers. "It's really fun, full of endless opportunities, especially when you figure out how to use the camera correctly. It's not like you need a fancy one either, there's plenty of cheap ones at local stores, secondhand works just as well, and I personally—" You trail off once you realize that you had begun rambling, a terrible habit that seemed to follow you. 

To your surprise, you find Ji-ho watching you with keen interest, the smile on his lips still present. In fact he didn't seem to be even looking at the photos at all, his focus solely on you. Swallowing awkwardly, you clear your throat as you hastily turn back to the others in an attempt to hide how flustered you were getting under his attention, "Who wants to look at some cameras?" 

Everyone quickly nods excitedly as they put back whatever picture they were currently holding. "I'll show you the equipment we have", you wave them over to the table where you had lined up the varieties of cameras, explaining the features of each one. "This one is an action camera, perfect for getting wider shots, especially of large sceneries like a sunset." You pass the heavy tool around, letting everyone feel it and peer through the lens to see for themselves as murmurs of 'woah' and 'this is sick' echoed through the classroom. 

Picking up a smaller one, you turn it in your hands for a moment before presenting it to the others. "This is a film camera. You probably recognize it, it's been popular for decades now." 

There was a film strip laid on the table to accompany it. The girl who had made the comment about the squirrel is quick to point in its direction. "Is that also for the film camera then?" She wonders as everyone leans closer to have a look. 

You nod, "Precisely. Film cameras are traditional in the sense that they don't save your footage onto memory cards, rather film strips like these. You'll have to find a place to get them developed properly — lucky for you, I know a shop not far from campus." Everyone nods at this, seemingly fascinated by such an antique item as they fiddle with the film strips and the camera. 

Taking a small step back, you admire them silently for a moment. It felt almost surreal seeing others enjoy the thing you had so passionately devoted yourself to for years. The students here seemed genuinely interested in the art of photography and that thought warmed you more than anything. They all talked excitedly among themselves, taking turns with passing cameras around, even asking for permission to snap a photo of each other which you happily granted. 

It wasn't until a chilly breeze blew through the classroom that the serene moment was broken for you. Thinking that it must have come through the entrance being opened, you cast a glance over your shoulder. But instead of being greeted with the sight of doors swinging back and forth in the afternoon wind, you find… Soobin? 

He stands just a couple of feet outside the door, bag slung over his shoulder and his dark hair falling in uneven sections down his forehead. It felt almost like he'd been watching you, but when your eyes met his they immediately narrowed. It lasted only a second, but it felt like a small eternity as the two of you stood there — silently regarding each other. His fingers curl around the strap of his bag, the small twitch of his jaw not passing you unnoticed. 

You almost called out to him, your hand halfway raised in a wave. Before you can actually do it, someone grabs your arm. Whipping your head around, you find Ji-ho standing less than a foot away. "Will you take a picture with us?" He asks with big and bright eyes, still wearing that same smile. 

Nodding stiffly, you let him guide you away from the door and back to the others as you line up along the board with you in the center. You let your arms rest over their shoulders, basking in the small moment of success as you refrain from grinning like a fool. Ji-ho stands next to you, his arm wrapped over your shoulder as well as he gazes ahead. 

The girl from before stands ready with a polaroid camera in her hand, holding it up to her face as she squints through the lens. "Everyone say cheese!" She instructs to which the students around you erupt into a fit of giggles. 

The picture is taken with the flash of the camera, and the others immediately scramble to see the results. You're left standing awkwardly by the whiteboard, still smiling to yourself as you watch them. Then your gaze instinctively returns to the door, searching for any sign of Soobin. 

You find nothing, only the cold February breeze as it slips through the entrance doors that swung back and forth. 

The cold winter breeze sends shivers down your spine as it yanks on your scarf. Tugging the piece of fabric a little tighter around yourself, you suppress another shudder as you grip the camera a little tighter in your hands. Crouched on your heels, you sit on the rock solid patch of dirt. The hour was early, with the morning sun just barely peeking over the tall campus building. But before you was something truly remarkable. 

Squinting through the lens, you guide the camera a little lower, then a little to the left. Soon the tiny flower was in view, its white petals hanging down the stem, mimicking a lantern. It was a small winter miracle — the first snowdrop of the season. You lean a little closer, snapping a picture, then another and another. 

It wasn't unusual for you to find yourself out in the cold, no matter the hour in order to pursue your passion. This flower, though tiny and lonesome, resembled something truly beautiful. Life, blooming during even the coldest and harshest of months. The pale sun rays hit the white petals a moment later, making them glow under the lens of your camera and you bite back a smile. It was beautiful. 

You're so engrossed in the flower that you don't register the sound of branches snapping behind you. The sound of someone's approach passes you by unnoticed and it isn't until the light you had been using to take your photos becomes engulfed in shadows, that you pause. 

You don't have to turn around to know who it was. Soobin's tall and looming figure is reflected through the shadow that cast itself over the solid dirt. "Really?" He huffs, his voice low and almost mocking when he speaks, "There's hardly anything out here to photograph." 

Lowering your camera, you rise awkwardly to your feet, dusting some of the loosened soil from your uniform pants before turning to face him. His words had probably been meant as an insult or to belittle, but you can only smile when your gaze falls on the red tip of his nose — even the coldest of people weren't immune to the chilly air. 

He's wearing a black coat, its buttons done all the way to just under his chin. His dark hair is tousled from the wind, and Soobin runs a hand through it in a futile attempt to get it under control. He's regarding you with a scrutinizing stare, like he was already anticipating for you to blurt out some stupid, cheesy line in response. But all you can think about is the fact that he'd actually paused to talk to you, just like that. 

Glancing around the courtyard, you find it vacant aside from the two of you. The low temperatures and the early hour kept students away as they huddled inside their dorms or an empty classroom. Soobin and you were all alone, it was the first time you had ever seen him outside of class or without his friends, except for that one time you had caught him in the hall two days prior. 

Tilting your head to the side, you send him a smile far too warm for such a cold morning. "I wouldn't say that." Stepping aside, you gesture toward the small snowdrop you had been snapping pictures of just a moment prior. 

Soobin's eyes narrow further as he takes a step forward, hands buried deep in his pockets as he leans down to peer at the flower. "What a stupid thing to take pictures of." He tsks as he straightens back up, though you don't miss the way his attention lingers on the white petals where the sun hits them. 

"I don't think so. In fact I think it's quite beautiful." You shrug, fingers curling slightly around your camera. 

"Beautiful?" He echoes, a hint of disbelief in his tone. 

"Yeah. Beautiful." You give him another smile, pausing as your eyes linger on the rosy tint to his cheeks. "There's beauty in most things, you just have to know where to look." 

There's a brief moment of silence as the two of you just stand awkwardly. Neither of you say a word as the morning breeze continues its assault against your coats. Soobin looks like he might retort with a snide comment but before he gets the chance to, an idea flickers in your mind. 

Crouching back down, you grab a hold of the snowdrop, pulling it from the frozen ground in one tug. It's light in your palm, weighing no more than a feather. Turning back to Soobin, you extend the small winter miracle to him. "Here, let me take a picture of you." 

He regards the tiny flower you had presented with something close to disdain, his eyes flickering back and forth between you and the little white-petaled plant in your open palm. "Come on, just one picture. I promise it'll be quick!" You prod, already reaching for his hand as you shove the snowdrop into his palm. 

Soobin stands frozen, his gaze dropping to the flower as his fingers instinctively close around the delicate structure. For a while he just looks at it, his expression unreadable as he studies the plant. Finally he gives a small and curt nod, exhaling sharply through his nose, "How do you want it?"

"A little to the left. No— my left!" 

You had been trying to get Soobin to pose for the last five minutes, redirecting angles and playing around with where the sun would hit. Finally you had gotten somewhere decent, with him standing half turned toward the warm, golden rays, just enough for them to hit his cheekbone. Now he was squinting toward you, clutching the flower in his hand like a crucifix. 

He was photogenic there was no doubt about that. The sharp line of his jaw and the curve of his lips distracted you a lot more than you'd like to admit. But photography was more than just looks — it was feeling, emotion. And right now, Soobin looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. His shoulders were stiff, his posture awkward and his expression tense. 

Sighing, you lower your camera for the fifth time. "No, not like that." You wave your hand dismissively as you shake your head, to which Soobin only grunts, muttering something about this being 'stupid and a waste of time' under his breath. 

"You need to relax, and smile!" You try to encourage, giving him a small grin.

If anything his expression only soured further and you were beginning to think that this guy had never once smiled in his entire life. Finally having had enough, you let the camera dangle by your front, hanging on from its leather straps as you approach. 

"Like this", you murmur, reaching up to run your hands across his bicep through his coat. Pushing his shoulders down, you ignore his small huff of protest. Soobin reluctantly lets his posture sag, his chest rising and falling slowly when you fiddle with his coat. "Maybe undo the top one as well, you look too formal." Your fingers reach for the first button, undoing it gently as you mess with his collar. 

It's not until you finally tear your gaze from your work, that your eyes meet his. Soobin is watching you with an almost bashful look on his face, and if it wasn't for the cold air — you could have easily assumed that the rosy tint to his cheeks might have been something else. It was then you realized how close you were standing, your faces only inches away, even if he did have to crane his neck to peer down at you. 

"Uh…" You clear your throat, hands flattening out the collar which you had been working so diligently on just a second earlier. "It looks better like this…" The words come out a mumbled mess as you avoid his gaze, taking a small step back, you create some much needed distance between the two of you. 

Soobin doesn't say anything when you retreat, only watching you with intense and dark eyes. His grip around the flower is still tight, his knuckles pink from the chilly air, a clear signal for you to hurry up before either of you caught a cold. 

"Your hands too", you quietly say as you point to the snowdrop he was clutching. A little more hesitantly this time, you reach out to loosen his grip on the green stem. His fingers are freezing when they brush against yours, but he doesn't protest when you unfold them with gentle touches. "Think of it as if it was made out of glass", you murmur whilst placing the flower between his thumb and index, "It will help." 

He nods silently, intense gaze never leaving you as you step back to where you had previously been standing. With a shaky exhale you bring the camera back to your face, shutting one eye as you peer through the lens. Your breath hitches in your throat when you find Soobin looking at you, his expression still unreadable, albeit more relaxed now. The flower rests lightly between his fingers, its white petals a stark contrast against his black coat. 

The first photo is snapped a second later, then another and another. Soobin's gaze never leaves you, and at some point you had to tell him that it was okay to look elsewhere. "Glance toward the sun, but be careful with your eyes!" 

He obliges, turning just enough for the rays to caress his smooth skin. You see him squinting just slightly, his grip on the flower tightening before relaxing again — like he'd remembered what you'd told him. 

Your finger hovers over the button, pausing as you watch him through the lens, he looks breathtaking, stunning in a way you had never thought you would view the Choi Soobin. He stands perfectly still, waiting for you to take the photo — and you knew that if you wanted to, you could prolong the moment just a little longer. 

At last you press down, snapping a couple of pictures of him where he stands, sun caressing his face and the tiny snowdrop in his hand. 

When you're done you lower the camera, smiling at him as you give a thumbs up. Soobin huffs out a short breath, rolling his shoulders once as he makes his way back to you over the frozen ground. 

"I can't develop the photos until I get home tonight, but I—" 

"It's fine." He cuts you off, shoving the flower back into your hand before stuffing his own in his pockets. Dark eyes bore into yours as he regards you silently. His hair shields parts of his face but he doesn't bother to push it back, instead he lets his attention fall on the camera in your hand one last time before he brushes past you as though nothing had happened. 

You're left standing on the patch of dirt, looking down at the snowdrop in your palm with a frown. Perhaps you should question his reasoning for this, why he had even agreed to the photos in the first place. But you don't. Whatever stubborn flower Choi Soobin was, you were sure he would bloom on his own, as long as you gave him time. 

That evening you hovered by the library printer, even as the librarian threatened to kick you out because it was past closing time. With some pleading and dramatic begging you were allowed inside, if only for a brief fifteen minutes. So you stood close by the machine, watching intently as it worked, pushing the pictures out slowly one by one. You gather them in your hands as they come, still warm to the touch. 

Soobin's face stares back at you when you bring them up for closer inspection. The snowdrop in his hand seemed to almost glow, looking comically tiny in his large hand. Your finger caresses the edge of the photo, committing it to memory. You had brought along a small envelope, there you gently tucked the photos before closing it up, ready to give to him tomorrow morning. 

Though one of them, where he was staring right back at the camera, the ghost of a smile on his lips that you hadn't even noticed before… That one you stuffed in your own bag, just for the memory's sake, you told yourself. Then you headed out through the library doors to avoid another complaint from the librarian. 

Fridays were inconvenient in the sense that you did not take math. Which ultimately meant you wouldn't get to see Soobin, unless you resorted to plan B, which consisted of trying to "conveniently" bump into him in the halls somewhere. Only that seemed nearly impossible. The corridors were absolutely jammed with students, all headed for their individual classes and paying no mind to whoever they bulldozed in their path. 

You searched everywhere for him without success, bumping into people and slamming your shoulders against opened lockers. When a snarky junior shoved his bag against your chest in his haste, you finally found yourself at your wits end. Finding Soobin like this would not work, you would have to wait for an opportunity — lucky for you, a window was about to open itself as lunch rolled around. 

The cafeteria had opened less than twenty minutes ago, but if there was one thing you had learned during your three years here, then it was that everybody used to avoid an early lunch — because that's when The Choi's would eat. 

Bursting through the doors, you don't bother to stop and grab a tray, instead you head straight for the ocean of tables in search of the one that held the person you were looking for. It didn't take you long to find him, Soobin's tall frame wasn't exactly discreet nor was it hard to spot. Even when sitting down he seemed to take up half the room. 

He's got his back turned on you, his friends seated across from him on the round table as they talked with one another. Yeonjun had an arm wrapped around his girlfriend's waist, Beomgyu scrolling on his phone as the girl beside him leaned her head on his shoulder. They looked perfectly at peace, and Soobin was just there, like he always seemed to be as of late. 

You approach their table without hesitation, ignoring the few glances cast your way by other students. When you reach them you give Soobin's shoulder a gentle tap. His body locks up under your touch, tensing as he carefully turns around to see who had disrupted him. Beomgyu glances up from his phone as well, a noticeable frown on his face — meanwhile Yeonjun pauses mid sentence. 

It felt oddly exposing to have all of their eyes on you, watching you expectantly like they were waiting for some kind of talent show to take place. That was not the case, of course. You clear your throat, turning your attention back to Soobin as you hold out the envelope you had prepared for him. "I have something for you." Smiling, you wait eagerly for his response. 

His dark eyes narrow as they flicker between your face and the small envelope in your hand. It takes him a moment but then it seems as though realization dawns upon him. "What's that?" Beomgyu asks between a bite of his chips, leaning across the table to get a better look —- only to be harshly pulled back by the girl beside him. 

Soobin doesn't bother replying to his friend, nor does he meet Yeonjun's questioning gaze as he instead rises abruptly to his feet. Caught off guard, you take a step back as you peer up at him. He practically towers over the entire cafeteria, radiating something close to annoyance where he stands. Then, before you know it he's grabbed hold of your wrist and is tugging you through the crowded room as he makes for the entrance. 

You stumble after him, gripping the envelope tightly as you cast a confused glance over your shoulder to where his friends still sat with perplexed expressions. Students curse and complain when you accidentally bump into them but they always seem to fall short when they realize who they were talking to. Soobin ignores them all, and he doesn't stop until he reaches an empty classroom down the hall. 

Shoving the door open with his shoulder, he barges inside as he yanks you in after him. The door is slammed shut behind you, his large palm braced against the wood as he exhales a rough breath. You stand utterly dumbfounded in the middle of the room, still holding onto the envelope as your lips part and close like a fish on land. 

Soobin runs a hand through his hair, straightening up as he pushes off the door. "You don't just approach me like that." He suddenly bites out, his voice low and accusing as he continues to advance. 

Blinking in confusion, you take a small step back, then another — until your thighs hit one of the empty desks behind you. Frozen in place you hold your breath when Soobin comes to a halt in front of you, his chest so close that it nearly brushes yours. Without words he pinned you to the spot, his dark eyes searing into your soul like he was condemning you of everything that had ever gone wrong in his life. 

Snapping out of your momentary shock, you quickly shake your head. "I don't understand what's so wrong", you frown, "I was just trying to be friendly. Besides—" Dusting off the small envelope in your hand, you hold it out for him to take, or rather, you shove it against his chest and pray he takes it, "I was going to give you these." 

This makes him pause, if only for a second. His brow twitches and Soobin glances down at the flat piece of paper pushed to his chest. You suppress a shudder when his much larger hand brushes against yours, taking the envelope from your grasp as he gives you another wary look. Then he unfolds it with surprising care, tucking the opening down as two of his fingers dip inside. 

He brings up one of the photos, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he regards himself on the printed picture. Aside from that his expression betrays no hint of further irritation, merely a begrudging acceptance. 

Soobin huffs, then he shoves the photos back into the envelope and seals it up again. Part of you had thought, almost expected him, to throw them away again — which was only one of the reasons you had kept one copy for yourself. But to your surprise, Soobin neatly places the letter containing his photos inside the chest pocket of his uniform. He gives a small almost unnoticeable nod. Then without as much as another word he turns on his heel as he makes for the door. 

Your celebration was short lived as he just prepared to leave without even saying anything, and for the first time in a long while, you felt slightly put. "Hey?" You call out, your voice a little louder than you had intended for it to be. It makes Soobin stop nonetheless, his shoulders flexing as he continues to stare ahead. "Are you just going to leave like that? Not even a thank you?" 

When he doesn't respond you fold your arms across your chest, tapping your foot impatiently against the floor. "I'm not asking for grand gestures but it wouldn't hurt for you to show me at least a drop of gratitude." Your words echo through the empty classroom, swiveling around the two of you before ebbing out into nothing. 

You regard Soobin's back for a long while, counting the slow and steady breaths he takes as he debates silently with himself. His hand curls into a loose fist by his side, the other one dropping from where it had been resting on the door handle. You hear him exhale, and a moment later he's turned back around and is charging right toward you. 

It takes him three strides to be back in front of you, this time even closer than before. His dark eyes find yours, flashing briefly with something you didn't quite recognize. The next thing you feel is his large hands as they engulf the sides of your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks with a little too much force for it to be considered romantic, though you know that's not what he intended for. 

Soobin kisses you then, his lips crashing down on yours without an ounce of hesitation from his side. It feels stiff, somewhat forced — like he was doing this out of obligation rather than want. You don't kiss him back, in fact you barely have the time to register what was happening before he pulled back with such force that you would think something had burned him. 

He licks his bottom lip, meeting your gaze one final time as he inhales sharply through his nose. "Is that what you wanted?" He sneers, head tilted a fraction to the side like he was expecting you to throw yourself at him at any moment now. You don't, and when he understands that, he turns away once more. 

You don't stop him as he leaves through the door this time, only watching after him with a perplexed frown. Glancing down at the floor, then back to the door that still swung back and forth, you reach a hand up to touch your lips, wondering what had just happened. 

The weekend passed in a blur. You were caught up in both school work and preparations for your new photography club. Slouched over your desk for the bigger part of the days, your marker moved along text books and your eyes across pages upon pages of complex words. And yet between revisions and organizing of photos and cameras — Soobin still seemed to crawl his way back in. You kept thinking of the kiss, though brief and more so an action of what you supposed to be pent up frustration, it still seemed to linger in the back of your mind. 

Your hands found their way to your lips more often than you would like to admit. The pads of your fingers pressing against where you could still feel a slight tingle that he'd left behind. You wonder if he had meant anything with it other than what he had already made so abundantly clear. Probably not. Soobin was, in a way, like a stubborn plant, one that refused to grow no matter the amount of water and sunshine you poured into it. Instead his petals stayed firmly closed, like he was shrinking back into the shadows where he deemed himself to belong. 

So it should have been clear that the kiss had meant short of nothing to him — it was an act of simply showcasing your desperation in your attempts at befriending him. At least, that's what you would have thought, had Soobin actually showed up for school that next week. But on Monday morning he was nowhere to be seen. His chair sat empty during math class, and you found yourself staring at the desolate space of his desk with a small sigh. 

Was he sick? Did something happen? Or was he absent because of what had transpired between the two of you last Friday? Curiosity gnawed away at you as the long hour of math class dragged on. When the bell finally rang, you were one of the first out of your seat for once, heading out into the endless hallway with hurried steps. Maybe he had just overslept? Then he should be arriving any minute now. The only problem was, you had no clue what class he was taking next. Literature? Art? 

Walking down the corridor, you watched as people headed inside for their lectures. Time was running out and with an exasperated sigh, you finally allowed yourself to accept defeat. Letting your eyes drift shut for a second, your feet continue to lazily drag forward on the floor. You've been walking for just about a minute when the hushed voices of someone else breaks the silence. 

"Hey, isn't that the chick from last week?" A voice somewhere to your left murmurs. You pay whoever it is no mind, gripping your bag a little tighter as your half-lidded gaze drops to the floor. 

"Hey, you!" 

When he actually calls out, you freeze in your tracks. Cracking an eye open, you turn to find Beomgyu leaning against the red lockers, his arms folded across his chest. He's wearing an all too familiar smirk, the kind that you would've taken as mocking, had it not been for Yeonjun beside him who looked to be fed up with his friend. 

You tilt your head to the side, glancing up and down the hall once more, as if to make sure that they were in fact talking to you. Beomgyu just snorts, lifting one hand to beckon you over. "You're the girl who gave Soobin that weird letter, yeah?" 

Weird letter? There was nothing weird about it, just a couple of photos— Ah. You guess he hadn't told the others about that. Clasping your hands together, you send Beomgyu a tight lipped smile as you nod, "Yeah, that was me." 

"What was it anyway?" Yeonjun suddenly asks, his hands buried deep in his uniform pockets as he, too, leans against the lockers. At first you had thought they called you over to poke fun at you — it wasn't exactly something you would put past any of The Choi's, even if things were different now. But both Yeonjun and Beomgyu look… genuinely curious. Like they were trying to wrap their head around what had made their friend storm out of the cafeteria so suddenly. 

You clear your throat, shifting your weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. "Well… It was just some math homework. Soobin let me copy his earlier last week, I was just giving it back." 

Yeonjun cocks a brow, "Soobin letting people copy off of him? That's unheard of." To which Beomgyu gives a small nod, seemingly thinking about something intently. 

"Um, you don't happen to know where he is?" You quietly ask, not knowing if the question would be a dead giveaway or not. 

Beomgyu and Yeonjun give each other a small glance, their eyes meeting for only a brief second — like they were passing along a secret message of some kind. When they turn back to you, it is Beomgyu who speaks up. "Soobin is not here today", he says with a small shrug, "Got family business to handle." 

Nodding slowly, you let out an 'oh.. right'. 

Yeonjun shifts against the locker, his dark eyes narrowing down on you just slightly. "Why do you ask? More math homework to exchange?" He muses. 

You can't help but nervously chuckle, readjusting your grip on your bag just slightly. "Something like that…" 

The other two remain silent after that, their expressions betraying nothing of what they thought of the situation. When almost a whole minute had passed you finally coughed into your first, "Alright then! Thank you for letting me know, I'll be off now." You take your leave without a single glance over your shoulder, scurrying down the hall as you leave Soobin's friends behind. 

Family emergency? You supposed that did make sense… What a coincidence though, that it happened only three days after he had kissed you like that. He wasn't avoiding you was he? No, that would be crazy — Choi Soobin would never avoid anyone, especially not for a stupid little kiss that he hadn't even meant in the first place. No, you were thinking too much about this. 

You were thinking about it too much indeed. The next morning you find Soobin seated in his usual spot as math class commenced. He was clad in his uniform, jacket hung up on his chair behind him and his hands stuffed into his pockets. He doesn't as much as glance your way when you pull out your own chair, slumping down with a quiet sigh. Keeping his gaze fixed far ahead, it seemed he was intent on making as little conversation as possible. 

Mr. Hwang is up by the board, a pencil in his hand and a book in the other as he jots down numbers and equations, filling the board to the brim with x's and y's. You follow along as best as you can, pen moving idly across your notebook as you try your hardest to copy down what your professor was putting up before you. But even then, your mind can't help but wander just across the table, a little to your left… 

What was Soobin thinking about? He didn't appear to be listening in on Mr. Hwang's lecture as his eyes lingered on something far outside the window. Was he also thinking about the kiss? Did he regret it, did he not want to talk about it? Was that why he hadn't brought it up yet? Would he be upset with you if you brought it up? A million questions swirl in your mind — none getting you any closer to solving the math problems in your book, or the mystery of Choi Soobin. 

Finally, the loud screech of Mr. Hwangs's pencil sounds through the classroom. He marks the last equation with a harsh line, gesturing toward it as he clears his throat. "There we are students. Now, open your books on page two hundred and sixty three." 

With that everyone turned their focus back to the work on their desks, and you turned your attention back to Soobin. "Where were you yesterday?" You ask as you twirl your pencil between your fingers, teeth nervously biting down on your tongue as you waited to see if Beomgyu's and Yeonjun's words would hold up. 

Soobin visibly tenses at your question, his jaw clenching as his pen freezes on his paper. He doesn't look up from the numbers he'd been scribbling down, only exhaling slowly through his nose. "Family emergency", he grunts under his breath, not giving more than whatever that could entail. 

"Oh", you nod slowly, glancing down at the pencil between your fingers as you press your thumb against the pointy end, "I see. Well I hope everything is resolved." You say, giving him an encouraging smile. It sounded much like the lie it probably was, the way he avoided your gaze and the almost defensive edge to his voice said it all, but you didn't push him for answers. If there was one thing you had learned from your years of photography, then it was that beautiful works require patience and many different shots, you rarely get it on the first try. 

Another few minutes pass in a rather comfortable silence. You hum along to a few songs stuck in your mind, struggling your way through the next two equations in your book. Mr. Hwang walks around the classroom, stopping to answer questions and give opinions — though when he passes your table he says nothing. You frown, tapping the dull edge of your pencil against your notebook as you lean your cheek against your knuckled fist. Time was going by torturously slow. 

You dare a small peek at Soobin through the corner of your eye. He's still working diligently on whatever problem in his own math book. The assigned pages were two hundred and sixty three to sixty seven, but he was already on seventy. How did he do that? It didn't even look like he was struggling at all, not even in the slightest. Perhaps you could ask him, perhaps you two could talk more somehow… 

Turning in your seat, you put your pen down on the table as you face him with a small smile. Soobin doesn't look up at first, but when he catches you staring he gives a reluctant huff as he straightens up. He sends you a look that screams 'What?', his eyes narrowing slightly. 

Your smile only widens, "Do you want to have lunch with me today? I could really use your help with this homework…?" 

The question seems to catch him off guard, his expression easing up for a second as his brows raise a little higher on his forehead. "Lunch?" He echoes, and it sounds almost like he can't believe what you're proposing. Nodding eagerly, you lean forward just a fraction. 

When he catches the look on your face, he immediately schools his features back into the stoic and unreadable mask he always seemed to wear. His tongue clicks once against the roof of his mouth, his tone dismissive as he turns back to his book. "I already have plans", he mutters gruffly, picking up his pen as he resumes working. 

You purse your lips, fiddling with your hands as you nod to yourself. "Another time then", you murmur quietly. He doesn't answer you but you can see the way his shoulders relax just slightly. Now you were definitely not bringing up the kiss, with a quick shake of your head you, too, try to steer your focus back onto the assigned homework, and not the way his lips had felt on yours. 

After yesterday's defeat you were sure that the day ahead would have something better in store for you. So when your alarm went off at 6:30 am that very next morning, you thought you'd be ready to tackle the day. But when sitting up, your hand immediately goes to your head, fingers curling against your skull as you let out a hiss. "Ouch", you moan in agony as you rub your hand across your sweaty forehead. 

The headache currently pounding against your temple was heavier than the DJs bass at a rave. Your vision was blurry as you blinked slowly, a familiar soreness settling deep inside your throat that scratched and burned whenever you swallowed or coughed. "Why today of all days?" You mutter, wallowing in self pity as you tug the blankets off and wobble over to the bathroom. 

A warm shower did not help soothe the ache in your muscles, nor did it dampen your headache. No class today it seemed — and no photography club… With a defeated sigh you turn off the water, stepping out and tugging a towel around yourself. Your reflection in the foggy bathroom mirror resembled very much the person you felt like at the moment, a walking zombie of some kind. An imposter. 

That day was spent entirely in bed, huddled up under the warm covers as you sipped on cheap tea and binge watched romcoms in an attempt to not think about all the stuff you were missing out on in class. Outside the cold February temperatures frosted up the windows, making you give up on the idea of letting some fresh air in. And as the evening hours rolled around, your mind kept wandering back to Soobin. What was he doing? Who was he with? Had he wondered where you were today? Had he asked anyone like you had asked for him? 

The longer you thought about it the worse your headache got. So at last you willed those ideas away, instead burying your face into the pillows as you waited for sleep to take you. 

That next morning you awoke with a groan, and though you felt a fraction better than you had the day before, you were still far from good. With a tired sigh you reached for your phone, calling in sick yet again before letting your head hit the pillow once more. 

It was long past noon when the knock to your door woke you from your sleep. Three sharp knocks rolling in one after the other managed to rouse you from your slumber. "Who is it..?" You croak as you push yourself into your hands. That was weird, you weren't exactly expecting company. But when the knocking returns a moment later you give in as you roll out of bed, "Coming, I'm coming." 

Unlocking the door to your dorm, you swing it open only to be met with the last person you had expected to see. 

"Ji-ho?" 

The junior stands on your doorstop, a sheepish look on his face and a bag in his hand. "Hi… I heard you were sick, so I thought I'd bring you some soup and medicine." He says with a smile that caused one dimple to dig into his cheek. Then he clears his throat as his gaze flickers to a point behind your shoulder, as though he was avoiding looking at you. You frown, not knowing what had gotten into him until you realized that you weren't wearing anything but the shorts and tank top you had gone to bed in last night. 

"Oh— Right, that's so kind of you!" You beam, welcoming him inside as you shut the door behind him. Ji-ho steps over the threshold, moving carefully like he was exploring uncharted and possibly dangerous territory, it was almost a little endearing. He sets the bag down on your desk, pausing as he shifts awkwardly on the spot. 

"You can relax, sit down on my bed or something— Uh, it's not made yet, I'm sorry about that.." You mumble as you head for the bathroom, "I just need to freshen up, I'll be ten minutes." 

Ji-ho nods as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed, testing the mattress under his weight as his hands trace the pink bedsheets. "It's alright", he hums with a lopsided grin. You nod, one hand on the door, but just as you were about to close it behind you, his voice stops you in your tracks. 

"Um…" Ji-ho rubs the back of his neck, a bashful expression on his face when his gaze meets yours, "Would it be okay if I called you, noona?" He timidly asks, his cheeks dusting a light pink when he finally manages to splutter the words out. 

Taken aback by the blunt request, you can only blink confoundedly as your grip tightens and relaxes on the door. "I… Yeah, sure I don't see why not." You give him as warm of a smile as you can muster, watching as his face lights up in an instant. 

"Thank you, noona!" He practically beams as he sits back a little on your mattress. With that you turn to close the bathroom door behind you, leaving him on his own inside your room. 

Ji-ho stayed throughout the entire afternoon. He had not only brought you warm soup and some medicine to help with your headaches and sore throat, but also a set of games which he hooked up to your dorm TV. "Is this even safe?" You asked as you leaned back against the headboard. "What if I get a virus or something?" To which Ji-ho had only laughed, throwing his head back as he plugged in another game. 

"I wouldn't be doing it if I knew it would give you a virus, noona." He says as he plugs in another cable. The screen immediately lights up with the game's logo and you grab your console tightly. It was a car racing one, and though you had very little knowledge of cars and racing, you still had a great time playing with him. 

Ji-ho showed you how to hold the console, his hands brushing against yours when he adjusted your grip on the buttons. "Like this, noona." He murmured as he instructed you on how to take out opponents. You still hadn't gotten used to the nickname, the formality which he used to address you —- it felt far too important for someone like you. Still you let him, because it was nice to have someone who showed up, who noticed your absence and who wanted to make a difference. 

"Hey…" You ask over the loud noise of cars crashing into one another and engines breaking, "How did you find out I was feeling unwell?" It was just now that it hit you that you hadn't actually told anyone, apart from calling in sick that is. 

Ji-ho hums next to you, his fingers moving quickly over the console as he swerves his car past the finish line, landing himself first place. "Oh, I just asked down at the reception." He says with a small grin, "Mrs. Oh said you had called in sick two days in a row now, so I figured I should stop by." Then he pauses for a moment, his eyes flitting back to the screen as he swallows, "You don't mind right? I know you weren't exactly expecting visitors…" 

He sounds almost bashful, and it reminded you of a puppy with its ears pinned down. Smiling widely, you shake your head, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "No, I don't mind at all. It's nice to have someone over. I just hope I don't give you whatever it is I'm carrying." You say, this time was a slight warning laced within your words. 

"Nah", Ji-ho says as he picks up his console again, "I wouldn't mind it." 

The hours passed by in a blur, you played game after game — cursing loudly when you failed and cheering even louder when you won. To your surprise, you were getting better, with each round you improved, much to your delight. It wasn't until seven pm crept around that Ji-ho announced that he should get going soon. "We have an English exam tomorrow", he whines as he crouches by the door, fingers working on his shoelaces. 

Leaning against the wall with your arms folded across your chest, you regard him with a small smile of gratitude. "English exam huh? I remember Ms. Jang, she always had a stick up her ass." 

"Had? She still does!" Ji-ho shakes his head, "It's all nonsense coming from her." When he finally finishes tying his shoes, he stands back up. 

There's a slight flush to his face, like he'd eaten something spicy or been in the sun a little too long. His eyes are wide and filled with something that looks almost like adoration. Ji-ho grins from ear to ear, like the simple act of staying in your dorm together had been everything to him. You find yourself mimicking the action, "Thank you for coming by today." 

Your hand twists the door handle, opening it to say farewell to your new friend when suddenly your breath is knocked from your lungs. Just outside, standing but a mere few inches away, is Soobin. He wasn't in school uniform, wearing only a loose t-shirt and washed out jeans under his jacket. His bag is flung over his shoulder, dark hair falling in messy and uneven sections, which it appeared he hadn't bothered to correct. His chest was rising and falling a little too erratically for it to be brushed off as normal. From where he stands, he towers over both you and Ji-ho, the junior who was now looking pale as a ghost. 

"I…" At a loss for words you let your gaze shift between the two of them for a long and painfully awkward moment. 

Finally Ji-ho becomes the one to break the silence as he manages another cheesy grin. "Well, thank you for having me over, noona. I had a good time." He looks almost as though he wants to say something else, lips slightly parted but he never gets it out. 

Holding the door open a little wider for him, you give him a tiny wave. "Thank you for keeping me company, I had a good time as well." 

The younger boy quickly nods, almost tripping over his feet as he stumbles over the threshold, squeezing himself between the small gap that Soobin provided. You listen to the sound of his retreating footsteps as they carry down the hall, and when they finally fade out into the distance, you turn to Soobin with an uncertain frown. 

He had yet to speak as he merely watched you with an indifferent look on his face. Why was he here? Better yet, how did he know where your dorm was? It wasn't like you had ever told him. Finally after what feels like an eternity he clears his throat. "Hi", he grunts, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. 

You frown, "Hi..?" 

Soobin gives a small bow of his head, then without another word he crosses over the threshold and walks inside your dorm like it was his own. Confused, you watch after him — quickly shutting the door behind you before going after him, stopping abruptly when the sound of his bag slamming against your desk echoes through the room. 

He stands with his back to you, gaze fixed on something in front of him as his hand rests on his discarded bag. "Who was that?" He asks, his voice no louder than a quiet murmur. 

You pause, brows furrowing as you regard his stiff shoulders. "Ji-ho?" You echo, recalling the way Soobin's eyes had met with the junior’s for a brief moment. "He's a member of my photography club, he came to check on me." Shrugging, you bite the inside of your cheek, wondering what else he could have to say about the guy. 

Soobin exhales, fingers tracing along the edge of his bag as he nods mutely. "You haven't been to class in two days", he comments. Then he casts a glance over his shoulder, dark gaze falling on you for a second, "Are you feeling any better?" 

At first you don't respond at all. What was he even trying to attempt right now? First he had pushed you away, then he'd kissed you only to push you away again — and now he's asking about your health? Sure you had told yourself that you would be patient, that you would give him time. But this was becoming ridiculous. One day he was cold and distant as he lied about his whereabouts, the next he was showing up on your doorstep asking about who you were hanging out with in your free time. 

"I'm fine." Your tone is short, almost snappy. Your fingers curl into fists by your sides, "Why are you even here anyway?" If there was one thing Soobin owed you then it was answers. Folding your arms across your chest, you wait for him to fumble forward with an excuse of some sort, or at least a half-assed explanation. 

He turns to face you now, hands resting on the back for your chair behind him. "Math." Is all he says, like that was supposed to just magically make all the pieces in the puzzle come together. 

"Math?" You repeat, the crease between your brows deepening. 

Soobin nods, humming under his breath as he reaches behind him to tug his math book from his bag. "You said you needed help with the homework", he pauses, eyes flickering between the book in his hand and you, "Besides you've missed another two lectures. You're behind." 

Well, suppose that was true. You had asked him for help, blurted out the request in class two days ago as you hoped for the best. "You said you already had plans." Tilting your head to the side, you watch as Soobin's tongue swipes across his bottom lip. 

"Yeah", he grunts, "I did." His fingers flex around the book in his hand. "But I'm free right now. I can help you." He doesn't word it like a question, more a command, like he was expecting you to agree just like that. But there was also an undeniable hint of uncertainty in his stance, the way he kept shifting, if only slightly — eyes just barely locked onto yours, like he was dying to look away. 

With a sigh you nod, even if there were a lot of questions left unanswered there was still no denying the fact that you did need his help. Math was far from your best subject and at this rate you wouldn't pass the finals coming up in May. "Okay, let's do it."

Since you had only one desk chair, you had suggested studying on your bed instead. It was big enough for the two of you, barely at least. Soobin's knee kept bumping against your thigh whenever either of you shifted. He would murmur an apology the first few times it had happened, but now neither of you mentioned it. Open math books and notes were scattered between you, a couple of discarded markers and an eraser thrown in the mix. 

You were gripping a pencil in your hand, listening to the oddly soothing sound of Soobin's voice as he explained the equations you had struggled with for weeks now. "If you divide both sides with 4 you can remove the number easily." Drawing a line beneath the current equation, Soobin jots down the new numbers just as he had explained. You find yourself watching his hands more than the actual math problems, there was something oddly enticing about the way faint veins you could see move under his skin, or the bend of his middle and index finger as he twirled the pencil. 

He pauses for a moment, waiting for you to ask any questions you might have. When you only shake your head and smile he nods quietly before continuing. It was a lot nicer than you had imagined, sitting like this with Soobin, doing something as dreadful as studying math. He was still awfully silent, making you fill in any awkward silences with random facts as you rambled on about a recent photo you had taken or a new camera you wanted. 

Soobin chuckled quietly under his breath, gaze fixed to the paper in front of him as he continued to solve equations. "You really like photography huh?" He wonders, and it's more an observation than a question. 

You nod anyway, grinning from ear to ear as you sigh. "Yeah", leaning back on your hands, you glance up at the pictures that adorned the larger part of the wall opposite you, "I do." Turning your head to look at him, your gaze lingers for a moment on the soft slope of his nose and the unconscious pout of his lips. "It's my passion", you murmur under your breath, barely noticing him when Soobin turns to look at you, pen pausing on the paper. 

When your eyes finally meet you startle from your trance, blinking hastily as you clear your throat. Soobin lip twitches, and for a second you could have sworn he was concealing a smile. Then his attention promptly returns to the homework in front of you, flipping a page as he reads through the next problems. "We'll need a ruler for this one", he says as he begins scanning the crowded bed. 

"I'll be honest— I think I lost my ruler a while back", you sheepishly admit as you rub the back of your neck. 

Soobin only shakes his head, like the revelation didn't surprise him. Then he nods toward his bag, still discarded on your desk, "I should have one in the first compartment." He doesn't even get to finish his sentence before you're on your feet, already padding over to the bag as you peer inside. 

His bag was just like you had imagined, neatly organized without as much as a speck of dust out of place. He kept a few books which surprised you, you didn't exactly peg him for a book worm. There was a small pencil case in the compartment close to you, presumably where the ruler would be — but before you can reach for it, something else catches your eye. 

A sleek black case, with tiny gold engravings at the bottom, and a brand you couldn't quite recognize. Upon pulling said case out, you hold it in your open palm. It was light, but you knew better than to shake it. Instead you pop the lid open as you peek at the contents inside. 

"Woah…" Your surprised gasp makes Soobin lift his head from where it had been engrossed in the math homework. His eyes widen a fraction as he sees what you're holding in your hands, a faint flush creeping up his neck as he scrambles up from the bed. 

"Put that back", he practically demands, his voice low and gruff as he reaches for the object in your hands. 

You're quicker, holding it out of reach as you spin around. "I didn't know you wore glasses", you say as you bring them up for closer inspection. Somewhere behind you Soobin lets out a frustrated exhale, though he makes no attempt at plucking the glasses from your hands again.

"I don't wear glasses", he retorts, "Just sometimes when I study for longer periods. Reading makes my eyes hurt." The last part comes out a lot more quiet, like he would rather sink through the floor than admit to wearing something as common as a pair of glasses. 

Turning back around, you send him a small smile. "So? A lot of people wear these." You approach him, gaze flickering between him and the black rims around the glass, wondering how they would look on. Soobin doesn't protest when you lift the glasses to his face, carefully sliding them on to rest on the bridge of his nose. He blinks once, his dark eyes look a lot softer behind the lens and you resist an even bigger grin as you take in the sight of him like this. 

He stands awkwardly in the middle of the room. Pushing the glasses up a little higher with the help of his index finger. "They look stupid", he mutters under his breath, his gaze stuck to a point behind your shoulders as he avoids looking directly at you. 

Shaking your head, you lean forward to straighten them a little over his nose, humming to yourself when you step back. "You should wear these more often, they suit you." 

Soobin only scoffs, snatching the pencil case from his bag before returning to your bed without as much as another word, but you saw the way his cheeks dusted a light pink — even if he tried to hide it. Pleased with yourself, you skip back over to sit down beside him, this time making sure your own knee bumped against his thigh as you got comfortable. 

For a long while nothing but silence filled the air of your dorm room. The two of you worked quietly side by side as you solved equation after equation with a speed you never had before. He really was good at this. Soobin relaxed beside you after a good fifteen minutes, the flush on his face had faded again and he didn't touch the glasses on his nose aside from pushing them back up as they slid down. 

Silence was never a good thing because it got you thinking, and thinking was never good when you had a lot of unanswered questions. You glance over at Soobin where he sits criss-crossed on your mattress. He looks oddly out of place in your colorful room, the pink bedsheets and the soft pillows contrasting his sharp features like the sun and moon. And yet he looks just as beautiful as he always had. How you longed to capture this moment with a photo. 

Soobin lifts his head to look at you when you clear your throat, one of his brows raised as he waits for you to speak. There's something almost serene in his expression now, none of the stoicism or the unreadable mystery lingered as he watches you with almost wide eyes. 

"I… Should we talk about last week?" You tentatively ask, careful as though you were treading over a minefield. 

His gaze narrows just a fraction, a crack in the otherwise peaceful moment. "Last week?" He echoes, his voice low. "What is there to talk about?" 

What was there not to talk about? You had been replaying the brief second over and over for the past couple of days. Imagining how his lips had felt on yours, the burn that lingered on your skin after the simplest of touch. Had he not felt the same way? Was there really no other reason he was here right now, in your dorm, on your bed. Finally you had enough of tip toeing around, friends did not keep things to themselves, especially not when it weighed heavy on them. And you would consider Soobin your friend… With that you take a deep breath as you blurt your next words out:

"You kissed me." 

There. You said it. The silly thing that had been on your mind for nearly a week now, finally out in the open. Soobin doesn't react at first, but his features slowly harden into something far more serious. He's let go of the pen between his fingers, it rests between the open pages of the forgotten math book. Shifting slightly on the mattress, he gives you a brief glance, "I would hardly count it a kiss." 

He wouldn't even count it as a kiss? Then what had this all been to him, just a fun little game? Your attention drops to your hands, fingers intertwined on top of your thighs as you purse your lips. "Then what is a kiss?" You mumble under your breath, not meeting his gaze as you pick at the pajama pants you wore. 

Next to you Soobin scoffs. Through the corner of your eye you see him lean back on his hands, the mattress creaking under his weight as he does. "Probably what you and that kid have been doing all afternoon." He practically spits, not bothering to hide the edge of disgust that laces his words. 

"What?" Your head jerks up, brows tugged into a deeply confused frown. What was that supposed to mean? Did he think that you and Ji-ho… But that wouldn't make any sense. Soobin and Ji-ho did not know each other, why should that matter to him in the first place? It wasn't like you and the junior from your photography club was doing anything like that. 

Soobin exhales, his gaze fixed to a point on the wall opposite him. "He likes you." He flatly states, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Except it was not. You almost snorted at the ridiculousness of it all. Ji-ho? Liking you? No, Soobin had it way in over his head. You and Ji-ho were just getting to know each other, and he had been kind enough to bring you soup and medicine when you were sick.

To think that Soobin was implying that you had been making out with the junior… Shaking your head, your fingers curl a little tighter around the fabric of your pants. "I'm talking about us. About our kiss." You say, eyes narrowing as you search his. 

There's something darker that shadows Soobin's expression, something you didn't recognize. "Why would there be an us?" He sounds almost wary as he asks it, like the idea of something like that was unimaginable. 

His response made something within your chest twist uncomfortably. You had been so patient with him, trying your hardest to get through even when he was cold, even when he was distant. Now he tells you this? "Why couldn't there be?" You push, leaning forward just enough for him to lean back, it only makes the hurt in your chest worse. 

Soobin remains silent, his eyes guarded as he peers at you from behind his glasses. You catch his fingers curling around the sheets beneath him, jaw clenching when he swallows. You wanted to ask him why he was here in the first place, if the idea of an 'us' was so dreadful to him then why had he even bothered showing up here to help you with something as basic as math homework. 

You lean even closer, so closer that you could hear the faint hitch of his breath. Exhaling, your grip on your pants loosens as your shoulders slump. "You really are impossible to figure out, do you know that?" You hum as you tilt your head to the side. Soobin doesn't say anything but you can practically see the gears turning in his head. Your gaze drops to his lips, they're pressed together in a firm line, like he might end up saying something he would regret if he opened them. 

With a quiet huff, you meet his eyes, "And for the record I never kissed Ji-ho." 

Finally something seems to fall into place as Soobin blinks once. He exhales roughly, warm breath hitting your face. "No?" He wonders, and he sounds almost hopeful. 

"No." You confirm, not moving away as your face hovers just inches from his. 

Soobin bites the inside of his lip, and if you hadn't been so entranced by the action you would have probably noticed the flush that crept along his neck. "That makes me happy to hear." He admits, his voice a low rasp. The confession catches you off guard and you blink once, craning your neck just slightly to peer straight into his eyes. 

"Huh? Why?" You ask, still slightly dumbfounded. Could it really be that he had been… jealous? Of Ji-ho? The thought was almost a little funny, well, it probably would have been if Soobin wasn't sitting so dangerously close, his erratic breaths mingling with your own. 

He licks his bottom lip, probably a subconscious movement but your gaze still glues to his wet tongue. "Because…" Soobin whispers, leaning just a fraction closer — too close. His eyes find yours, something unspoken lingering in their depths. "… I've been wanting to do this." Without waiting for a response he closes the distance between you, letting his lips press against yours just like they had not even a week ago. 

Only it was different, very much so. This wasn't the forced and awkward press of lips against each other, it was something much more raw — something much more alive. Letting your eyes flutter closed, you kiss him back the way you wished you had that day. The way you hadn't had the courage to back then. 

His large hand is soft and gentle against your cheek as he cradles your face, his breath warm against you as he exhales in short gasps. Shuddering when his tongue slides along your bottom lip, you allow him to slip it inside your mouth without protest. Your head tilts back enough to give him more room and you peer at him through hooded eyes. Soobin's face his flushed, his own lashes laying against his cheeks, lips moving tenderly against your own. The glasses on his nose slid down enough to nudge you, the cool material against your skin a stark contrast to the heat that simmered beneath the surface. 

You both come up for air when your hand braces themselves against his chest, pushing him back a fraction. Bleary eyes finding his, you give him a lazy grin as you reach for the glasses, now sitting crooked on his nose. "I love them on you, but they're in the way." You murmur as you carefully pluck the frames from him, twirling them between two fingers, you send him a sly smile. 

Soobin blinks, his gaze flitting between his glasses and your expression, a flash of desire passing through his dark eyes. His lips are parted, a prominent redness creeping along his neck, adam's apple bobbing when he swallows. He doesn't say anything, but the way his attention lingers on the glasses hanging off one of your fingers betrays just how much this was affecting him. 

Wordlessly he leans back in, sealing you both in another kiss as he swallows your noise of surprise. Glasses still in one hand, you brace yourself against his shoulders when Soobin guides you back against the mattress. The forgotten study material still lays scattered across the bedsheets, a reminder of what had once been so important. But Soobin merely shoves the books onto the floor in his haste, not bothering to make sure he didn't accidentally break anything. 

When he settles you down against the pillows and crawls on top of you, you started to wonder if perhaps things were going too fast. You thought you liked Soobin, at least enough to want him as your friend — and you had been thinking about the kiss for almost an entire week. But did he really feel the same way? Maybe he was just using you as an excuse to get laid, maybe you looked easy and desperate enough, it wouldn't be the first time he had made that clear. 

But it doesn't feel like lust when Soobin's lips move down your neck. When his breath ghosts over your skin and his tongue drags across the juncture of your throat. And though a rational part of you keeps whispering for you to stop, somewhere deep in the back of your mind — you can't find it in you to force the words out into the air. Instead your fingers curl a little tighter around his shoulders, gaze fixed on the ceiling as you bask in the feeling of Soobin's soft and gentle kisses to your neck. 

His hands are hot and they burn like fire when he moves them along the expanse of your thigh. Even through the material of your pajama pants his touch was electrifying. You felt almost engulfed by him, by his hands, his mouth, the sound of his jagged breaths. 

When his fingers slip past the hem of your shirt you shudder. He moves slowly, like he was treading uncharted territory, which he was. Pausing to check for signs of discomfort, you catch the sight of his dark and hungry eyes when he lifts them from your collarbone to peer up at you. His hand moves higher, palm brushing against the curve of your breast before his fingers close around the flesh. 

Your back arches off the bed, if only a fraction, when his thumb circles over one of your nipples, teasing it enough for the bud to harden beneath the pad of his finger. Then suddenly, his lips are back on yours. This time they're even hungrier than before, like he'd just gotten a taste and now he was in for more. 

Hands making their way to his dark hair, you let your fingers thread through the soft strands the way you had imagined doing many times before whenever you had caught sight of his hair being slightly unkempt. When you tug slightly on the longer ends Soobin lets out a soft groan, the sound vibrating on your tongue and sending heat straight to your core. You pull him impossibly close, until his chest is nearly pressed against yours, until you could practically hear the erratic beating of his heart. 

"Your shirt…" He murmurs against your lips, his voice uncharacteristically needy, bordering on almost a whine, "Can I take it off?" The request makes you clench with unfulfilled desire, your body screaming for you to comply, to tell him to just rip the garment off. Instead you nod quietly, letting go of him as he sits back on his knees. 

Soobin's gaze is fixed to the rapid rise and fall of your chest, his hand moving slowly as he wraps it around the hem of your shirt. Then he tugs it upward with the patience of a madman. Goosebumps prickle across your skin when the cool air hits you, the bra you had chosen not to wear leaving you completely bare in front of him. It's almost like he forgets himself after that, his hand on your shirt coming to a stop as soon as the garment is bunched over your chest. 

"So gorgeous", he murmurs under his breath, and it sounds like he's speaking more to himself than anyone else really. His finger brushes against your nipple, tweaking it between his index finger and thumb, dark eyes flickering to your face when you sigh in pleasure. Then he pauses, brows furrowing for a second as he lets go off your chest again. "Wait." He exhales, and before you can ask any questions, he's climbed off of you — leaving an unfamiliar emptiness in his wake. 

Pushing yourself up on your elbows, you watch as he makes his way back to your desk, hands rummaging around for a moment before seemingly finding what he was searching for. Soobin turns back to you, a most familiar object between his hands when he re approaches you on the bed. 

Without bothering to explain himself, he crawls back over you, pushing you down against the mattress with a force that makes something deep inside your stomach flutter. His lips hover above yours, dark eyes searching yours as he exhales a short breath. "A memory", he says before leaning down to kiss you again, one arm holding himself up as the other clutches what he had snatched from your table. 

When you part for air he leans back, sitting onto his heels as he turns the polaroid camera in his hands. Strands of black hair fall in front of his face, and he pushes it back with one hand as he inhales. "Just one", he murmurs as he flips the camera, his eyes meeting yours from beneath his long lashes, "A memory." 

Licking your dry lips, you nod. Soobin hums, gripping the polaroid camera a little tighter as he brings it to his face. He plays around with the angle for a bit, leaning back a fraction. Then his free hand comes up to cover one of your breasts, fingers cupping the flesh gently as he gives it a small squeeze. The flash blinds you a second later, the sound of the photo being taken echoing through your dorm room. 

Not letting go of your chest, Soobin flips the camera around, watching the small polaroid as it prints out, plucking it awkwardly with the help of two fingers. He sets the camera down on the bedside table, waiting patiently for the photo to develop, his other hand still kneading your breast mindlessly. Raw and unfiltered desire strikes his features when he peers down at the small photo in his large palm. 

"Perfect", he exhales, thumb stroking against the edge of the polaroid. Then he stuffs the photo into his pocket, hungry eyes returning to you as he leans back down. "I'll keep it safe", he murmurs, lips brushing against yours before he reconnects them in a kiss that knocks the air from your lungs. 

He was done holding back now, teeth closing around your bottom lip as he pulled it back enough to make you squeal. There was something uncontrolled about the way his chest pressed down on yours, hips grinding against your core as he failed to keep down the strained grunts that rolled off his tongue, growing louder with every passing second. 

Your head falls back against the pillow when one of his hands travels lower, fingers brushing the hem of your pajama pants before slipping beneath the fabric. Arching into his touch, a small moan tears from your throat when his index finger brushes over your cunt through the cotton of your panties. 

"More?" He breathes, a stupid question, but you nod, gazing up at him like he could give you everything you wanted. 

Soobin doesn't waste any time as his hand moves under the thin barrier of your panties, fingers dragging across your almost embarrassingly wet cunt. The sight of him in his glasses earlier had certainly not helped in aiding your case. He hums, the sound reverberating through his chest. "You're soft", he murmurs, brows pulling into a small frown when he pushes one finger inside of you, careful as he gauges your reaction. 

Your wanton moan feels deafening in the hot air, legs spreading even further as you invite him in closer. Soobin complies without a word, his lips trailing down your jaw as he presses kisses to your skin. Thumb pressing against your clit, he draws another small noise of pleasure from you as his open mouth moves lower — back to your chest where his tongue swirls around one of your nipples with urgency. 

"All of you…" He exhales roughly against the curve of your breast, "…so soft." Adding another finger carefully, like he might shatter this fragile moment if he went too fast, he works you open slowly. He takes his time, teaching himself what made you clench around him, studying your every reaction like you held the answers to life itself. You were beginning to understand why he excelled the way he did in math, he was a fast learner. 

His lips are wet when they close around your nipple and Soobin pulls as much of you into his mouth as he can. One hand still buried between your legs, the other one comes up to grope at your other tit, fingers tweaking the nipple only to hear you gasp beneath him. His large frame draped over you, the weight of him pressing down against you was maddening, making your head spin as you stared up at the ceiling. 

But it wasn't enough, you needed more. You needed him. Your hands, which head previously been limp by your sides, moved toward him. One slipping under his loose t-shirt, fingers gliding across the taut muscles of his chest — the other finding its way to his jeans, palm pressing against his obvious hard-on through the denim as you palmed him slowly. 

Soobin groans against your chest, jaw slacking around your nipple as his eyes flutter. His hips buck into your hand before stilling again, his fingers curling inside of your cunt with a cruelty that made you clench uncontrollably. "Please", you whisper, nails digging into his abdomen as your hand cups him through his pants, "Give me more." 

His pupils are blown wide when Soobin finally looks up from where his face had been buried against your tits. Expression dazed and sweat sticking to his forehead, he looks absolutely ethereal like this. You move before even reacting, hand slipping out from under his shirt as you reach for the discarded polaroid camera once more. A small smile tugs across your lips when you bring it up to peer through the lens. 

"A memory", you muse, hand pressing against his raging erection once more and Soobin's face scrunches up in ecstasy. His mouth falls open, eyes fluttering as he hovers just over your chest. You snap the picture a second later, framing the moment and making it into something that would last forever. Soobin doesn't appear phased, he keeps watching you with that same almost awe-like expression as he sighs. 

The polaroid prints out through the camera, and you snag the picture as you watch it develop. Soobin's breath is hot against your chest, his lips closing around your nipple once more as his tongue drags against your skin. Your gaze flickers between him and the photo in your hand, comparing the two as heat coils low in your gut, "A natural", you comment with a small smile and Soobin chuckles against your breast.  

Leaning back up, Soobin peers down at you as his chest heaves. His once loose t-shirt now clings to his torso, sweat sticking to his neck. You're quick to follow, pushing yourself into a sitting position as your hands land on the belt around his waist. Glancing up at him, a silent question lingers behind your eyes. He nods, knuckles brushing against your cheek as he allows you to unbuckle his belt. 

The sound of the metal coming undone fills the silence along the heavy breaths passed between the two of you. Your fingers are trembling but you can't tell whether that was because you were nervous or excited about the idea of what was about to happen. Carefully you undo the zipper, hesitating for only a moment before your hand slips beneath the fabric of his boxers, fingers wrapping around his cock experimentally. 

Soobin exhales a sharp breath, his free hand falling to your waist as his fingers dig into your skin. Your gaze flits between his face and the sight of him in your hand, hot and heavy. Giving him a tentative stroke, your thumb brushes over the tip, relishing in the way his entire body shudders. 

"Fuck—" He groans, shaking his head just slightly, "Don't do that." But there's no real bite to his words, more than anything you can feel him practically begging for you to keep going. 

He throbs against your palm, and your thighs almost rub together at the mere thought of what he would feel like inside of you. When your eyes met his, there was only one sudden question on your mind. 

"Do you have a condom on you?" 

What a cock-blocker. Still, you weren't willing to take any risks, even when your body was practically yelling for you to just throw yourself at him. Soobin bites the inside of his cheek, for a second he appears almost conflicted. "No", he grunts, his hand on your waist slackening just slightly. 

You cast a glance toward your bedside table, scooting back just a fraction as you pull the top drawer open. There, hidden away for a good while now were the condoms they had handed out during orientation day. You had kept them in safe storage for over two years now, never having to use them — until now. Grabbing one, you turn back to Soobin who was perched where you left him, one of his hands wrapped around his cock as he stroked himself leisurely. 

"Let me.." You murmur as you nudge his hand away. Ripping the package open with your teeth, you carefully pull the latex over his cock, taking your time as you slide it in place. Soobin exhales deeply through his nose, both of his hands keeping your hips in place. 

When you're finished he wastes no time as he pushes you onto your back, fingers hooking around the hem of your pajama pants as he begins tugging them down without a second’s thought. The cool air hits your bare legs like the first snow during winter and you shiver. Soobin is there in the blink of an eye, large hands roaming your naked thighs as he soothes the prickles across your skin. 

"Can I?" He wonders, index finger hooked around the lining of your panties as he tugs at the elastic suggestively. 

You nod, letting your head fall back against the pillow when you sigh. "Please. Please do." 

You thought you could hear him chuckle somewhere above you, sliding your panties down your thighs without another word. Once he's pulled them entirely from your body he settles back between your thighs. There's an expectant look on his face when his eyes meet yours, desire swirling within the dark pools of his irises as he swallows. Your fingers are curled around the hem of his shirt, tugging gently on the fabric in a silent plea for him to take it off. 

Soobin obeys without hesitation, big hands replacing yours as he slides the loose cotton over his head, tossing the shirt aside to reveal a toned chest beneath. Swallowing back saliva at the sight, you reach out to run your palm across the planes of his chest and stomach, feeling every crevice of him as his ragged breaths vibrate beneath your open hand. 

He leans forward, bracing himself on one elbow as he hovers above you. "M'sorry", he murmurs as his lips brush against your cheek, gentle but insisting, "Can't wait any longer." The head of his cock bumps against your clit and you shiver as he drags his tip through your slick folds. With a strained groan he eases himself inside, going as slow as his patience would allow as his thick cock stretched you out in a way that left you burning for more. 

Your hands fly to his shoulders, nails locking into his skin as your eyes fly open. "H-ah.." The gasp leaves your lips when he bottoms out fully, your thighs begging to close around him as they give a small twitch. Soobin notices of course, taking a second to let you and himself adjust, his gaze travels down your body. His hand slides along your thigh, over your knee and down the calf before returning to settle just at the bend of your leg. 

"Closer?" He huffs, but it sounds less like a question and more like a plea. Then he tugs your leg, hooking it around his waist and your quick to oblige as you tighten your hold and pull him deeper inside of you. The sensation pulls a whiny-moan from you, head sinking even further into the pillow as your eyes flutter. 

Above you, Soobin is already panting, the hot air passing through his parted lips hits your faces like waves crashing against shore. He sets a slow and steady pace at first, pulling his cock through your cunt slowly, withdrawing before gently rocking himself back in — like he was trying to savor the moment. It was during that brief and intimate second that you dared hope that perhaps this meant just as much to him as it did you. That this wasn't just a cheap one-way in for him, and that when this was all said and done, things would go back to how they had always been. 

Soobin's lips brush against your cheek, then your jaw. His touch is soft and reverent, like he was handling something sacred. In that moment you felt precious. Your eyes slowly blink open, finding his in a split second as they lock together. His gaze is uncharacteristically gentle — filled with something vulnerable, something you had never before seen on him. 

His pace falters, a hushed curse passing his lips followed by a strained groan as Soobin tears his eyes away from you. "Fuck", murmurs, panting against the skin of your neck, "Don't look at me like that." His words hold no real warning, just an empty threat of pushing a boundary that both of you knew you wanted to cross. 

"Why?" You ask, hands loosening their grip on his shoulders as they make for his hair. 

Soobin huffs out a breath that sounds like a mix between a scoff and a laugh. When he peers up at you once more, his eyes are darkened with desire, his cock hardening significantly inside of you as it gives another twitch. His open palm is gentle against your cheek, cradling you carefully as he sighs. "'Cause I won't be able to last. Much less hold back." 

The admission hangs heavy in the air and you feel yourself throb at the idea. Fingers twisting the dark locks between them, you pull him closer. Your open mouth is millimeters from his, your faces so close that his nose brushes yours. Inhaling a shaky breath, you hold it for a long moment before slowly letting you, uncurling your grip on his hair just a fraction as you whisper your next words into his open mouth. 

"So don't." 

It's like a switch had been flipped inside of him. Soobin lets out a groan that threatens to label itself as a whine, his hips jerking against yours mindlessly at first, like just the idea of losing control like that was enough to send him into overdrive. The muscles in his arms flex when he readjusts his position over you, bracing himself in order to make each thrust he gives you be truly felt. 

His lips are back on yours after the second one, messy and hungry as his tongue slides inside your mouth, licking at you like a man starving for water. You moan against him, another sound of pleasure tearing from your throat when his teeth close around your bottom lip, biting down hard enough to make you clench around him as Soobin curses. 

"M'serious, I won't last—" He warns you, and he says it like the idea of him coming undone completely wasn't the hottest thing you could have ever imagined. Your leg, still hooked around his waist, tightens as you force him even deeper, moaning when his cock throbs inside of you. 

One of Soobin's hands moves down between your bodies, not stopping until he reaches the point where the two of you lock together in one. His thumb brushes over your clit, pressing down on the small bundle of nerves as he rubs gentle circles across it. The same reverent and soft touch quickly turns into something far more deranged as he feels the way your cunt clenches vigorously around him in response. 

"Feels good", you admit in a shaky sigh, tugging on his hair just a little harder. Heat was coiling low in your gut, the strings of a feather tightening until they reached the point where they were about to burst at any given moment. Soobin's cock fills you out from inside, his thumb pressing against your clit in a way that makes you feel absolutely delirious, "Please." 

The word slips from your tongue as you gasp into his mouth, cunt clenching hard around him as you feel your orgasm wash over you like a tidal wave. You shudder, holding onto him like a man to shore as Soobin's hips continue to rock into you, helping you carry out your climax with each sharp thrust. 

He pants above you, sweat sliding down the sides of his face as he continues to kiss you like it was the only thing keeping him sane — perhaps in the best of universes, it was. He's still hard inside of you, aching with demand even as his attention is poured into making you feel every bit of your orgasm, not pulling his hand away until your moans turned into whines. 

"Almost there", he reassures you even as his pace gets quicker, more rough — meaner. It's so good that it almost hurts, your whole body aches for a reprieve only he could give, and Soobin knows it. "Just a little more", he grunts against your lips, hips slamming against yours with a force that nearly shakes the bed. His promises feel like a reality so far away when all you can feel is the burning sensation of overstimulation that comes with each of his thrusts. 

His breath stutters a moment later, jaw slacking against yours as his kisses fall short. Giving another roll of his hips, Soobin lets out a low moan as he finally empties himself into the condom, cock throbbing and twitching violently inside of your spent cunt. His face buries in the crook of your neck, his breath jagged and desperate, like he'd ran a whole mile. 

For a long moment after that neither of you move, content to lay in each other's embraces just a while longer. Soobin presses gentle kisses to the skin of your neck, his lips lingering several seconds longer than necessary. The quiet actions are the only sound to fill the silence. 

You want to ask Soobin what this would mean for the two of you now. Would things change? You weren't friends this morning, but now it felt like that same term wouldn't even begin to cover what had transpired between the two of you within the past hour. The question lays ready on the tip of your tongue, but when he wraps his arms around you, pulling you just a fraction closer as his head rests against your shoulder, a mumbled plea of closeness on his lips — you can't find it in yourself to bring it up. 

So you let the moment pass. 

The next morning the bed had been empty and cold when you woke up. Between the messy sheets and the dented pillows, you still thought you could see the outline of Soobin’s figure where he had slept. You remembered the warmth of his embrace as his arms wrapped around you, fingers stroking along your arms absentmindedly as you both fell asleep on your bed. 

Now he was gone without as much as a trace, leaving behind only the faint scent of his cologne that smelled like saltwater by the sea, and the memory of how his lips had felt on you. 

You had sat in your bed for nearly an hour, just staring out in the void. That was unusual for someone like you, for someone who would be on her feet after the first sound of her alarm, moving about and getting ready for the day as she hummed to her favorite song. Where had that been today? Instead you were left an empty shell of the girl you had been yesterday, back when you had taken Soobin for granted. 

Of course it had meant very little to him, even if it had been everything to you. By now you should know how Soobin operated, and that was with everyone at an arms length. Perhaps he had been right in saying that you were the one who needed a friend, not him. 

Your gaze drifts across the pink bedsheets, thinking about how insignificant they had felt just a day ago. Now they held so many memories, so many smells and so many lingering touches. A small white corner piece catches your attention. Stuffed half under a spare pillow, yet still visible if you just squinted a little. You shove the soft pillow aside, eyes widening when they land on the tiny polaroid. Picking it up between two fingers, you bring it to your face. 

It was one of Soobin. The one you had taken yesterday, recklessly in the heat of the moment, when you didn't know what it would lead to. His face is flushed, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead and his jaw slacked in pleasure. He's looking at you, eyes shining with something that was as far from the Soobin you thought you knew as it could possibly be — yet all the more him. 

There's a tenderness in the way he looks at you in that photo. Like he truly saw you, and in your selfishness you had allowed yourself to believe that it was the truth. Even if the evidence scattered around you pointed elsewhere. 

You clutch the photo a little tighter, keeping it to your chest as you exhale slowly. 

That day you had stayed home as well. Not because you still felt very ill, but because you knew that facing Soobin now would be more than you could handle. Even worse would be him not showing up at all, leaving you standing like a complete fool. No, it was better this way. If you didn't turn up, then there was nothing for you to be disappointed by, for a few hours longer, you could still pretend like everything was fine. 

When four pm rolled around, you had made it out of your dorm for the first time in what felt like forever — though it had technically only been three days. You had missed out on your previous club meeting, and now you were more than eager to get back to it. 

Heavy duffel bag slung over your shoulder and the handmade sign under your arm, you had made your way down to the classroom you would be occupying. It felt weird being in school after hours, especially when you had been absent these past couple of days. It was almost like you had stepped through into an alternate universe of some sorts. The sun was beginning to set outside the windows, leaving the sky pink and orange against the pale trees. 

There were a lot of preparations to be done, and as you busied yourself with setting up the cameras and photos, humming along to a song stuck in your head, you failed to hear the pair of approaching footsteps that echoed across the floor. 

It wasn't until the clearing of a throat behind you that you were startled from your thoughts. Nearly dropping the camera from your grasp, you shriek. Luckily, another pair of hands are quick enough to join in as they cover your own, keeping the valuables safe between your palms. 

"Careful, noona." Ji-ho muses as he sends you a small smile. 

The junior stands only a couple of inches away, nearly pressed up against you as he'd rushed forward. Exhaling a relieved breath you loosen your grip on the camera just a fraction. "Jeez, you scared me!" You try to scold, but your tone is far too lighthearted for him to actually take any actual offense. 

Ji-ho merely laughs as he gives an apologetic bow. "My apologies", he says as he flashes you a grin. The last sunlight falls across the side of his face, highlighting the soft curls that fell around his ear and across his forehead. His cheek has a dimple dented into it, eyes crinkling as his smile widens. Ji-ho was endearing, but even then you couldn't help but compare him to Soobin. 

The difference between the two was stark. Soobin's rough edges and his dark hair, his stoic mask of indifference and his tall brooding frame was very different from Ji-ho's boyish grin, his soft hair and warm eyes. Why was it that no matter Ji-ho's continued kindness and efforts that your mind still plagued itself with thoughts of the person who obviously hadn't cared at all for your night together. 

"I've been wanting to do this." That's what he had said. Did that ever mean anything to him? Or was it just mindless talk in order to get in your pants? For a while you had dared hope that Soobin had just been a wilting flower in need of some water. That if only you were patient enough, your efforts would be returned sooner or later. Now you just feel like a fool for trying so desperately in the first place. 

It's not until Ji-ho makes a small sound of acknowledgment that you finally look up to meet his gaze. Forcing a smile to your lips, your attention falls on the notebook he'd brought. "You're here early today", you remark, the other students had yet to roll in. Then you point to the notebook he holds in one hand, "What is that?" 

Ji-ho rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well, it's ah. I had a few ideas of things I would like to photograph.." He pulls the notebook out, opening it as he begins flipping through the pages. You watch him with a fond smile, peering down as you try and get a glimpse of what he's written when suddenly the classroom door is pushed open. Turning your head in its direct, your heart stutters in your chest when your eyes meet a pair of familiar and dark ones. 

Soobin lingers in the doorway, still dressed in his uniform, arms folded across his chest, he regards you with an expectant look. Ji-ho still doesn't seem to have noticed him as he continues to ramble about the topics in his book. "Obviously they might be a little hard to do since it's not quite spring… But I thought maybe this one…" 

The sound of his voice fades into the background as you continue to watch Soobin where he stands. He had yet to approach, to even make his presence known beyond just ominously appearing. There was some nerve he carried for him to show up like this, unannounced after leaving the way he had this morning. Your jaw clenches, fingers twitching by your sides as you tear your gaze away from him. 

"Hey, Ji-ho. Would you mind waiting here for a moment? There others should be here any minute, I just need to do something." You place a reassuring hand on his shoulder, a pang going through your chest when the enthusiastic look on his face drops again. 

"Oh— Okay, sure noona!" He smiles, but you can tell that there was disappointment carefully masked behind his easygoing demeanor. 

But you knew that you couldn't prolong the inevitable conversation with Soobin. So without looking back, you turn and march up to him. 

He doesn't react when you approach, much less when you grab a hold of his arm and drag him back into the corridor. Closing the door behind you both, you let go of him with a little more force than necessary. "What are you doing here?" You spit, sounding more defensive than you had hoped for. 

Soobin, if anything, doesn't seem particularly phased, and if he was he did not let it show. His arms hang limp by his sides, hands finding their way to his pockets when he gives a small roll of his shoulders. "I thought you wanted me to join your club?" He muses with something that bordered on a smirk. 

His response gnaws at something deep inside of you. Yes you wanted him to join your club, but only on his own terms — only if he wanted to. "I don't want you to join just because you screwed me and think you need to make up for it somehow. I'm not that easy!" You snap, crossing your arms over your chest like a shield as you send him a glare. 

The brows on Soobin's forehead raise as he regards you with something almost like confused amusement. "Screwed you? Is that what you're going to call it?" He asks with a hint of disbelief. 

You frown, huffing out a short breath that sounds more like a scoff. "You made it very clear what it was. So don't you dare tell me what labels to use." Being angry wasn't exactly a usual occurrence for you. In fact it was very seldom that you ever let your emotions get the better of you like this — you hated what resentment did to people, what it made them do to others. Part of you knows that you should stop before you, too, cross a line you cannot return from. But the truth was, you were upset with him. 

Soobin continues to watch you with that same expression, but when your last words reach his ears, it morphs into something conflicted. "I made it clear?" He echoes, and this time it's his turn to frown. 

"Yes, Soobin. You did." Gesturing toward nothing in particular, you heave a frustrated sigh. 

Down the hall a couple of students approach, you recognize them as members of your photography club. They slow down when they see you and Soobin, both of you leaning against the wall, both standing a little too close for it to be considered friendly. Sending them a quick smile, you urge them to enter the classroom. With slight reluctance they nod, shuffling through the door one after the other before closing it behind them again. 

Once you're alone, you turn back to Soobin. "You left, just like that." You could still recall the cold sheets from earlier that day, the emptiness of your dorm room and the silence that felt too loud. "Did you really dislike it that much?" That's not what you're really asking. There's another question weighing even heavier on your heart, one you dare not ask. Did you really dislike me that much?'

Either Soobin was just not comprehending what you were telling him or he did in fact not care at all. Shifting against the wall, his hands dig even deeper into his pockets. "That's not it…" He murmurs, frown deepening as the crease on his forehead becomes all the more prominent. "I thought it was nice." He pauses, like he was considering his next words, then he tilts his head to the side, "Didn't you?" 

He was actually unbelievable. Nice? Did he think it was nice? That was it then — nothing else? So he could just leave without a word in the morning, and then just brush it all off by saying that it was… nice? Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, your nails dig into your forearms as you bite back all the thoughts lingering on your tongue right now. With a final huff, you push yourself off the wall. "Yeah. It was nice, Soobin. Really nice." Your voice does little to hide how frustrated you actually were. 

"I'm glad you had such a fantastic time." 

You don't spare him another glance, turning promptly on your heel as you head back inside the classroom. The door falls shut behind you with a slam that echoes. Not looking up from the floor, you let your arms fall to your sides as you make your way up to the board with a deflated sigh. 

"Are you okay, noona?" Comes Ji-ho's voice from somewhere ahead. It was clear that he was worried and it only made you feel even worse about it all. 

A moment later another girl chimes in, "Was that your boyfriend out there? Did you guys have a fight?" Hushed murmurs follow her timid question as the rest of the juniors speculate about what could have gone down between you and Soobin just outside the door. But you merely shake your head, shushing them with a dismissive wave as you reach for one of the cameras. 

"Let's not waste our time on my private matters. Today we're here to learn about photography!" You muster as much encouragement as you could gather, smiling toward the students as you prepare to forget about Soobin, at least for the next two hours. 

The sky is pitch black by the time your club meeting was wrapped up.  Ji-ho had stayed behind to help you pack everything down in your bag, his hands brushing yours a few more times than necessary as he did. 

"Noona…" 

His quiet voice had broken the comfortable silence between the two of you. 

"Hm?" You replied, not looking up from the photos you were organizing back into their folders. 

There was a brief pause, and for a moment you thought he might not have had anything to say at all. But then he cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly beside you for a moment. "That guy… Choi Soobin", he says, the name already familiar to him, as were all of the Choi's. Ji-ho's face flickers with hesitation, but in the end he proceeds. "Are you and him… I mean are you together?" 

His question catches you off guard. Your fingers come to a halt over the folder you were holding, jaw clenching as you peer down at the photos inside. "Ah… I don't know." You finally admit, almost a little sheepishly. It was embarrassing to be honest — not knowing where you stood with him. Soobin had made it very clear that his intentions were nothing but surface level, right? So why would Ji-ho ask? 

You remember Soobin's words to you last night, blurted out too quickly for him to have thought them through. "He likes you." Glancing over at the junior, you watch as he busies himself with wiping down the lens of one of the cameras, avoiding your gaze with all his might. Was it really true? Your lips tug into a small frown, how could you tell him that what you felt for him wasn't like that… 

Ji-ho seems to pick up on the prolonged silence. Carefully he sets the camera back down, wiping his hands on the cloth he'd been using. "It's alright." He smiles that same boyish and endearing smile before adding, "I think he likes you, noona." 

Your breath stutters in your throat, the folder nearly slipping from your grasp as you glance over at him. "What?" You huff, baffled by the sudden remark. 

The junior only shrugs, his smile widening a fraction. "It's pretty obvious. He came by last week as well, I saw him too." He pauses, hands clutching the cloth between them a little tighter, "He showed up yesterday as well." Licking his lips, his gaze drops to your bag where it sits on the table. 

Shaking your head, you stuff the photo folder inside the duffel, "Me and Soobin are just—"

"Just friends?" 

Ji-ho's warm eyes find yours quicker than you had hoped for them to. They're filled with sincerity, perhaps even something more — something longing, like he knew he couldn't have what he truly wanted. "Friends don't look at each other like that, noona." He says it like it's the most simple thing in the universe, even when you both know it's not. 

"Ji-ho…" You start, swallowing down the lump in your throat. He had brought up the inevitable, and now there was no backing out of it either. 

But it doesn't seem to phase him, if it does, he hides it well behind that smile of his. "I get it." He says, his voice a little too enthusiastic for him to actually mean it. Exhaling a shaky breath, he averts his gaze as he blinks a couple of times. 

You want to hug him, tell him that it wasn't like that at all — but it would be a lie. And Ji-ho already knew the truth. So you remain cowardly silent, trembling hands reaching for the camera he had been wiping down as you place it inside the bag before zipping it up. "Can you forgive me?" You whisper, even when it was selfish to ask. 

Ji-ho shakes his head, still smiling. "You have nothing to be forgiven for." Under the dim lights that hung above you, you thought you could see tears glistening in his eyes. But he quickly pushes them back as he gives your shoulder a playful nudge. "Besides, I get him", he says as he tilts his head to the side, "You're really pretty, noona." 

Heat rises to your face at the blunt compliment, and you swat him away with your hand, "Shut up." 

He chuckles, the sound far too bright and joyful given the context of your conversation. Then he takes the bag you had packed together, holding it out for you to take. "I mean it." There's no hesitation in his voice, and his fingers linger on top of yours for a moment when you reach out to take the duffel from him, "Make sure he tells you that." 

Ji-ho follows you out, and the two of you part just by the entrance. He's smiling all the way until the end, waving you off as he promises to come by and help set everything up before the next club meeting. You watch after his retreating figure for a while, fighting back the guilt that still clung to your heart. He was far too sweet for his own good, keeping himself together just to make you feel a little better. 

Once he's completely out of sight you finally turn to walk back to your dorm. It wasn't far from campus, only a block away, taking you merely five minutes. 

The night is dark and cold, the freezing February air was unforgiving as it latched onto you, making you shiver slightly in the evening breeze. Keeping your gaze downcast, you count the lampposts you pass, trying to think of anything but the conversation you had just had — or the one before that. 

You had made it past four of them when suddenly a shadow appeared, cutting through the dim yellow light. Faltering in your steps, you look up only to be met with a pair of dark eyes. 

Soobin leans against the fifth lamppost. Clad in his black coat, hands buried deep in his pockets — he watches you with an unreadable expression. You stop completely, feet planting against the ground as your breath hitches in your throat. What was he doing out here? 

The warm glow of the lamp casts a halo around his dark hair when he pushes himself off the post. He takes a couple of steps toward you, halting only when he realized how close he was getting. One of his hands moved within his pockets, almost as though he was about to reach for you, catching himself just in time. He visibly swallows, gaze flickering between you and the ground for a moment before he grunts, "Can we talk?" 

A part of you wants to say no, to just keep walking and act like none of this had ever happened. Except it had, and running from it would only make it worse. For a while you don't say anything at all, only watching him silently under the dim light. His eyes, usually so distant and cold look different tonight — or maybe they had always looked like this, maybe you just hadn't paid close enough attention. Ji-ho's words ring in your ears: 

"Friends don't look at each other like that, noona."

Then how was he looking at you right now? If only you could understand him, if only he could make the effort at being understood. Your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip, fingers curling around the strap of your bag as you slowly nod, "We can talk." 

Soobin sighs, and he seems relieved. His mouth opens, then it closes again. It seemed like he was struggling with what to say. You wait for him, just like you had waited all those other days — begging for him to unfold and bloom. He pulls his hand from his pocket, running it through his hair once before pushing his glasses further up on his nose. His glasses. It's then you realize that he is wearing them. 

"I…" He begins, face scrunching up into an uncomfortable grimace like the entire conversation was taking everything in him to continue. Then he exhales sharply through his nose, visibly frustrated with himself. "I didn't mean what I said earlier." His fingers curl into a fist by his side, jaw clenching as his eyes drop to the ground below him. "About last night, when I said I thought it was nice." 

He's quiet for a moment, brows furrowing like he just realized how weird that sounded. "I mean— I did think it was nice. I still do." Keeping his gaze downcast, he inhales deeply. "But that's not how I meant it. I just—" Cutting himself off by dragging a hand down his face, he lets out a frustrated groan. "This is fucking stupid. I'm useless at this shit", he spits, the words laced with a self loathing that didn't fit him at all. 

You watch as he shifts on the spot, his arm falling limp to his side as he takes slow and controlled breaths. He was hardly making any sense, jumping from point A to point B with little coherence as he kept his attention firmly on his feet. Your own lips part, a question waiting on your tongue but Soobin beats you to it.

"What I meant was—" He sighs, heavy as it came from his chest, "I thought that you were nice." Finally lifting his gaze, his dark eyes find yours as he chews on the inside of his cheek. "I think you're nice. But it came out wrong the first time and then I didn't know how to correct it and then you just assumed that I…" He shakes his head, fingers flexing awkwardly by his side as he struggles to hold your gaze. 

You should probably say something now, address all the things he had just brought to the surface — but your mind is still caught on those four words as they play on repeat. "I think you're nice." Your heart stutters in your chest and you blink twice when you exhale. 

"Then I was going to join your stupid photography club— but… it's actually not stupid it all. I actually like it a lot and I think it's really cool but then I made myself look like a fucking douche bag and you got angry with me and I—" 

"You think I'm nice?" 

Soobin cuts himself off mid-ramble, his face finally reflecting all the emotions he was feeling. The guilt, the regret, the shame, the longing. He swallows. The truth of what he had said just now catching up to him as it registers in his head. His jaw clenches, fingers curling into a fist — almost like a reflex, before relaxing again. "Yes. I do." He bites hit lip, a conflicted expression flashing across his features, "I think you're really nice, and I think— no, I know that I like you." 

When he realizes exactly what he had just said he takes a step back, then another, his shoulder hitting the lamppost behind him as he runs a hand through his dark hair. His face is hardened into the mask he always wore, only it was slipping right now as cracks spread throughout its entirety. There was a flicker of panic behind his eyes, like the idea of being this open, this vulnerable with someone absolutely terrified him. 

Your bag drops from your shoulder, hitting the ground with a soft thud as you quietly approach him. Soobin doesn't even seem to register the fact that you were closing in, too caught up in the tangled mess of his own emotions as he rubbed the back of his hand over his face with a strained groan.

"It sounds really stupid and pointless when I say it like this but I don't know how else to. And it's been eating me alive all day especially because—-" 

He trails off when your fingers wrap around his wrist, pulling his hand from his face gently. His cheeks are red, and whether that was from the cold or the fact that he appeared more than flustered at the moment, you couldn't tell. It didn't really matter anyway. Your gaze drops to his lips, soft and pink — slightly parted as he lets out a shaky exhale, warm breath fanning across your own lips. 

You smile, eyes meeting his as your free hand pushes his glasses a little higher on his nose. "I think you're nice too." With that you lean in to press a tender kiss to his open mouth, listening to the hitch in his breath as Soobin goes stiff as a board against you. A second later he relaxes again, one of his arms hesitantly wrapping around your waist as he pulls you closer. 

He lets you lead the kiss, eager following along as your lips move on top of his. Kissing him like this felt different from all the other times, slower, not at all as intense but somehow all the more nerve wracking. Soobin is soft, and he tastes sweet, nostalgic almost — like something you'd want to try over and over again and never get tired of. 

When you pull back he makes a low noise at the back of his throat, it sounds almost like a whine but he doesn't attempt to pull you back. You blink once, peering up at him through your lashes as you send him a smile, and for once, you get one back. 

Soobin looks like a whole different person when he smiles. Not one, but two dimples show on his flushed cheeks, his eyes crinkling just slightly when his teeth trap his bottom lip between them. This is the Soobin you had pictured in your head all along, the one in full bloom like flowers in spring, or perhaps a snowdrop in winter. You reach out, fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from his face. 

"So", you hum, unable to hide the teasing edge to your voice, "Does this mean you'll join my stupid photography club?" 

Soobin's smile widens, showing the top row of his teeth. Then he nods, just a subtle tilt of his head. His arm around you pulls you impossibly close, close enough for you to feel the erratic beating of his heart against your chest. "Yeah", he says, his eyes soft and warm behind his glasses, 

"I'll join your stupid photography club." 

taglist ✎... @1-800-jewon @bambiihee @izzyy-stuff @bamgeutori @chaconoo @starstrucktae @angelhyuka @basicallyanothernotebook @swangyu @tyunstarz @itsdragonius @txtzen @lilyofthevalley6 @rengyunism @vanillakirstein @heesmiles @biteyoubiteme @hyukascampfire

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𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖱𝖤𝖣𝖤𝖬𝖯𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭 𝖮𝖥 𝖢𝖧𝖮𝖨 𝖸𝖤𝖮𝖭𝖩𝖴𝖭 26k 16/07/24

Yeonjun never really cared for those he hurt around him. What he did care about was his reputation. So when he starts fucking the freshly transferred junior who he relentlessly bullies in class, cracks begin to form and Yeonjun soon realises that his usual ways are what's going to rob him of you in the end.

bully!yeonjun x nerd!reader

𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖳𝖱𝖮𝖴𝖡𝖫𝖤𝖲 𝖮𝖥 𝖢𝖧𝖮𝖨 𝖡𝖤𝖮𝖬𝖦𝖸𝖴 25.5k 13/03/25

Beomgyu hates Yeonjun for what he did, breaking apart a friendship that had lasted years over a girl he'd been fucking for a few weeks. What's worse is the fact that you won't leave him alone. The absence of his best friends makes Beomgyu realise that they weren't the only loss he's made.

ex bsf!beomgyu x ex bsf!reader

𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖠𝖥𝖥𝖫𝖨𝖢𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭𝖲 𝖮𝖥 𝖢𝖧𝖮𝖨 𝖲𝖮𝖮𝖡𝖨𝖭 27k 5/12/25

When both Beomgyu and Yeonjun settle down with their new girlfriends, Soobin is left a shadow in his own friendships. He should be grateful when you decide to pursue him with bright smiles and friendly conversation. But old habits die hard and Soobin has no idea how to accept your affections.

grumpy!soobin x sunshine!reader

Though we received many nominations for talented and loved authors on here, there was one that stuck out in the crowd. You have taken moablr by storm this year and your fics have been treasured by many readers! From kinky smut to immersive plot and breathtaking headers, there is something special about you and your writing Emme that we on moablr can't help but love.

Not only are your fics absolutely wonderful to read and experience, but your kindness is greatly admirable and you inspire many! We hope that this award will bring you just as much happiness as you have brought us in 2025 ❤️

We can all agree that our love for Soobin runs deep, and Love, In Translation captures that love perfectly. The story telling is not only immersive but it's also beautiful to read and follow along with. If there is one thing we want to praise you for Yun, then it is how well you depict the yearning in each and every one of your fics, it just so happens that Love, In Translation stole our hearts completely and if there is one fic we will take with us into 2026, then it is this one ❤️

We were also told to relay a message from one of your readers, "I'm rooting for you!! - kafka anon"

When it comes to whimsy and fun, smaus are the best place to go looking. I'll See You There tomorrow is not only fun and giggle worthy to read but it also handles feelings and emotions beautifully. It's the type of series you binge in one night and then tell everyone you know about it! There was never a doubt that this smau would be our favourite of the year. We hope that this award will bring you at least the fraction of the smile you have brought us with this series Eli ❤️

CHOI SOOBIN

Our favourite Soobin short fic of the year is...

Play with me by @izzyy-stuff

Our favourite Soobin mid-length fic of the year is...

1980s Horror Film by @heejamas

Our favourite Soobin long fic of the year is...

Meet Me In Montauk by @biteyoubiteme

CHOI YEONJUN

Our favourite Yeonjun short fic of the year is...

Foxy by @yourfavtangerine

Our favourite Yeonjun mid-length fic of the year is...

Kiss List by @tyunningism

Our favourite Yeonjun long fic of the year is...

Assigned To You by @cbeargyu

CHOI BEOMGYU

Our favourite Beomgyu short fic of the year is...

On Hiatus by @fairyofshampgyu

Our favourite Beomgyu mid-length fic of the year is...

No Fair by @allbeoms

Our favourite Beomgyu long fic of the year is...

Clementine by @niningtori

KANG TAEHYUN

Our favourite Taehyun short fic of the year is...

Best Friend's Brother by @starstrucktae

Our favourite Taehyun mid-length fic of the year is...

Rope Burn by @hyukascampfire

Our favourite Taehyun long fic of the year is...

Ultraviolence by @beomiracles

HUENINGKAI

Our favourite Kai short fic of the year is...

Lane Seven by @nanilis

Our favourite Kai mid-length fic of the year is...

Fuck Me Like You Mean It! by @tyunningism

Our favourite Kai long fic of the year is...

Next Exit: Mine by @kaimerae

OT5

Our favourite OT5 fic of the year is...

Back For More by @faeyun

JUNE 1992

“We are all honored that you have chosen to open your hearts to the Lord,” the woman’s voice echoed against the concrete walls of the mess hall, “and we are so happy to guide you on your faithful journey as you become members of our beloved community.”

She was an older lady, wrinkles of time set into her skin and her voice held a shrill candor that made Beomgyu’s ears feel like they could begin to bleed at any moment. The incessant blaring of her too-well rehearsed speech made him want to gag. It was something along the lines of: Believe what we tell you or you’re going to burn in Hell for all eternity. The grin on her face felt eerie, it was too straight, too perfect. There was no glint of life behind her dull gray eyes. Beomgyu nearly shivered. 

He had half a mind to beg his father not to send him here; to let him stay home and do nothing all day for the foreseeable future. He deserved it, he believed, after graduation. He’d just survived twelve years of dedication, of all consuming God-fearing devotion. All he wanted was rest. But he didn’t ask because, like the woman, his father was easily read. Beomgyu could already hear the harshness in his rejection so clearly that it felt like he was recounting a memory where he’d actually asked.

As the woman droned on he felt all the more miserable. She cheerily reminded the group of the itinerary, all three weeks of it. 

This retreat was like a rite of passage, only those who welcomed judgement and whispers from the public would think about missing it. When teenagers in your town graduated high school, it was customary to spend their first summer as members of the community here—Where they could be sure that the lifetime of drilling their faith into you would not go to waste while your minds were so young and malleable. 

Beomgyu was well known among the others—part of the reason his father was sure to say no was because the absence of such an integral source of community bonding would be grounds for blasphemous accusations against the son of the preacher; by extension, against the preacher himself. But he should have begged, he realized it now. He should have knelt before his father like the good boy he was supposed to be and begged. 

“Ugh. Gag me with a spoon,” Chaewon said from beside him, her head resting in her palm. 

His eyes took in the details of the room as his ears tried to block out the noise. 

Unfortunately, this room, and he was sure this would be true of the others as well, was inexplicably drab. Just like the rest of your town. The walls were painted over with a creamy white, a single heavy cross decorated the back wall of the room and the long dining tables matched the darkness of the wood. He wondered what they used this space for during the rest of the year when the retreat wasn’t active, but he thought maybe it just wasted for all that time. It certainly looked like it. The corners were bunched with cobwebs and the floor felt grainy with dust and debris underneath his shoes. 

His eyes bounced around the room and he tried his best to find something remotely entertaining. Something to watch. And then his eyes caught yours. You, who had already been staring at him for who knows how long, were quick to look down at your empty hands at his catch. They were neatly folded in front of you, and he wasn’t sure how possible it was but you stood up even straighter than you were before. Your perfect ponytail—tied with a laced white ribbon—landed over your shoulder from the force. 

You had always watched him, not because you liked him, but because you liked his proximity to his father. He could see it in the way you straightened up and played your part in front of him. He knew that it was all a game, an attempt to keep your goodness in his father’s line of sight. You treated him like an extension of the preacher, it filled him with a rage that burned through his chest and left scorch marks on his skin at the site where the golden cross embellished his collarbones. 

The preacher could always sense a wickedness in his son. Beomgyu was reminded of this each waking moment of his life. Every mistake, every misstep was amplified under his father’s painful scrutiny. When he was a child, his father convinced him that this intuition was the truth; Beomgyu remembered crying to him each night about God, about why he was made this way and how he could fix himself. He spent agonizing years convincing himself that his father was right, that he was wicked, that it was inherent. 

It wasn’t just his own holiness on his shoulders but his father’s, he had to be perfect. 

As he grew, that pressure didn’t stop, it tore right down his shoulders and broke his heart into bits and pieces. He had never recovered from the weight of it. It was what turned the preacher’s fears into cold hard truths. No matter how much Beomgyu prayed, how hard he shoved his knees at Christ’s mercy, he always felt alone. 

He didn’t believe anymore, not in God, at least. 

So, he built the ruse young. In public he played the part of the preacher's son. He was polished and clean, all ironed shirts and tailored slacks, kind and respectful. He wore a cross around his neck and anybody would say that he was one of the most devoted in your community. What started out of spite became Beomgyu’s way of keeping himself hidden from the prying eyes of people like you—People who only cared about the hope of praise to his father.  

Now even the ruse was shifting under all of that pressure. 

Yeonjun, sitting on his other side, caught Beomgyu's eyeline of intensity, “What are you looking at?”

“More like who,” Chaewon said and her eyes pointed at you, her head nudged in your direction. 

Beomgyu had seen so much of you. In school you were like him, polished, clean, devoted. You always looked stiff, as though you felt you would collapse if you moved at all. Your face, the slope of your tired eyes, the tint on your raw bitten lips, it had always made him uncomfortable. 

Where Beomgyu had crafted a false identity with his torture, he recognized that you decided to run with yours. You kept your own golden cross tucked tightly in the fabric of your clothing. He wondered if you felt the same burning sensation he did when it touched your skin and if the smell of singed flesh offset you or if you had grown accustomed to it as he had. He never asked, had never wanted to. 

And he couldn’t remember a time you’d spoken to anybody other than the friend sitting next to you now. Maybe except for his father. 

When the preacher announced that he’d have private practices with you and ordered him to leave his office undisturbed, Beomgyu curiously peeked through the door to watch his father’s perversion play out; The hypocrisy of having you privately, of subtle touches under the ruse of protecting you with God. And the way you let him put his hands on you. He couldn’t tell if you understood what was happening or worse, if you liked it. 

Chaewon barely spared you a glance, “She was staring at him.”

His father had always selected one or two members, always girls, always your age, to conduct these lessons with. He believed it was his calling to mold the most valuable members of your society into whatever he wanted you to be. That was what he said to Beomgyu year after year. He was so convincing, you were just the newest under his spell. 

Did you know that you were not special?

Yeonjun looked you up and down, the definition of prudish. Your body was rigid and uncomfortable to look at, he wondered if your head hurt from how tight your ponytail looked. 

The preacher was an entity in the community, the one that set the constraints Beomgyu had to give his life up to fulfill. He was sure you felt the same, albeit willingly. And then your eyes spared Beomgyu a glance once more as if you could sense it. It was all but innocent, for a second he could feel you pleading. 

But the preacher is not here right now, is he?

“She's always staring at him. It’s like—” her tone was taunting, almost disgusted. 

An idea bubbled inside his stomach. It boiled hot and screaming as his eyes began to watch you with a harsh concentration. 

And you blinked your eyes away. 

—So pathetic.” Chaewon spoke with such disdain, one he would have matched if he had not just come to a realization.

Your devotion had you by the throat, you were choking and sputtering out prayers through pools of blood that gathered in your esophagus. He could feel it. The preacher was eating you alive. It was too much pressure, he had chosen wrong. 

He was wrong in his way. He always had been. 

All grown up, Beomgyu had the ability to see through the preacher’s lies and he wanted to spread this gospel like wildfire. It was his duty to sever the connection. 

He would start with you. 

First you hear the sound of a chair being pulled to your left, you turn your head in that direction. Yeonjun's cologne hits you lightly in the face, giving you butterflies in your stomach. Then you hear the sound of Beomgyu's breath, his knees still pressed to the floor, hitting your thighs.

His mouth presses roughly against your pussy. "Ah-" You're about to change your mind. They are crazy enough to have decided this suddenly. 

Kai grabs under your knees, spreading your legs for Beomgyu and taking control of your trembling body. He presses his chin into the hollow of your neck, where he eagerly watches your dripping pussy without even breathing.

You press your fists to your eyes.

“Shh...” Yeonjun takes your left hand gently and pulls it away from your eyes. Beomgyu looks up as he presses his tongue against your clit, causing you to squeeze Yeonjun's hand. Your palms are already sweaty. But Yeonjun brings your hand to his lips and places a soft kiss on your wrist. “You can hold on to me, sugar.” he whispers. You wrap your arm around his neck and he leans down, slipping his hand under the fabric of your top and touching your stomach. You collect more butterflies under his palm as Beomgyu continues to lick along your cunt. 

There's the sound of another chair being dragged.

Soobin puts his hand next to Yeonjun's. They take off your top together, Yeonjun puts it on his lap. You're leaning against Kai's back again. “Gorgeous.” Beomgyu purrs against your pussy, lightly biting your clit. “A-” you flinch. Yeonjun smiles at that, pulls your hand into his lap and gently wraps it around the base of his cock. “Do you like being bitten?” he leans in and gently bites your nipple. He wraps his hand around yours and slowly guides you to stroke himself. Soobin's lips are parted over your other nipple. “You sound so sweet,” he murmurs before pressing his tongue there. Kai bites the thin skin of your neck.

You feel overwhelmed by the intense attention. Every second you become a beautiful crying mess, caged in the middle of them. Your body moves sensitively as Beomgyu presses his tongue inside you. Soobin and Yeonjun's mouths on your breasts keep you in place. You are also holding Soobin's cock and it makes him smile.

"You're doing so well." Yeonjun moans, kissing under your ear, inhaling your scent. He looks at his cock that you're stroking together, there is more precum now. They are getting harder and harder in your palm.

The closer you get, the more aggressive they become.

“Are you close?” Kai whispers in your ear. You nod quickly. Then he grips your knees tighter and pulls them to your chest. “Of course you are.” Beomgyu purrs softly, rests his thumb against your clit and starts rubbing it hard.

Taehyun leans down to your neck, licks a beautiful line there and that's the closest you feel to a scream. Your insides are on fire. You can barely hear Soobin and Yeonjun giggling and groaning as you hold them tighter. 

Wet traces of them are left all over your body- “Ah!” You come kicking the air.

Taehyun and Kai chuckle against your neck. Beomgyu continues to lean against the mess you've created. “That fast?” he murmurs, and kisses your reddened pussy lips gently. “Ah…” You shiver.

“Don't tease her now.” Soobin kisses your cheek gently. You can feel his cock still throbbing in your palm. But he gently strokes your belly and crotch. “Can I fuck you when you feel ready?” he asks in a soft voice.

“I don't remember you winning.” Taehyun speaks as he straightens up. He slowly puts his hands in his pockets.

"Oh, come on!” Yeonjun reacts before Soobin. He couldn't close his mouth in admiration watching you cum and now he is even more aroused. He could cum just from the echo of your sweet scream in his mind, but he clearly wants to devour you.

"You motherfuckers already had her mouth." Beomgyu gets up from the floor, wipes his chin with the back of his hand. 

And then he just looks at Taehyun. 

It's sure to be a fair round.

Beomgyu leans over and places a soft kiss on your cheek. “Come here, baby.” He grabs your hips and embraces you. You wrap your arms around his neck. He lifts you up and bounces you lightly once to make sure your legs are tightly wrapped around his waist. You don't see where he is carrying you as you close your eyes and lean against his shoulder satisfied as he whispers in your ear that you did very well. “You're still on my tongue, you know?” his voice is low and deep in your ear. “Your sweet little pussy was melting under it.” he smiles. “How will I forget?” he nips at your shoulder. You secretly press your itching nipples against his defined chest. Your pussy against him probably leaves a small wet mark on the fabric, but he won't mind. 

You know that he and Kai are the dirtiest.

“Are your legs okay?” Taehyun's voice follows his warm touch on your legs. You blink your eyes open, his chest pressing lightly against your back. Beomgyu's eyes, like his, are wide for your response. Your trembling calves speak to them before you do. “It's okay,” Taehyun massages them gently. His palms are warm and his fingertips are quite skilled. “I'll hold them, okay?” he murmurs as he kisses your neck. You turn your head towards him, both of you looking at each other's lips.

Taehyun's chest presses fully against your back and his thumbs glide slowly over your knees. He captures your lips gently, but your kiss is messy and wet. Beomgyu's hands squeeze your hips, pulling you over his erection without disturbing your kiss, and he starts grinding his hips heavily between your legs. He fixes his eyes on your mouths sliding over each other, the rhythm causing him to frown and bite his lower lip.

"Uh... Yeah." Soobin smiles and thinking that he can't watch this much longer, he throws his head back and closes his eyes. And it helps him to put himself in Beomgyu or Taehyun's shoes.

“Shit, man...” Yeonjun's voice sounds like he's arguing that this is unfair. His legs are spread wide and his arms are crossed over his chest. He stares at your breasts for about two seconds and then turns his head away. “The game is already over, you two know that, right?” he says, and then his voice gets even lower. "We can keep sharing. She deserves it.”

It's impossible to get used to it, even if you've been hearing how much each of them wants you all night long. Kai doesn't say anything but you can imagine him sitting quietly in a corner, staring at the porn that is about to play in front of him. It all makes your heart race. The feeling of knowing that wherever you step, someone will be there and grab you makes your head spin.

Your feet touch the ground.

Beomgyu giggles at the boys' reactions but Taehyun doesn't even hear them. He strokes your spine, making you arch your back and then grabs your hips, rests them against his crotch. Beomgyu smiles as he brushes your hair back. “Sweetness.” he whispers, cupping your chin, lifting your head a little and aligning your face with his crotch. His thumb presses against your lower lip, you open your mouth, take his zipper between your teeth and lower it. He murmurs contentedly. “Good girl.”

Kai sits closer, Yeonjun rests his elbows on his knees and Soobin opens his eyes.

The sound of the second zipper suddenly brings everyone into focus.

You feel the tip of Taehyun's cock between your folds. Your body tenses with anticipation. Beomgyu straightens one of the hairpins in your hair, waiting patiently until you take Taehyun first and adjust it. Your head rests on his boxers as he gently strokes your hair.

Taehyun grips your hips tightly, pulls himself back and then pushes deep. “Ghh-” You gasp. Beomgyu's thumb hooks into the waistband of his boxers and pulls down until he pulls his cock out. Your lips press and parting against his thickness, along with Taehyun's deep strokes. Beomgyu nods. "Yes, you like me."

You take Beomgyu in your mouth and start sucking slowly, Taehyun keeps the rhythm at the same pace until you adjust it. He seems patient for now about you already clenching around him.

“Just like that.” Beomgyu takes your hands and begins to slowly roll his hips toward your mouth. He watches your reactions carefully. “You're really good at this, aren't you?” he says. Taehyun's thrusts cause his tip to hit the inside of your cheek and your gums, making you feel completely filled. “You sucked off five guys in one night.” Beomgyu bends his head and looks at your hollowed cheeks, leaving your one hand to trace small circles on them. “What a perfect girl,” he says. “What a perfect slut.”

You hear Taehyun humming, his hand sliding over your skin to cup your pussy. “Perfect.” he confirms. He touches your pussy, already dripping on the floor, and plays with your clit.

Everything stays soft and sweet for another minute. 

Then Taehyun grabs under your knees, easily places you on his forearms and lifts you up. You feel his hard muscles under your hips. He bends you for the best position. Beomgyu grabs your chin and grips his cock for you to take him again. You take half of his length in your mouth, they look at each other. Taehyun starts moving you on his cock, your head bobbing on Beomgyu's cock. “Mmm-” Your pussy drips some more on the floor - Your cheeks flush red as Beomgyu tilts his head to see it. He chuckles quietly and runs a hand through your hair, guiding your head.

Taehyun makes sure your knees press firmly against your chest, pulls your body towards him as he thrusts into you roughly. “Ahhh-” The pace picks up so suddenly that you're gasping for breath. “Yes.” Taehyun growls. “You've never been fucked like this before.”

His words tighten the knot in your stomach, you feel yourself becoming more and more sensitive. You manage to get Beomgyu all the way down your throat as your warm walls clench around Taehyun’s throbbing cock in the most delicious way. You start sucking him off harder. “Fuck-” Beomgyu squeezes your hair. He grits his teeth and starts fucking your face in a way that brings tears to your eyes. Your arms wrap around his hips, as tightly as possible to minimize the feeling of emptiness.

Now Taehyun's ragged breathing starts to hit your back sharply, Beomgyu's deep groans are becoming more audible. The three of you slam into each other the hardest, filling the room with an obscene sound for almost two minutes without stopping.

"Oh-... Fuck..."

“Fuck, fuck-”

Taehyun and Beomgyu's foreheads collide hard. Beomgyu pulls his trembling hips back at the last moment to avoid coming all the way into your mouth and holds you tight, you swallow the remaining cum in your mouth immediately. Taehyun continues to drive hard inside you as you cum and pulls back before he cums himself. 

When Kai rests your head in his lap and begins to stroke your hair, you open your eyes. You remember Taehyun carefully wiping the glistening droplets from your thighs with a cloth and Beomgyu dressing you in one of his clothes. The fabric smells just like him and feeds the pulse that continues to beat between your legs. 

“Are you cold?” Yeonjun asks, sitting down next to Kai and leaning slightly toward you. You shake your head, smiling. He smiles back, carefully placing your legs in his lap. His hands are warm on your skin. Makes you close your eyes.

Returning to that cluttered area with chairs and a sofa makes you wonder for a moment if you were really caught between Taehyun and Beomgyu just now.

Now everything has stopped for you.

This time, only you can break the silence.

You turn your head toward Soobin. He's watching you from a corner, probably thinking that if one more person touches your pussy, you might punch them.

You stir and slowly sit up in the boys' laps.

They watch you carefully.

“One last time?” you ask softly.

The silence deepens for a moment, then Beomgyu's chuckle is heard. Your cheeks flush as if he's told you once again that you're a perfect slut.

“Are you sure?” Kai touches your waist, making you look at him. It's unclear whether he's asking for you or for the final confirmation he needs. Both intentions battle in his eyes.

Soobin pulls back slightly from where he's leaning and watches your lips. Yeonjun's thigh is hard and tense beneath your hip. He seems to be holding his breath.

You nod your head.

Kai and Yeonjun look at each other.

Then, as Yeonjun turns to Soobin, Kai's hand settles on your waist.

All three of them feel the need to wait because they want their own private time with you. They tell each other with their eyes that they need to be calmer and share. Kai slips his hand under the fabric and begins to touch your bare skin, taking his time. As if he's both worshipping and about to destroy. Yeonjun's nose slowly presses against your cheek. He moves closer until his body is comfortably behind you, his hand slowly moving between your legs to grasp your inner thigh. “May I leave a mark?” he whispers in your ear. His fingertips move heavily across the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He knows the spots that will make you tremble. He takes your breath away.

The sound of approaching footsteps heightens the excitement in your stomach, but your eyes remain closed until his shadow falls over you. Soobin's face approaches the others, completing the cage around you. “May we?” Kai repeats gently, teasingly.

“Yes,” you whisper. The eye contact formed between you and Soobin slowly breaks as he presses his knees to the floor and settles between your legs. Kai gathers your hair in his hands and lets it fall down your back, leaning over your neck at the same time as Yeonjun, their tongues passionately gliding over the thin skin. A gasp escapes your lips. Soobin grips your jaw, gently tilting your head back, and presses his warm lips against your throat.

Kai bites first. “Ah-” Your skin escapes from between his teeth with a wet sound. As Yeonjun buries himself deep into the hollow of your neck and begins to suck your skin without breathing, Soobin's tongue slides over your jaw and reaches your mouth. He waits there for a moment before licking the inside of your mouth to savor your trembling breaths.

Obscene sounds begin to fill the room once more.

Yeonjun's hand slowly slides down, finding your clitoris as he proudly kisses the mark he left on your neck moments ago. Soobin bites and pulls on your lower lip, pressing his palm against your pussy. He joins Yeonjun's game there.

Kai squeezes your waist. “You like being played with like this.” One arm remains wrapped around your body while his other hand strokes between your buttocks, touching your hole. “To become a doll and be pampered.” His voice lowers as his middle finger slowly enters inside you. “You should have been mine.” His fingertip presses against your warm, slippery walls.

Yeonjun smiles at your skin. “I still don't understand how this took Taehyun,” he mutters as he squeezes your pussy. It’s small in his palm. Your cheeks flush. Your body is still under the effects of the last two orgasms and is now working much faster for the third.

Soobin takes your hands and wraps them around his shoulders. Then one of his hands firmly grasps your thigh, while the other gently caresses your chin. As his thumb reaches your lower lip, you feel Yeonjun's finger join Kai's, your hips twitching sensitively. Soobin leans toward your parted lips. “You can take it, I know.” He presses his index and middle fingers against your tongue. You give his fingertips cat licks. He hums contentedly.

Your walls keep wrapping around the two fingers inside you, Kai and Yeonjun trying different spots inside you. Your hips are lifting up unconsciously. “Hey, hey...” Soobin smiles, pulling his fingers out of your warm mouth and squeezing your hips before lowering his hand onto your clitoris. “You're doing too well to escape.”

“Yes, you do.” Yeonjun's voice is low behind your ear. “A little more, baby.” He wraps his arm around your waist. Soobin's finger slowly slips inside, joining their fingers as he holds you in place.

Your head falls back, your chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. They crook their fingers together and begin to hit deeper and deeper. Wet wounds mingle with your little sensitive noises. Your hips are now chasing the sensation.

Kai's hand slides over your body and his fingers wrap around your throat. “That's my girl,” he whispers in your ear. As you get closer, he starts squeezing. “Ahh-” Your eyes water. One hand claws at Soobin's shoulders and the other squeezes the hair at the back of Yeonjun's neck.

“Baby, don't hold back.” You faintly hear Beomgyu's voice. “You know, I won't wash it.” He's talking about the shirt of his that is on you. The voice is coming from close by, but you can't open your eyes anymore. This time your body is shaking much more violently, and you come, shaking the boys' bodies too.

“There you go...” Soobin leaves a soft kiss on your temple. Kai's hand on your throat slowly relaxes. Yeonjun smiles, bowing his head at the mess you've created. He licks the finger he pulled out of you. 

Kai gently smiles at you as he carefully lays your body back. Soobin chuckles before going to get something to clean you up. “I hope you don't decide to cut off contact with all of us tomorrow morning.”

You smile with your eyes half-closed. 

You can hear everyone laughing at this. 

Taehyun slowly steps toward you, approaching your body with a proud expression on his face. Then he takes one hand out of his pocket and gently brushes the hair stuck to your forehead back. Your body slowly relaxes. With an intense feeling of trust.

And those red stars are still floating on the ceiling.

You follow orders, make decisions, and carry out tasks already mapped out for you and your team. The oath you swore binds you to honour whatever higher-ups deem necessary for the greater good, no matter the cost. It matters not, even if it costs your life. That’s how it is.

You've lived like that for as long as you can remember, and sometimes you wonder if it’s that very belief, an unwavering fool, that drove you to become the soldier you are. You know by now that it will also be the very reason for your end someday.

The sound of banging at the door jerks you awake. Your eyes strain in the pitch-black darkness of the barracks. You think you might’ve slept, but it doesn’t feel like it, not really. More like you were just drifting in and out of consciousness, never quite at rest.

"Park. Roll Call." You blinked, scrunching your face. The pounding on the door didn't let up, insistent as ever, making it clear there was no chance of them stopping.

"I'm up." You shouted. The cool floor met your bare feet, and you groggily reached for your shoes tucked neatly underneath. Your eyes flicked briefly to the small bottle of sleeping pills on the bedside table. It sat there like an accusation, a stark reminder of the restless hours you spent last night. The tossing, the turning, the damp sheets sticking to your skin as you wrestled with the silence that refused to grant you peace.

You exhaled, rubbing a hand over your face. The pills-felt like the only option. You stared at the bottle, before grabbing it and slipping it into your bag.

Opening the door, you found yourself face to face with a smirking Do-hyun. "Good morning," he said, tone laced with sarcasm. "Except it’s 2:30 a.m. and we’ve got urgent business. Captain’s called us. Did not say anything about it."

"Must be top secret," you muttered, wincing as the harsh overhead light hit your face. You tried to tame your hair, pulling it into a sloppy ponytail. "C'mon."

You fell into step beside Do-Hyun, the sound of your boots hitting the floor echoing down the empty hallways of the garrison. Your shoulders brushed as you walked, the quiet around you almost unsettling. It was way too early, or maybe too late, for anyone to be this awake.

Seeing a few other soldiers from different units, you saw the same thing: them stumbling into their shoes, eyes half-closed, still caught somewhere between sleep and whatever had pulled them out of bed.

Your boots thudded against the floor with each step. Everyone knows the drill, soon enough, you'd find out what the mission was. Probably something you weren’t supposed to ask too many questions about. Face set in a hard, businesslike expression, you could feel another one coming. Another duty.

Another unknown.

"This must be a big one," you muttered, scanning the growing crowd of fighters being herded into place. It was rare to see… this many called out at once. "How many teams are they assembling?"

"I don’t know," Do-Hyun replied with a tired sigh, clearly irritated. "I should be asleep, dreaming about anything other than this, but here we are." Early-morning chaos is the only thing that can get under his skin.

You followed him as he turned left down another corridor. People started staring as you passed, from other squads, lingering on the two of you. They knew.

They knew who you were.

Black berets. Special Commands Unit. Infamous. You didn’t need to say it aloud; everyone already knows. The reputation of efficiency, precision, and something else... something darker. Your team never, ever failed. Your team didn’t just complete missions.

You annihilated them.

That reputation followed you everywhere. You could still feel their gazes—some filled with admiration, others with something harder to read, maybe even a little fear. It wasn’t new. You’d felt it for years, people looked at you like you were a hero or a big, bad warning.

You were used to it by now.

When you finally enter into the room where your team usually gathers, the moment your eyes land on the team commander, you and Do-yun both instinctively, snap to attention, "Captain Joon. Park Y/N and Jung Do-yun, reporting."

"At ease. Sit down," Captain Joon responds, tone as calm as ever, looking at you directly as if assessing your state. You lower your salute, glancing around at the rest of your teammates already seated. Looks like you’re the last to arrive.

You make your way to an empty seat, crossing your legs as you also folded your arms, leaning back for comfort. You catch the faintest glance from another one of your teammates, Eun-woo, who raises an eyebrow at you but says nothing.

Captain Joon stands at the front, pacing back and forth, usual self missing. He opens his mouth, then stops, words not coming. He closes it again, staring ahead. It’s strange to see him hesitate like this... it’s not like him at all.

"Alright," he starts, avoiding anyone for eye contact. "We’ve got a new mission. It’s… a lot different than what we usually have." You uncross your arms and lean forward without thinking, drawn on the word "different." There’s something about it. His tone, his hesitation, makes your stomach clench.

He continues, "This one’s high-risk. We don’t know exactly what we’re walking to. We’ve got intel, but it’s shaky at best; All I know is there’s a virus spreading. Not like Corona. No, it’s not like that. This one… it turns people into something, not human. They become—" He stops, words hanging in the air. "—they kill.. They attack. And they spread it to others. It’s not confirmed yet, but it will be. Soon."

He doesn’t wait for any further response. "We move out in an hour or two. We will be assigned to a specific mission in the middle of this. Get your gear ready. Dismissed." Six pairs of eyes follow him as he exits, leaving a heavy silence in the room. It's cold. It almost feels unreal.

It's haunting.

You’d been to other countries, thrown into the thick of it, dealing with terrorists, and a hundred other ways to die. After all the things you’d seen, all the wars you’d fought, the idea of a virus outbreak was not the kind of fight you were used to.

"So, a virus? Like zombies?" Seo-jun’s voice breaks the stillness. He stands up, eyes wide with disbelief.

"It's medically impossible." Beom-seok replied, shaking his head, "Or at least… it should be." he added, almost to himself.

"If it's a virus—then what? How are we, supposed to stop that? A plan on how? Is there going to be a… vaccine? Some cure?"

You stand up, movement so subtle yet enough to make the others still, their attention turning to you. "We’ll figure it out," you say, voice firm. You lean back against the table, crossing your arms, "We always do. Whatever it is, we’ll handle it."

Do-hyun shoots you a look, then nods, his expression unreadable. "Right," he says. "We’ll deal with it."

The words hang in the air, and the newly shut door swings open with a loud noise, making everyone turn. A figure stands in the doorway, breathless.

"Did you guys see the news?"

"Did you see the news?"

Yeonjun’s hands were trembling as he shoved his phone into Taehyun’s hands, practically forcing him to look. On the screen was a livestream, a news broadcast, but not the usual kind.

Taehyun blinked, his half-asleep face confused as his eyes adjusted to the screen. He stared, his breath catching when he realized what he was watching. He’d never been a fan of gore or horror, and this felt like both... worse, even. The video was chaos: people running, screaming, blood everywhere. Limbs tangled and barely escaping the streets. The sounds of panic—raw, animalistic—clawed at his nerves. He shivered, his voice coming out barely above a whisper. "Is this… a new movie or something?"

Yeonjun swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the phone as he snatched it back, his fingers quickly tapping away at the screen. "No," he said, voice low, "It’s from.. SBS."

"A show from SBS?" Taehyun asked, still trying to make sense of what he had just seen.

"No," Yeonjun shook his head quickly. "News live stream. It's been trending. Saw it a couple of minutes ago." Panic flared across his face as he started typing furiously, sending messages to his mom. Where are you? Are you safe? Please reply. His heart pounded with every second of silence that followed.

As the phone screen glowed with his continuous text, the sound of a door creaking open interrupted. Soobin stepped out of the bathroom, checking the two of them that seemed frozen in place. "What happened?" he asked, voice laced with concern.

The question was left unanswered when Yeonjun’s phone suddenly rang. A small spark of relief flaring up in his chest, only for it to fade just as quickly.

It wasn’t from his mom. It's their manager, "Hello?"

Taehyun got up to get his own phone, his movements stiff. Soobin stayed by Yeonjun’s side, eyes flicking between the phone in Yeonjun's hand and his face, filled with anxious expression.

"He’ll speak to you. He wants to," Yeonjun said, meeting Soobin's gaze. His voice was uncertain. Yeonjun did not want to miss out on anything, but the manager had already requested for their leader. Soobin nodded, catching the worry in the latter's eyes. He offered a soft tone, "You can put it on speaker."

"Okay, listen up. I don’t know what’s really happening, but it’s dangerous, very dangerous out there. It’s… people eating people. Do not let anyone leave the house. All five of you. You've just had your groceries dropped, right?"

"Yeah, but what’s—" Yeonjun’s voice cracked, but the manager cut him off.

"Again, I don’t know much. None of us do. We heard the president’s about to announce martial law over this. The military’s locking down the city. You can’t go anywhere. All you need to do is stay inside. Help will come. When they get there, they’ll say my name. You’ll know it’s them." Hands trembled slightly as he held the phone, fighting the urge to hang up and try calling his mom again. Soobin saw it, his own anxiety spiking so he stepped closer, placing a steady hand on Yeonjun’s shoulder then taking the phone from his shaky grip.

"How long do we have to stay here?" Soobin whispered. "What about our families? They’re out there too."

"I don’t know," came the reply, the voice on the other end. "This started in Seoul, based on the news. The military’s setting up safe zones in every city around you. They’ll be protected. But no one can get in or out until things settle. Just… stay inside. I’ll keep you updated when I can-" The line went dead. They stared at the phone, signal bar disappearing completely.

"What are we going to do now?" They heard Kai mutter. He’d stepped out of his room after hearing the commotion. "Hiyyih is out here in Seoul too."

"I don’t have a signal now either," Soobin said, glancing at his own phone, face tightening as soon as he saw missed calls from his dad, his mom, and his sister, brother. He has missed their calls. With a frustrated sigh, he grabbed the TV remote and switched it on, only to be met with a busy signal. The screen flickered, in bold letters, the message appeared:

𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗬 𝗜𝗡𝗗𝗢𝗢𝗥𝗦. 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗦𝗜𝗚𝗡𝗦 𝗢𝗙 𝗪𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗦, 𝗙𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥, 𝗢𝗥 𝗩𝗜𝗢𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗧 𝗕𝗘𝗛𝗔𝗩𝗜𝗢𝗥; 𝗜𝗦𝗢𝗟𝗔𝗧𝗘 𝗜𝗠𝗠𝗘𝗗𝗜𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗟𝗬.

He started flipping through the channels, to see something different. But each station showed the same warning. Taehyun returned, his face heavy with worry. "I got through to my mom, but she was crying too much to say anything. Just told me to stay safe."

Yeonjun was silent. He didn't know what to do, unsure if this was some elaborate prank. Looking around the room, suddenly realised something. "And where the hell is Beomgyu?"

"Sleeping."

A scream pierced the air outside the dorm room, making all of them jump in shock. Kai was the first to react, quickly moving toward the door and peering through the peephole. For a brief moment, there was nothing, just eerie silence. Then, a thump echoed, followed by continuous pounding on the steel door.

"Help!" The voice outside cried, voice hoarse. Shuffling was heard.

"Kai, get here!" Soobin hissed, Kai moved back, frozen in place, gaze still fixed on the door. Slowly, he crossed the room, his footsteps making no sound, cautious as he approached the youngest. He then grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back, away from the door. "Stay away from the door,"

Four men stood paralyzed, eyes wide and locked on the door, afraid that it might open, every muscle tense. The door vibrated with each pound from the other side, and the sound of another scream sent a chill down their spines.

Waiting in terrified silence, hoping whatever was outside would stop.

Yeah. They definitely shouldn’t go outside.

It had been seventy-two hours since the government declared the state of emergency.

Seventy-two hours, since the virus outbreak hit the public, and almost everything began to spiral out of control. Your team had been pushed from one task to the next—helping transport, fortifying armoury barricades, trying to keep the city standing. You feel like you couldn't even have time to blink.

Nothing seemed to stand a chance against the speed of the virus.

The radio crackled to life, its voice cutting through the tense silence. "It’s reported that some cases have been found outside of Seoul too."

You swallowed, the water in your canteen suddenly feeling too heavy in your mouth. Your rifle was strapped to your back, knives tucked into your pockets pulled at your clothes, a grim necessity. Your backpack packed with supplies, pulled at your shoulders.

The blood on the streets made your face contort. It wasn’t just the sight of it. It was the knowledge that innocent people, civilians, were the ones who’d ended up here. It was their blood staining the ground, their lives cut short. In just seventy-two hours, this outbreak had become a full-blown mad nightmare. It was real, right here—heavy, like the world had already started to fall apart around you.

"How long?" you asked, trying to shake the unease gnawing at your stomach.

"The report came in an hour ago," came the response. An hour. Sixty minutes. That’s all it took for the virus to spread. An hour, it was no longer just the city.

"There’s still some armory left in this area," Captain Joon says, brushing off the latest intel your team just received. "We need to clear this out, then head back to camp for the next mission."

You slip the water bottle back into the side pocket of your backpack and tilt your head back, stretching out any stiffness. It's been almost twenty-four hours since you last slept.

"Jungwon will come with us."

"The newbie?" Ji-ho raises an eyebrow.

But the thing is, he’s not really a newbie. The military doesn’t just let anyone into the special command unit, you have to be overqualified to even get a chance. People are reacting this way because it’s been years since anyone new has joined. They’re not used to it. The whole thing feels a little odd.

The boy walks forward. You glance at him, and it’s clear right away. The way his body stiffens when he sees seven seasoned soldiers in front of him, he can’t be more than twenty. But, something about the way he carries himself catches your attention. His eyes don’t drop, not even for a second. There’s no sign of hesitation or backing down, even as the rest of you appraise him, silently evaluating his physical presence. It’s almost as if he expects to be here, like he belongs.

He's got guts.

"Captain," he saluted, "Min Jungwon. Sent from Unit Two to provide additional assistance. Engineering."

Captain Joon gave a quick nod, his eyes briefly shifting to you. "Stick with Y/N." Ju-won lowered his salute and jogged over to where you stood.

"We leave in 10 minutes,"

Seo-jun let out a low whistle, looking over Ju-won with a grin. "Well, look what we got here. A kid at the end of the world. What a nice day it is." The sarcasm in his voice hung in the air as he effortlessly adjusted his M4.

"Ignore him. He's a twat," you muttered, clicking your tongue and feigning an attempt to kick Seo-jun's leg for his comment.

Jungwon, just smiled and waved it off, his eyes still locked on you with an almost admiration. "It's alright," he said quickly. "Y/N… then I must be looking at the black beret's most skilled team engineer and sharp-shooter."

"Damn right, she is," Do-Hyun chimed in, grinning as he playfully ruffled your hair. You slapped his hand away, the motion half-hearted but familiar.

The wind howled as the cargo truck went down the rugged road, the engine's hum barely audible over the gusts. Beom-Seok was at the wheel, while Captain Joon sat in the passenger seat, checking the horizon. The other six of you were crammed in the back, weapons ready.

You could feel that someone was watching you. You turned your head to the right, and sure enough, there he was—Jungwon, looking at you with an expression that was oddly calm for a day like this. You chewed absently on the sweet gum in your mouth.

"I’ve always heard your name, even when I was still training," he said almost embarrassed, but there was a hint of respect in his words, "A lot of us admire your skills. We even know your schedule, like when you will drop off at the headquarters."

"Yeah?" You raised an eyebrow, curious but not particularly moved. "What am I supposed to do with that?"

The younger grinned, unfazed. "And, of course, your temper is well-known too."

You snorted at that. Of course, it was. You'd made more than one higher-up nearly pass out with your snark and disregard.

Most of them acted like you were supposed to kiss their feet, even though they barely had the skills to back it up, just a good last name and a father in a high place. Lucky bastards. They got used to it, eventually.

Jungwon seemed to pause, thinking for a moment. "I want to be like you."

It caught you off, staring at him, no response from your lips. Who would want to be as miserable? Who in the right mind would? No one should have to carry this kind of burden, no one but you.

"You don’t know anything," you said, right after seconds of silence. "Trust me, you don’t."

Jungwon didn’t seem discouraged by your bluntness. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, "Then maybe I can ask questions to get to know it better?"

"No." You're unsure of where he was going with this.

"Just one then? And if I do well on this mission, I can ask for another one after?" He pumped his fist after your silence, the small gesture that made you want to roll your eyes again.

"How old were you when you joined the military?" His voice was gentle, but his curiosity was clear.

It wasn’t a question people often asked, at least not in the way he asked it. Most were interested in your skills, the missions you’d completed, or the stories you could tell. No one, ever cared much about who you were before all that.

"About seventeen, officially," you replied, the words feeling strange in your mouth. Had it really been that long?

"Woah," Jungwon exclaimed, his eyes wide with surprise. "And how long have you been in service?"

You glanced out at the passing landscape, your thoughts briefly drifting to the years that had passed. "Seven years. Counting."

"You're so cool." His gaze flicked to you a few more times, but he didn’t press further.

The only sound in the pitch-black courtyard was the soft shuffle of footsteps against gravel, your team moved cautiously toward the overrun military outpost. It had been more than twenty-four hours since anyone radioed in, and in your line of work, that could only mean one thing.

Defeat. Death. They’re dead.

You gripped the AR-15 in your hands, its weight and feel as familiar as your own skin. Your eyes stayed locked ahead, scanning the shadows, the captain just a few steps in front of you. You could feel Jungwon’s breath on your back.

"Hold." The captain's voice barely rose above a whisper, but you caught it, it's sharp and commanding. His hand went up in a familiar gesture, signaling. Eun-woo and Ji-ho moved, splitting off to cover the blind spots, each one wary of possible exits or hidden threats.

The minutes stretched on, almost suffocating. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, when faintly, a soft whistle.

A go signal. Finally.

The captain’s eyes flicked to you. Without words, he surged forward, and you followed, close, moving deeper into where the map was marked.

With Eun-woo and Ji-ho still posted at the entrance of the courtyard, and Beom-seok at the Cargo Truck to secure on the road, the remaining five of you moved carefully toward the building’s entrance.

Seo-jun reached for the rail handle and pulled it. It was a split-second decision, but he made the mistake of opening it too wide, too fast. The sound was deafening in the silence—a loud scrape of metal against metal. It was the darkness. Or maybe it was the way no one had heard anything.

The infected, so many of them, started to emerge from the inside, their eyes hungry, limbs jerking unnaturally as they snarled and gnawed at the space where you stood.

"Shut it off!" was yelled, but it was too late. Seo-jun tried desperately to pull the door, but the dead were already pushing their way through, toppling the door with brutal force. No stopping them now.

The growls, their gurgling moans, flooded. You took a step back, when you noticed the next wave of infected closing in from both sides—right and left. The courtyard was becoming a death trap.

“Guns!” Captain Joon barked, voice sharp and urgent. He raised his rifle, opening fire on the approaching dead, and you followed. You didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. You aimed at the nearest infected, firing with the precision you’d drilled into your muscle memory. Beside you, you felt Jungwon moving, his shots echoing through the chaos.

You kicked one of the infected in their frail stomach that was coming too close toward you, hard. The sickening crack of its bones as it spun from the impact of your boots almost drowned out the growls, relief was fleeting, another wave was already pushing through.

"Move!" you shouted to Jungwon, grabbing him by the shoulder and shoving him to the right side, where it seemed there was a slight gap in the swarm. You followed, not letting up on your fire. Each shot to the head was methodical, each kill necessary for survival.

You kept repeating it in your head—headshots. Headshots, or they don’t die.

Through the haze of gunfire and screams, you spotted Do-hyun on the opposite side, surrounded but still fighting, his rifle a blur as he tried to hold the line.

"Captain!" you shouted, your voice rising over, as you saw the widening gap between your team. You continued firing, shots ringing out, each one a desperate attempt to keep the tide of the dead at bay. You grabbed the arm of an infected that crept up from behind, pulling it sidewards with all your strength. The thing flailed, but you kicked its legs out from under it, slamming its head down with a close shot. Blood splattering on your track pants.

Another bullet whizzed past you, too close, and you turned to meet Jungwon’s eyes. There was no time for words. He’d just taken down one of the infected that had come up behind you.

Minutes passed, but it felt like hours. The gunfire echoed in your ears, drowning out everything else. Then, you heard it—Seo-jun’s voice cutting through the noise.

"Captain. Orders!"

It was a soldier’s instinct, that need for direction even in the face of death. It was what you were trained to do, what you had to do.

"Fall back." His command came. The words you’d been waiting for. You began to step back, scanning the darkened courtyard. And then, just as you thought it couldn’t get worse, you saw it, a wave of infected flooding out from the building. Your eyes locked on one of them, a child, no more than twelve, wearing a middle school uniform.

No. No time to mourn, no time to think. You shake it off, turn your attention back to Ju-won, who was already falling back as well.

You ran, but it was a futile attempt. The middle part of the courtyard, the one that had been empty moments ago, was now swarming with infected.

“Go forward!” Captain Joon’s shouted again.

The sound of gunfire, the screams, the snarls, they were all blending together now. You saw Eun-woo and Ji-ho still at the entrance of the courtyard, firing relentlessly. But there were too many. It had to be the sound of all the gunfire, had to be why they were flooding in from the other buildings now.

You couldn’t run without firing. The infected were, too close for comfort.

“Ahhh!”

Jungwon’s scream tore through the noise, and you whipped your head to the side. You saw him—surrounded by four, maybe five infected. Their gnarled hands reaching for him.

You sprinted forward, the gun dropped in an instant. You reached the closest infected, grabbing its hair and yanking its head back with force. The knife you’d pulled was a flash of silver in the darkness, and you slashed it across its throat, the blade biting into the flesh with a wet sound.

You couldn’t fire. Not with Jungwon so close to them.

You felt Do-hyun and Seo-jun near you now, forming a small circle, keeping the infected at bay while you worked to free Jungwon. One by one, you killed the infected around him within seconds. But when the last one finally dropped, you froze for the first time tonight.

There's a wound. The bite. A deep, angry stash on Jungwon’s neck, blood spilling down his chest, soaking through and colouring his shirt. Your heart stopped.

"Y/N…" His voice was weak. Too weak.

"Come on," you said, trying to drag him to his feet. The others were silent, at the sight.

"Help me!" you shouted, the panic finally breaking through as the infected kept coming. "What the fuck are you staring at? Help me!"

Do-hyun snapped out of his thoughts and rushed to help. He moved to slide his arm under the left side, but before he could get a firm grip, Jungwon's hand shot out, pushing him away.

"Leave me."

"No. Come on."

“Just leave me, Y/N.” he whispered again, "I know I can't be helped."

“I’m not having this conversation—”

“It hurts!” Jungwon suddenly shouted, pain in his voice. His lips were turning blue, face pale, eyes glassy with tears. “It hurts so much. I—I want this to just end. End it. Please. I'm begging you.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He started crying, Min Jungwon.

“Y/N?” Do-hyun’s voice broke through, gunshots ringing, “Decide now.” Seo-jun’s voice was distant, more gunfire ringing out, words clear. He was asking you to make a choice.

"Shh, It’s going to be okay," you murmured, wiping his tears away, "Everything’s going to be okay." You pushed the sweat-damp strands of hair from his forehead, fingers brushing against his cold skin. “You’ll be alright.”

Min Jungwon.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” You leaned in close, feeling his weak attempt to smile on your neck, breath coming out in ragged gasps when he felt you pressed your knife to the back of his head. “It’s okay, Jungwon.”

Making sure to do it quickly, you didn’t want him to suffer—not even for a second. He stilled, and then there was a quiet exhale against your skin. His last breath.

Arms went limp in your embrace.

Min Jungwon.

You stare at your hands, blood too much, not yours, too obvious to wipe away. The vehicle lurches forward, but nothing about this mission feels like it’s worth it. No weapons recovered. And one less soldier with you.

You ignore the stares of your teammates, the silent questions they’re too scared to ask. Even when your captain demands what happened, you can’t find the words.

Death isn’t new to you.

You’ve seen it, lived with it, had to pull the trigger more times than you care to admit. Had to deal with it more times than you'd care to count. But this… this is different. There’s a heaviness in your throat that won’t lift, not when you can still feel him, still hear his laboured breath as you hold him in your arms.

The dog tags in your hand are cold against your palm. They’re not yours. There were too many of them. The infected.

No one could even bring his body back.

"We're here," Eun-woo says, the vehicle finally pulls to a stop at your temporary camp. He'd been staring out the window for the entire ride, lost in thought, barely noticing the road or time. You don’t wait for anyone to open get out. You push yourself out, body stiff and eyes burning, but you do your best not to let anyone see. You try to blink away the moisture, to keep it together. You can’t. You won’t.

“Y/N, I—” Seo-jun starts, his voice hesitant, reaching for you.

"Save it." you snap, harshly, not letting him finish his sentence. He falters at your glare, watching turn and walk straight for the barracks, not even sparing a second glance in his direction.

Your body, with blood, not yours, and the dog tag around your hands swaying with every step.

"Give her space. She did it herself. Again." Do-hyun’s voice is softer, almost reluctant, as he watches you retreat. His eyes follow you, lost in thought.

Maybe it’s because you’re a woman and they’re all men, or maybe because you’ve always been the youngest, they've known you since you were much younger. Or maybe it’s the fact that they’ve never seen you crack, never once seen you break down when they all have at one point or another. After all these years, when they themselves had crumbled, you always seemed to keep it together. You always did. First... they admired how strong you were, physically, emotionally, mentally and even envied it at times but as time went on, they started to realise something.

The empty look in your eyes—it's cold. They all knew what you did for them, what you'd sacrificed.

Ji-ho pats Seo-jun’s shoulder, his face mixed with understanding and exhaustion. He points his head toward the door, a silent suggestion to let you have your space.

You stepped inside the massive military tent, the hum of conversations halting as everyone’s gaze turned toward you. You noticed someone even take a hesitant step back, eyes widening.

"I'm not fucking bitten," You didn't pause to explain further. You couldn’t. Instead, you kept walking, ignoring the stares, the whispers that you could practically feel on your skin. You didn't care, walking past the soldiers, the stares heavy on your back. You made your way to your assigned makeshift door, pulling it open and stepping inside.

The small room felt like the only place you could breathe. The bathroom was the next thing you could think of.

Once inside, you slumped onto the cold, unforgiving floor. Your face landed near the toilet, and before you brace yourself, your stomach churned. The contents from your day, what little you had managed to eat, came up violently. It kept going, feeling your body betray you as your throat burned, as your muscles contracted in spasms. The bile, bitter taste, nausea kept pushing until your stomach was empty and you felt nothing but raw, aching emptiness.

You dry your mouth with the back of your filthy hand, smell of blood still lingering in your nostrils. The memory of it, of what you'd seen, what you just did, threatened to send you over the edge again. You fought the urge to gag.

You knew it wasn’t something Seo-jun should be explaining for. He called you earlier, sounding like he wanted to apologize, wanted to make sure you were okay. But you didn’t want to tell him everything was fine. Because it wasn’t. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know what was waiting for you inside that damned place. He didn’t know the hundreds of the dead you'd have to face. He tried his best too, just like you did. But none of that mattered.

Killing is easy. You had convinced yourself that, it was something you could do without blinking now. Maybe you could even kill with the same ease as walking a dog in the park, that it could become second nature.

You killed someone who had just started to make you wonder—what question they would be asking you after the mission. Something small, something so... human. With your own hands. No real reason. No justification. For the sake of getting equipment. You killed him.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

With effort, you flushed the toilet, then let your body slide back to the nearest wall. Once it was done, you let yourself slump back against the nearest wall, Your fingers digging into your face as if you could erase the last few hours just by pressing hard enough. Sweat, cold and clammy, trickled down your forehead.

"Y/N," came a voice from outside the door.

Captain Joon. You didn't respond. You didn’t even move. "Rest," he said, his voice softer than usual, "You're needed for another mission after a couple of hours. Rest, fix yourself, and take a bath."

"Did you just take a bath?" Taehyun asked, seeing Beomgyu’s damp hair, towel draped around his neck, few droplets of water still clinging to his skin.

Beomgyu nodded, not even looking up from the crackers he was munching on.

"Again?"

"You got a problem with that?" Beomgyu’s house slipper flew through the air toward Taehyun’s. It was effortlesly dodged.

"Why are you taking a bath three times a day?"

Beomgyu shrugged, gaze finally lifting to meet Taehyun's. "There's nothing else to do,"

Taehyun paused, small ache in his chest upon the words. Being an idol, he knew well the activities—packed schedules, comebacks, fan events, concerts. It never stopped. Hell, he could not even remember the last time he’d celebrated his birthday with his family.

Beomgyu exhaled sharply, "It's been four days… You think our families are okay out there?"

Every day now was a reminder—waking up to the reality of the virus outbreak, everything at a stop.

"They should be," Taehyun replied, though he didn’t feel as sure as he sounded. "We're the ones stuck here."

Beomgyu didn’t answer, instead shuffling his trash away. Just then, Kai appeared from the bathroom, face slack with disappointment.

"Guys, the water’s stopped."

Yeonjun jumped from his seat, rushing to check the sinks, only to find no water coming out. "Shit."

Beomgyu bit his lip, frustration bubbling inside him. Just when things couldn’t seem to get worse. The isolation, the fear... it was all becoming too much now. It's growing every day. He stood up, ignoring Soobin’s frantic voice as he tried to save whatever little water they had left.

He shut himself in his room, the door clicking softly behind him. His eyes wandered to the small house model his family had made for him, a little reminder of home, something he would look at whenever he needed to feel close to them. He collapsed onto his unmade bed, staring blankly at the white ceiling, his thoughts made up mix of thoughts and scenarios. Maybe there was a miracle out there—something, anything, to change this.

Minutes passed in silence before Beomgyu’s voice broke the stillness. "I hope there’s an angel out there. Someone who’ll come get us… get me. Out here, to a safe place." His heart thudded painfully in his chest, he knew no one would ever hear those words, but he couldn’t help but hope.

You slowly make your way toward the apartment complex, the team had decided to move under the cover of darkness again, it drew fewer infected and lowered the chances of running into trouble. At least that’s what your team hoped for.

The freshly laundered combat uniform felt like it was made for you. The black fabric, almost matte, clung to your body, moving with you as if it were a second skin. Your boots, worn but sturdy, held you grounded. Each step was sure. They gave you that solid grip. On your hips, the twin knives sat, steel blades catching the light with a faint, almost imperceptible gleam. Your hair was pulled back, tight in a high knot. Not a strand is out of place.

The mission was clear: rescue the five A-list boys trapped in this building, ever since the outbreak began.

Hybe, was the one who went to the military for help. They couldn’t exactly say no to them—so here you are, walking into a situation you can’t quite predict.

Six of you, without Beom-seok to secure the vehicle on the road as usual. All armed and ready, step closer to the entrance of the block, though you spot a few infected lingering around, they’re silently dealt with. A knife to the head, no noise, no struggle, just clean and quick.

Your captain’s biggest worry is the location. The middle of the city. So many people in such a small space can only mean one thing, too many infected. It’s a risk, but it’s the job. That is exactly why these people are stuck here in the first place. No help has been able to get through until your team was sent in.

"It's here," Eun-woo says, pointing toward the stairs in the corner. He folds the marked map and tucks it away. Captain Joon nods, "One by one. Be aware of your surroundings."

Everyone gives a tight nod, moving quickly to follow his instructions. You scanned every corner, every shadow. You don’t miss a thing. There are a few infected nearby, but they have not noticed you. So long as they don’t see or hear, and you’re far enough, you’ll be fine.

Earlier, it was also clear that most of the infected in this area are concentrated in the outer courtyard. It looks like the people who lived here panicked, tried to escape out there, drawing all the infected away from the apartment complex itself. It’s eerily quiet now, almost too quiet.

You reach the door to apartment 304, and the rest of your team spreads out, covering all sides of the hallway. You catch your breath, scanning both directions again, alert to any movement. Someone begins to knock on the door. Minutes tick by, but there’s no answer.

"Are they fucking asleep?" Ji-ho whispers, his voice sharp with impatience.

"What do you expect?" you snap,"You think they’re awake at this hour, just waiting for us to show up?" The words feel bitter, but you don’t care. "Move,"

Before you can even make a move toward the door, a voice breaks the silence. It's soft, hesitant, almost as if the person speaking is scared to even let the words out.

"Who’re you?"

Kai had been just about to head to the bathroom for a quick piss when he heard it, a soft rattle against the door.

It’s been days, days, since there was any sound from the other side. Complete silence. So hearing something now, especially in the dead of night, made his blood run cold.

Someone’s trying to break in?

He freezes, mind racing. Slowly, he walks towards the door, arms out in front of him, keeping a little distance like it might somehow help. His breath is shallow as he inches closer to the small peephole in the door, just enough to get a glimpse.

Soobin made him promise not to go near the door, but he won’t know. He’s asleep, anyway.

There are people out there. No, not just people—soldiers? At least three men and a woman, he's not really sure, but they're standing and staring straight at their door. He can’t make out their words, sound too muffled, but he can tell they’re muttering something under their breath, heads tilted as if they’re listening too.

Woah. She’s… really pretty.

Kai immediately shakes his head. Focus. Now is not the time to be thinking about how pretty she is. She’s out there, trying to break the door down. Or… is she?

What if they’re the ones sent to rescue us?

He squints through the crack in the door again, taking in the soldiers’ uniforms. They’re military. That has to mean something and waking the others would take too long. He swallows hard, asking the question.

"Who’re you?"

"Open the door," Captain Joon says, his voice firm and immediate. "We've come to help you." There’s no reply from the other side.

"Hybe."

There’s a sound of the lock turning, and the door creaks open just a crack. It’s dim inside. The air inside hits you. Smells faintly of candles, probably because there’s no electricity to rely on anymore. One by one, everyone got ready to move inside. You turned your head slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of the person who had opened it.

He looked young, his skin pale and features sharp, with a foreign look. His bangs messily hung over his eyes, longer than he probably intended. Your eyes met his, and just as quickly, he looked away. Great. You all must have really scared him—heavily armed, arriving at his dorm in the dead of night.

"We're all coming in, Son," Captain Joon said, gaze flicking to the boy’s face, silently asking for permission, though he did not really need it. You were here to rescue them, to bring everyone back. Whether they were ready or not, you were going in. "What's your name?"

He nodded and opened the door wider. "Heuningkai. Kai is fine."

"How many of you are still in here?"

"Five. Uh, I’ll need to wake everyone up first."

"Go on." You took in the space they had been holed up in. Everything screamed lived in. Floors wooden tiles. It was clean, considering men were living in this place. Some sweaters were carelessly tossed over the couch, an Uno card sat beside it, random orange peels and a few glass mugs were scattered across the table. But aside from that, everything seemed… orderly. Something about this space made you feel out of place.

"Could you please wait here?" Kai stopped after taking a few steps away from your team. The front door shut behind. You glanced at him as he spoke, and you saw it... his face.

It was almost like he was afraid that if he turned around, everyone would just... leave.

He didn’t give anyone a chance to respond. Without another word, he turned and headed for the nearest door. You took in the hallway—six doors in total. One of them was probably the bathroom, and the rest, you guessed, must be their rooms.

Kai walks in, still feeling the embarrassment creeping up his neck. He did not mean to pout or sound so desperate in front of everyone, it just kind of happened.

The whole outbreak had him on edge all the time. It wasn’t like him at all. But now, for the first time in a while, he's starting to see hope. And with that came a fear he hadn’t expected.

He shuts the door behind him, eyes flick to Soobin, who’s sprawled out on the bed in his usual weird sleeping position. One arm thrown over his face, legs tangled in the sheets like he’s trying to escape them.

If anything, it’s comforting to see Soobin still so… Soobin.

"Wake up," Kai says, giving Soobin’s arm a little shake. There’s no response. "Soobin,"

He just mumbles something unintelligible and stays still. With a sigh, Kai slaps the flesh of Soobin's thigh, a trick he’s learned always works when he's in deep sleep.

"Shi—Kai?" The latter groans, blinking his eyes open. He winces slightly, almost about to curse, but then he notices the younger one standing there, looking a little shaken, and his protective instinct kicks in. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"They’re here. They—the help. They’re outside. I let them in." The older man shot up, his mind struggling to shake off the remnants of sleep. For days, he'd been waiting for this moment, but now that it was here, he could hardly believe it.

Soobin looked at Kai’s face, searching for any sign of bluffness. None.

"Wake everyone up, Kai. I’ll, I'll talk to them. Good job," he said, his voice thick with a mix of urgency and something else, nervousness, maybe. He ran a hand through his messy hair, trying to steady his racing heart.

The younger gave a quick nod, already rising to carry out the task.

Soobin hesitated for a moment, then followed, his feet heavier than usual. When he stepped out of his room, the sight hit him.

Soldiers.

All dressed in black, standing almost stiffly in the cramped living room, as if they did not know where to place themselves, presence filling every corner. They looked out of place—one man was sitting, looking collected. He was much older, maybe in his late 40s and when he saw Soobin, he stood up too, moving with authority.

"Hello," Soobin said, bowing deeply. He wished his voice to be normal, but it cracked. His eyes stung, and he blinked, trying to hold back the tears likely to spill. These people, they look so capable.

How desperately he’d needed them.

"I know it's late, but we need to move now. It’ll make things easier for us," Captain Joon started.

Everyone had gathered in the living room now—eleven people, all listening. A large map was spread out on the table in front of them, marked with lines and notes. "We’ve got a cargo truck on standby, and someone guarding it. Waiting for us,"

You leaned against the wall at the back, trying to stay out of the way. Your long gun resting to your right side. You crossed your arms, observing them all, taking in the scene. These five—when they first arrived, you’d seen it clearly: that fleeting, unguarded emotion that flashed across their faces. Relief? Fear?

Your thoughts drifted for a moment, the hum of voices fading, when suddenly you caught something. One of them was looking at you. You met his gaze, and for a second, neither of you moved. His eyes were a soft brown, almost warm, framed by dark hair that was swept back but still fell messily across his forehead. His jaw was sharp, yet there was something almost delicate about it. Something… soft.

You raised an eyebrow at him, just a slight challenge, and he blinked, startled. He bowed his head in your direction awkwardly, before you could return it, his eyes darted away quickly. Followed by a deep shade of red that crept into the tips of his ears.

He didn’t look back at you again as though he couldn’t look at you a second longer. Little did you know, when you weren’t paying attention, his eyes would steal a few more glances in your direction, each one shorter, but no less curious.

"We'll travel this way, and you all will be dropped off here at this camp, as requested. Understand?"

"And, we can just bring a backpack each?" Soobin asks, looking around the group. He’d introduced himself as the leader earlier.

"That doesn't mean you can just throw anything in there," you replied, finally speaking up, giving your first words tonight. "Keep it light. Only pack what you really need." Captain Joon gave a slight nod, acknowledging your point.

"Got it,"

"While we're at it," Captain Joon continued, “since we’ll be traveling together, it’s probably best you get to know the people you’ll be with. Just in case something goes wrong.” The mention of anything happening seemed to linger in the air. The five of them had never seen an infected before. You all know that can cause problems.

"As you probably already know, I'm the Captain of this team," Joon said, he shot a quick glance at you before going on.

"Park Y/N," he nodded in your direction, "our engineer sergeant. She’s the one who builds stuff, blows stuff up—whatever needs doing, really. She's my second-in-command."

Beomgyu has a valid reason to look at you now. And when he thought he never be more mesmerized, somehow, he was.

Earlier, when he first stumbled out of bed and woken by Kai, he wandered into the living room, still half-dazed. He was caught off guard on how… beautiful you were. He’d seen soldiers, sure, but you? You were different. You looked like you belonged on a magazine cover—not out here, in the middle of a hellscape.

How are you, not a celebrity? he wonders, half-wanting to slap himself. How are you so beautiful, standing here, in the middle of this nightmare? The strangest thing, though, was the pull in his chest, even though he’d only just learned your name. Even your name. It sounds so pretty.

"Do-hyun," Joon said, pointing to a man near you, "he's in charge of our comms, makes sure we stay connected. Keeps the radios running, that sort of thing." Do-hyun gave a lazy salute, a smirk playing on his lips.

"That’s Eun-woo and Ji-ho," Joon went on, pointing to two others standing with confidence. "They’re our weapons experts, know every damn thing about fixing, maintaining, and using all our weapons. They also take inventory, make sure we’re stocked up when we need to move out."

"And then there's Seo-jun," Joon said, nodding toward a tall, figure standing slightly apart from the rest like you. "Does the planning, the strategizing. And last but not least, Beom-seok. He’s the one left behind, he's our medic.”

"You can pack now. We'll wait here. We’ve got food rations on the truck, so you can eat there." Captain Joon finally ends the conversation.

The five of them stand up and start making their way to their rooms.

Beomgyu exhales a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. The air feels lighter as he steps into his room. They're finally getting out here.

He stands in front of his closet for a few seconds, unsure of what to grab first. He picks up his backpack and starts shuffling through his things—some clothes, and his hygiene kit that Taehyun had already packed for him. He opens his drawer and realizes he’ll need to change out of his pajamas. A plain shirt, some cargo pants, his jacket… and where the hell are his boots? Before he can finish, he hears the door creak open.

"Beomgyu," Yeonjun’s says. "That chick’s really cute."

Beomgyu freezes, his hand mid-reach for his shoes. He blinks and turns to face Yeonjun. "Have you packed your stuff, or do you think we’ve got all the time in the world?"

Yeonjun raises an eyebrow, looking slightly taken aback. "Geez, chill. Why are you being so mad?"

Beomgyu hesitates. He doesn’t really know. It could be the way Yeonjun had interrupted his packing, or maybe… maybe it’s because Yeonjun’s casually saying something like that. Beomgyu feels something twist in his stomach.

Yeonjun thinks you’re pretty. He doesn’t know how to deal with that.

"'M sorry,"

Yeonjun watches him closely. "Was it because of what I said—"

"No."

A knock sounds on the door. Both of them turn toward it. Eun-woo peeks his head inside, his expression casual. "We're just waiting for the two of you, and then we're off."

"Let's go,"

The only sound is the steady rhythm of feet against the ground. Your team is spread out, moving in a loose pattern. Captain Joon, Seo-jun, and Ji-ho take the lead, scanning the surroundings. Soobin and Kai walk close behind, hand in hand. Taehyun and Beomgyu follow next, then Yeonjun.

You, along with Do-hyun and Eun-woo, bring up the rear. It’s all going smoothly. You’re alert, watching the others, everything seems calm, until you notice Yeonjun. He’s suddenly still, his body frozen in place. You glance over and follow his line of sight.

In the open space ahead, a small group of infected wander aimlessly. Movements are jerky, unnatural, and the growls that escape their throats are low and guttural. One of them is lying on the ground, its torso half severed, intestine out, but its arms are still twitching, dragging itself forward in a grotesque imitation of life.

Yeonjun’s breathing stops entirely, his chest barely rising and falling. He’s staring at them, wide-eyed, body tense. You step up and place a hand on his shoulder. The touch makes him flinch.

"Shhh," you whisper, barely audible. The last thing you need right now is anyone making noise. One sound, one slip-up, and the infected will be on you. "Move. Eyes front—Don't… do not look at them."

He does not respond at first, you’re not even sure if he’s even hearing you. His eyes check the infected again, then back to the ground. He swallows. Finally, he nods, voice tight, "Yeah."

You give him a push on the back, enough to get him moving. It was a relief to see Yeonjun walking. You exhaled slowly, locking eyes with Do-hyun. He'd seen it all. That look between you two was enough to say it all: they weren’t ready for this. They hadn’t been told nearly enough.

Everyone kept walking, the building’s echoing silence wrapping around you as you neared the first level. It wasn’t far now, just out the main door, across the block, and then Beom-seok would be waiting for you on the road. The end was in sight.

"Shit!" Soobin’s voice is loud, his hands pressed against his chest in surprise. He hadn’t expected it. A woman, infected, eyes wide open, slumped lifelessly in a chair in the lobby. Her body was barely recognizable, rotting, the decay setting in.

No one moved. You spun around, doubt kicking in, scanning the lobby for any movement. Kai gripped Soobin’s hand tighter, his fingers digging in just enough. Soobin looked at him. A silent apology, a promise to do better.

It was only a minute, before Captain Joon finally moved. You stepped out of the building, the fresh air hitting you in a way that almost felt too good. The five newcomers, still adjusting to the chaos, kept their gazes fixed ahead, careful not to glance at the herd gathering in the open space nearby.

Then you saw him—Beom-seok. Leaning against the tires on the road, his eyes sweeping the distance, waiting. "Took you long enough," Beom-seok mutters, his eyes looking at you as he watches you approach.

One by one, everyone began climbing into the truck. Ji-ho caught your eye, giving you a quick signal to get in.

"Yeah? Are you bored or something?" Seo-jun shoots back, his tone teasing.

You gripped Ji-ho's hand, pulling yourself up the tall cargo bed. You paused, glancing down at Taehyun and offering your hand. He grasped it firmly, and with one smooth pull, you helped him up. He meets your gaze and gives a nod, a thank you.

Beomgyu was next, and Ji-ho was beside you, helping Yeonjun up. Kai and Soobin were already settled inside chatting quietly, and the truck was starting to feel a little more like a secure place.

You let your hand fall, but it only took a second for Beomgyu to extend his own.

Soft. Warm. It feels different somehow.

Beomgyu feels your hand, still shielded by your tactical gloves, but with the fingertips exposed. Even through the fabric, he can feel the warmth of your skin. It’s subtle, and for some reason, it’s enough to make his heart beat a little faster. You gripped his hand, pulling him up with the same ease as you did with Taehyun.

He’s finally out—the one they’d been stuck in, waiting, starving. Water was running low, food was practically gone and no electricity. It’s been days. Time blurred together in there. He’d tried his hardest not to let his emotions spill over, even when his mind kept replaying all the times he’d imagined getting out. All the moments he’d prayed for this. And now, it’s real.

He's here.

"Thank you," Beomgyu whispers, he hopes that somehow, those two words are enough for you to know.

"Sure,"

Beomgyu smiles wider as the fresh scent of grass hits his face. It’s a smell he never thought he’d miss, now it feels like a luxury, something he never realized how much he took for granted until now.

He turns his head to look at you, he feels his heart settle. Your head slightly leaned back against the rail, eyes closed in peaceful sleep. He fights the urge to nudge the soldier sitting next to you and tell him to move so you can rest your head somewhere more comfortable. He notices a shift in your face. Your brows furrow, a small frown begins to start on your forehead. Beomgyu's smile fade. The sight of you looking troubled, unsettles him for some reason.

Then, with no warning, the vehicle comes to a sudden halt, throwing everyone forward. It awakes you, and your eyes snap open, hands reaching for your gun.

"What now?" Eun-woo asks, stepping toward the window that connects to the driver's area, his voice tight with concern. You follow his gaze and your stomach drops. A fire. A huge fire, raging up ahead. And it looks like it's right where your team was supposed to drop off.

Yeonjun holds his nose at the smell of burning, smoke.

"Didn’t you radio them, Do-hyun?"

"I did, before we started heading back, Captain," You start mentally counting the minutes—five people eating, the time it took to pack up, and the drive back. It couldn’t have been more than two hours.

Two hours, and the fire’s already this big. "What happens now?" You hear Kai ask himself.

You don't have to look for long to spot them. Infected. They’re coming toward your truck, more than you can count. A mass of tumbling bodies, moving fast.

"Captain!" you shout, your voice sharp. "They are coming. Too many of them." Your words startle everyone in the truck.

Beom-seok’s hands twitch on the steering wheel, nerves on edge as he maneuvers the truck. His mind races, unsure of the next move. Where the hell should we go?

"Head for the nearest camp," Captain Joon orders, "Do-hyun, can you get through to them?"

"I'm trying," Do-hyun responds, fingers moving over the radio, silence greets him in return. The truck moves, and all of you watch the infected, filling the road behind.

Beomgyu watches the infected, slow, stumbling figures moving toward the vehicle. He knows they wont catch up, he knows they cant outrun it and still, his stomach churns.

"Are you okay?" Soobin asks, voice soft. He saw Beomgyu’s face when he locked eyes with the dead. "Try not to look at them," he suggests. It’s what Soobin does, he keep his eyes away.

Beomgyu gives a shrug. "Isn’t avoiding them just going to make it worse?" he says, eyes still glued to the decaying figures. "I mean, I would like to be able to look at them without feeling like I’m about to throw up."

Soobin sighs, "We are getting out of here. Hybe did not let these people get us just to leave us hanging. There’s gotta be a place somewhere. Maybe we’ll even be able to go home, see our families again."

Beomgyu’s throat tightens at the mention of family, he swallows the feeling down. "What if we don’t, though?" he murmurs, "You saw the fire at the camp we were supposed to be at. Do you really think we’d have made it out? If we got there earlier…. do your really think we would have survived?"

Soobin’s heart clench at the question, he can't bring himself to answer. He does not want to think about it, but he knows Beomgyu’s right. Everything had seemed okay, until that overrun camp. The silence stretches, loud with unspoken fears.

Beomgyu’s hand starts picking at his nails, his gaze unfocused. "What if there’s no place left?" His voice cracks,trying his hardest not to think about his family.

"Stop." It’s you. You had been close enough to hear their whispers. "I’ll let you know if there’s nothing anymore. Until I do, don’t think about it."

Beomgyu looks up at you, meeting your eyes for a moment. And just like that, the heaviness inside him lifts.

The vehicle comes to a halt by the side of the road, dust kicking up as the engine sputters off. Captain Joon looks ahead, eyes narrowing at the said camp he has in mind. It’s about a ten-minute walk from here.

"Still no response, Captain," Do-hyun reports, his fingers pressing anxiously on the radio. "Should I try reaching out to other units? They're farther out, but I can give it a shot."

Captain Joon does not look at him, eyes fixed ahead. "You can do that later. For now, we need to check this site first." He pauses, "It’s not wise for all of us to go. These five civilians stay here with a couple of you, the rest of us will move out."

Beomgyu catches the glint of your fingers as you reach for your gun, checking the magazine, clicking it back and then tightening your boot laces. There's no need for more words. The message is clear. You're going out, you're checking the place. You’re not going to sit around and wait.

"Y/N," Captain Joon calls out as you start climbing down from the cargo bed.

“I’m going with you,” you say, already strapping your gun across your shoulder. Without waiting for a response, you take a few long strides,, scanning the fields around you. The tall grass sways gently in the breeze. A few of the soldiers start following suit—Eun-woo, Ji-ho, and you catch the sound of their boots as they move behind you.

Captain Joon strides past, and you follow him, your boots crunching against the dry earth.

Beomgyu watches, his eyes never leaving your form as you move further into the distance. He can hear Yeonjun’s sigh beside him, but it did not make him look away. Instead, he counts under his breath, doing everything he can to keep you in sight until you’re too far to see.

The truck was quiet, the minutes stretching on as the remaining soldiers outside paced back and forth, keeping watch.

“I’m worried about Hiyyih,” Kai said suddenly, breaking the silence. His words drew the attention of the older guys around him, all seated close by.

“Do you think she got rescued too?” Kai asked, voice quieter now. “Or maybe…she made it out to Seoul when everything went like this?”

Taehyun reached over, giving the youngest's head a soft pat. “She is okay, Kai,” he said, “Once we get to the camp, we can ask the Captain,”

“Yeah,”

“Stop stressing about it, though,” Yeonjun chimed in, “We will figure it out soon enough.” Soobin stayed quiet, gaze fixed on some distant thought.

“They’re back,” Beomgyu said, his gaze darting between the road and the distant figures coming into view. He kept watching, squinting to make out their shapes as they got closer. Minutes passed, and the faces became clear: Captain Joon, two other soldiers… and you.

“They’re fewer than we expected,” Captain Joon announced as he reached the group, his voice steady but grim. “The camp’s still standing. We’ll spend the night there and wait for further instructions.” His words weighed heavy in the air. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay composed.

When you entered the place, the sight was sobering. Just over half a dozen soldiers were left. The others, you were told, had been sent out on missions and none of their teams had returned. You shook the thoughts away, chalking it up to exhaustion. Fatigue was setting in, and all you wanted was a shower and some sleep. For now, this camp would have to do.

Adjusting the straps of your backpack, you glanced around and saw everyone gathering their belongings. You opened your gun case and checked the magazines, counting each one carefully. “We’ll need to do inventory soon,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

Beomgyu caught your words and looked over, his eyes flicking from your face to the black case cradling the weapons.

Arriving at the camp on foot felt like walking into a ghost town. The only sign of life was… the small group of soldiers waiting, their tired eyes, makes the place feel even emptier. Captain Joon started barking orders, assigning tents to everyone. Your mind was fixed on one thing: rest.

“I’m going to shower and sleep. Wake me if I’m needed,” you told the captain, walking past him as he gave you a quick nod.

You headed to your tent, overhearing the arrangements for the five civilians. They’d be taking turns in the showers, then each also having a small tent of their own. Your own shelter was small, just as you’d expected. You set your things down, pulling out what you needed for the shower.

The shower area was sectioned off with a heavy curtain, its edges swaying slightly in the breeze. You pushed it aside and stepped in, letting the cool water wash over you. The sensation of the water running down your back. After finishing your routine, you reached for a towel and your robe. Once you’d changed into a clean military shirt and loose pants, you stepped outside, your hair still damp.

The camp was quiet, save for the crackle of a small fire in the center. A few soldiers sat around it—Yeonjun was eating, with Beomgyu and Taehyun seated beside him. Soobin, walking toward them, caught your gaze and gave you a respectful bow. Kai was likely in the showers, taking his turn.

Back at your tent, you dried your hair, hitting the makeshift pillow, your eyes drifted shut. It was harder to sleep that night.

Beomgyu jolted awake to the sharp crack of a gunshot. His chest tightened as he gasped, sitting up abruptly in the darkness.

BANG.

Another shot echoed through the camp, louder this time. He instinctively covered his ears, his heart pounding in his chest. The sound was close... too close. A flurry of gunfire followed, chaotic and all over the place. He froze as a shadow darted past the thin walls of his tent. His hands trembled as he forced himself to stand.

He fumbled for his pants, pulling them on as another scream tore through the night, quickly silenced by another gunshot. His mind raced. Should he go outside? Should he stay hidden?

Soobin. Yeonjun. Taehyun. Kai.

You.

The names rang in his head snapped him. He peeked through a small gap in the tent’s fabric, his breath hitching at the sight outside. Strangers, men he hadn’t seen earlier, moved through the camp. One of them hefted a sack of supplies over his shoulder, while others fired wildly at the soldiers.

Bandits?

The realization hit hard. These men were fighting the soldiers stationed at the camp, gunfire exchanged in rapid bursts. Beomgyu swallowed hard. His tent was further out than the others, which gave him a sliver of cover, but he knew he had to move. As he stepped out of his tent, a bullet zipped past him, close enough to feel the air shift against his cheek. He flinched, his heart hammering in his chest.

“What the—”

A scream drew his attention. A bandit, snarling and swinging his weapon, was overwhelmed by an infected lunging at him from the side. The sight froze Beomgyu in place, fear rooting him to the spot.

A hand clamped over his mouth, silencing the scream that threatened to escape. He turned sharply, eyes wide, only to see you staring back at him.

“We’re leaving. Or we’re dead,” you whispered, your voice urgent but low. Beomgyu hesitated, glancing toward the other tents. He wanted to go to the others, to check if they were okay, but you tightened your grip on his wrist, stopping him.

“They will see you,” you hissed. Behind you, the infected were starting to swarm the camp, drawn by the gunfire. Beomgyu felt a lump rise in his throat. Your hand dropped from his mouth, and you tugged on his wrist, shoving him back toward his tent. “Grab your things. Be fast.”

Beomgyu stumbled inside, adrenaline coursing through him as he grabbed his backpack. He hadn’t even unpacked yet, telling himself earlier he’d do it in the morning. Now, it didn’t matter. There wasn’t going to be a morning if he stayed.

When he stepped back out, you were watching the bandits, your jaw clenched. He noticed your backpack already slung over your shoulder. The white shirt you’d worn earlier was still visible beneath a hastily thrown-on jacket, paired with cargo pants and sturdy boots.

“Come on,” You started moving, weaving through the shadows with practiced steps. Beomgyu followed, heart heavy and torn as he glanced back toward the other tents.

His four brothers weren’t with him.

Beomgyu’s feet ached with every step. He had been trailing behind you for what felt like hours, though it couldn’t have been more than fifty minutes. Your strides were quick, far faster than he could have imagined for someone with shorter legs than his. He had no idea where you were leading him, and the darkness of the woods only made it worse.

Shadows stretched long between the trees, and every crackle of leaves underfoot made his heart jump. But then you turned back to look at him, your face briefly influenced by the moon's light—it was just a quick check to make sure he was still behind—and somehow that was enough to keep him moving.

Finally, you stopped in front of a towering tree. Its trunk was wide and strong, the kind that seemed to have stood for centuries. You tilted your head up to inspect it, then turned back to him. “This will do. We’ll climb up here,”

Beomgyu blinked, his gaze sweeping nervously between you and the tree. Climbing? He had never climbed a tree before, not even as a kid. But the alternative, staying on the ground, exposed to the infected, or people that might be lurking, was far worse.

“O-okay,” The two of you did not know where you were going or how far you still had to go but at least up here, you could catch your breath. He watched as you point toward the bark, signaling for him to go first.

“Here,” you said, tapping a sturdy-looking notch just above your reach. “Put your foot here.”

“You sure it’ll hold?”

“It will, trust me.”

Beomgyu swallowed hard and placed his foot on the notch. It felt solid, but the uneven texture of the bark made him wobble slightly. He grabbed the trunk for balance, his fingers scraping against the rough surface. “Here, grab this branch,” you guided him, pointing to a solid-looking limb.

The bark was rough, but he held on, his muscles trembling. The tree swayed just a little under his weight, the rustling leaves made him think that the whole thing might give way. But it didn’t.  With a grunt, he hoisted himself, settling into a spot that felt stable enough to hold him. The height gave him an odd sense of relief. He looked down at you, his fear replaced by a grin.

“This is so cool,” The horrors of the night melted away. You smirked, shaking your head as you reached for the first branch, beginning your own ascent. Beomgyu’s gaze stayed on you, his hands hovering slightly as if wanting to help but unsure how.

When you were nearly at his level, reaching for a branch to pull yourself up, the wood suddenly gave way with a sharp crack. Making you slip. “Shit!” Beomgyu lunged toward you, his hands finding your elbow just in time. “I-I—What do I do?!”

“Can you not panic like you’re the one about to fall?” you snapped, though your voice lacked real bite.

“Right!” he stammered, his grip tightening. You grasped his other outstretched arm, and with one strong pull, he managed to haul you up. The force of it sent you toppling forward, landing squarely against him. For a second, everything went still. Beomgyu’s breath hitched as he looked up at you, your face inches from his.

You could feel the warmth of his body against your chest, see the subtle freckles and barely-there moles on his skin that you hadn’t noticed before. His gaze flickered to your lips.

In a swift motion, you pushed yourself off him, brushing the dust and bits of bark from your clothes, you avoided his eyes. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak just yet.

An hour had passed since the two of you settled. Your back leaned towards the tree and for a brief moment, you let your eyes close, though your mind raced.

Plans. Risks. Next steps.

“What’s the next plan?”

You opened your eyes, exhaling softly. “I’m planning to check back at the camp once the sun’s up,” you said after a moment. “From a distance. The infected were drawn to the gunfire, so I doubt they’ll stay there. But I need to see what’s left.”

Beomgyu nodded, “We should see if there’s anyone still there. Maybe stuck or hiding.”

You glanced at him and adjusted the rifle slung across your chest. The weight of the handgun in your pocket and the knives strapped to your thighs felt heavier.

“We’ll try to track them too,” you said, then added quietly, “Or you could stay here and wait for me.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“Okay.”

Silence fell between you again, interrupted only by the faint rustle of leaves. Beomgyu broke it with a sudden thought. “I can’t believe people can kill each other just like that,” he said, voice with disbelief.

The words made you pause. Your eyes, previously shut, opened fully, and you turned your head slightly toward him. But you said nothing. “Why did they do that?” Beomgyu asked, his tone softer now.

You didn’t respond. Instead, you looked away, avoiding his gaze. His eyes—they were too brown, too soft for a world like this. When the silence stretched too long, he shifted uncomfortably, his ears flushing red. “I… I wanna thank you. For bringing me with you,” he said, shyly. “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Sleep,” you said, brushing his gratitude aside. “I’ll keep watch.”

“I don't think I can,” he admitted, rubbing his neck. "I swear I can still hear the gunshots in my ears.” You sighed. Sleep wasn’t an option for you either.

Beomgyu hesitated before speaking again. “Can I ask you something?”

“You already did,”

His face flushed deeper. “I mean… another question.”

When you didn’t respond, he continued, “Why are you the only woman in your team?”

Your eyes flicked to him, one brow raising slightly. “Are you implying there shouldn’t be one?”

“No! God, no,” he said quickly, his hands flailing slightly as he stumbled over his words. “I mean, it’s just—wow. It’s amazing.”

“That a woman can do a man’s job?”

“No—yes—no!” Beomgyu groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I just mean, like… it’s impressive. Especially since women aren’t even required to go through military service. But here you are, and you’re killing it—uh, not literally—well, maybe literally, but—”

You studied his flustered face for a moment before cutting him off, “I get it,” you said, watching as relief washed over him. “I think I was just… born for this. I can’t imagine myself doing anything else.”

“That’s… cool,” he murmured, nodding slowly. You hummed, leaning your head back against the tree.

“I don’t think I can imagine myself doing anything else either,” Beomgyu said, thoughtful. He stared at his hands, a small smile tugging at his lips. You watched him for a second longer than you meant to.

“That’s cool,” you echoed his words, earning a laugh from him. His smile widened, his laugh soft but real, and it lit up the darkness around you. Even his laugh—

It made you look away, your chest tightening. His smile, it was too bright.

Beomgyu turned his gaze to you, studying your profile. The way your lashes caught the faint moonlight. Beautiful, he thought.

“How old were you when you joined the military?” he asked, randomly. Your expression froze, startled by the familiar question.

“What?”

“I mean, if it’s okay to ask,” he said, tilting his head slightly, his tone careful. “You don’t have to—”

You swallowed hard, a lump forming in your throat. That question—it wasn’t one you wanted to answer again. Not now. Not ever.

“Close your eyes and rest,” you said flatly, “We’re done talking. The dead might hear us.”

The other one's face fell.

The sunlight was warm against Beomgyu's face, pulling him from his sleep. He blinked a few times, squinting at the brightness, trying to shake off his muzzy state.

"Hey, sleeping beauty." You say, "If you want to come, we need to go. Now."

He turned to see you already packing up, tossing a protein bar his way without looking. He barely caught it, fumbling it in his hands before managing a weak, “Thanks.”

"Let's go." You unscrewed your water bottle and took a quick drink before slinging your gear over your shoulder. Without waiting for him to respond, you started climbing down from the tree. Beomgyu followed, the descent easier than the nerve-wracking climb up last night, his legs still felt stiff from the awkward position he’d slept in. His feet hit the forest floor, and he took a deep breath. The woods in daylight were almost beautiful painting everything in shades of green.

He yawned, unwrapping his protein bar as he fell into step behind you. The two of you walked in silence, his eyes wandering over the scenery. It was hard to reconcile how peaceful the forest looked with the gnawing fear in his gut. About twenty minutes in, you suddenly stopped, your hand shooting up in a signal. Beomgyu, distracted, nearly walked into you.

“Infected,”

He followed your line of sight and spotted it, a man-shaped figure stumbling through the trees, its feet dragging awkwardly. The distance between you and it was still considerable.

Beomgyu glanced at you, his eyes wide. “How did you even see that?” he whispered. “I wouldn’t have noticed it until it was right in front of us.”

You ignored the question, “You haven't done this yet, so now’s the time to learn.”

Now, the words struck him awake. He’d known this was coming, he wasn’t naive, but he hadn’t expected it to be now. “Are you sure? Shouldn’t we find, I don’t know, somewhere more open for this?” He couldn’t help the nervous edge in his voice. Just weeks ago, his biggest challenge was memorizing their group's choreography.

“This is the perfect place to practice,” you said, not bothering to look at him.

He hesitated, shifting on his feet. “I mean, I’m not scared or anything, but—”

“Scared?” you interrupted, finally turning to him with a raised eyebrow.

“No. Let’s just get it over with.”

You nodded, pulling a knife from your belt and handing it to him. The weight of it in his hand felt foreign. He stared at the blade, the black handle smooth, well maintained. His eyes caught the faint etching of your name on it.

“Grip it like this,” you said, adjusting his grip. Your hands were firm, guiding his fingers into place. “Keep your thumb here for control. When you strike, aim for the head and use enough force so you don’t have to do it twice.”

He nodded, his throat dry. "Go in when I say.”

The infected was closer now, its groans louder, its movements jerky and unnatural. You gestured for him to move to the left, opposite of where you were going. He obeyed, his steps hesitant.

You moved quickly, drawing its attention. Beomgyu couldn’t take his eyes off you as you circled it without second thoughts or any fear.With a sharp kick, you knocked its legs out from under it. The infected collapsed to its knees, and you pressed your boot into its back, holding it in place. “Come here,”

Beomgyu swallowed hard, the knife trembling in his hand as he approached.

“Kill it,” you instructed, tilting the infected’s head to expose its temple.

His heart pounded as he raised the knife. He brought it down, but his strike lacked strength, and blade only sank halfway in. The infected howled, its hands clawing weakly at the air. “Y/N, I—what do I—”

“Again,” you cut him off, grabbing his other hand and placing it on the knife. “Use both hands if you have to. Pull it out and try again. Harder this time.”

He did as you said, the knife coming free with a sickening squelch. Blood splattered onto his hands, warm and sticky, and he nearly gagged. Clenching his teeth, he raised the blade again and drove it down with all his strength. The groaning stopped, the infected falling silent.

You let the body slump to the ground, standing up as Beomgyu stumbled away, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. He made it to the nearest tree before doubling over, the contents of his stomach spilling onto the forest floor.

Tears pricked at his eyes as he wiped his mouth. That infected, it wasn’t just a monster. It had been a person once, a living, breathing human being. Maybe they had a family waiting for them, a home filled with memories, or a life they’d worked hard to build. Maybe they’d been on a vacation or rushing to work the day the world fell apart.

Beomgyu’s breath hitched—he was the one who ended them, the one who took what little remained of their existence. He never imagined his life would come to this—how could he? Just a month ago, his world had been with roaring crowds, and music that echoed through stadiums. He’d been smiling at cameras, shooting music videos, and waving to fans who looked at him like he was untouchable, someone larger than life.

You crouched next to him, holding out a piece of cloth. He stared at your hand for a moment before taking it —your hands looked smaller than his, fragile—he wipes the blood on his trembling fingers.

How? How could you, manage to do all of this?

“You ended its suffering,” you said quietly, hesitant. “That’s how I try to think of it.”

“Does it get easier?”

“Never.”

It was just a single word, but somehow, it felt like a glimpse, Beomgyu feels closer. It felt like he knew you just a little bit better.

The two of you continued toward the overrun camp, the knife you’d lent Beomgyu still in his hands. For all the danger the weapon symbolized, it seemed to bring him a strange kind of comfort, his grip on it much more familiar.

Another walker crossed your path, Beomgyu stepped forward, more sure of himself this time. With just a little guidance from you, he managed to take it down.

Familiarity.

When you reached the backside of the camp, low growls echoed from ahead. Slowly, you leaned out to peek, careful not to make a sound. About a dozen infected, just as you expected.

And just as you'd predicted, the bandits had left too, leaving nothing behind but destruction. You moved, glancing over your shoulder to check on Beomgyu. He was scanning the area, his movements mirroring yours. That small action made your chest swell with pride.

He's learning. He's trying. And most of all, he's here, for his friends.

Together, you began checking the tents, moving smoothly and silently. Nothing. No survivors. But you found a few supplies, military rations, protein bars, ammo and some guns. Grabbing a duffel bag, you started packing up. Beomgyu helped in without hesitation.

Halfway through the camp, Beomgyu froze. His eyes locked on something ahead. That’s when you saw it too.

BEOMGYU, KAI, WE GOT OUT. WITH THE OTHERS. WE’RE HEADING TO THE JEONJU CAMP. STAY SAFE. SB, YJ, AND TH.

“They got out,” Beomgyu said, his voice breaking the silence. Relief washed over him, lifting some of the weight he’d been carrying. Kai wasn’t with them yet, but this was hope. He would find Kai too. He’d see this message too. “I knew it!”

He spun around to face you, a grin breaking across his face. He pumped his fist in the air, silently cheering as if he’d just hit the jackpot. That boyish smile, dimples and all, made him look so much younger.

And then, he saw it—a faint, fleeting curve of your lips.

His laugh bubbled out, soft and genuine, as he ran toward you, nearly tripping over his own feet in excitement. You're perfect, he thinks, the thought hitting him as naturally as breathing. You try to step back, caught off guard, but it’s too late.

It’s already too late.

“I freaking knew it,” he said, his arms around you warm, his chin resting on the top of your head. You stood frozen, your hands awkwardly at your sides, nodding stiffly.

“I told you,” he whispered. When he finally steps back, his eyes search your face, the smile he’d seen just moments ago is already gone. You look away, avoiding his gaze, and the sudden absence of it, leaves an ache in his chest.

He wants to see it again.

“Let’s wrap this up and circle outside the camp,” you say, pulling the zipper closed on the duffel bag you’d packed full. “We need to check if Kai’s lingering nearby. And we’ll need to secure a vehicle too. We’re in Daejeon, its a long way to Jeonju.”

“Thank you.” Beomgyu’s voice is quiet, and his cheeks flush red as he remembers his earlier outburst, the way he’d hugged you without thinking. Maybe it was the relief from the message, or maybe it was just seeing you smile at him for the first time.

“Why do you think they’re in Jeonju?”

“Probably got a radio response,”

He nods, falling in step behind you as you heft the duffel bag over your shoulder. Beomgyu quickens his pace, catching up to you. He tugs the bag from your hands. “Let me take this,”

The two of you stepped out of the tent, the silence heavy between you. You were nearing the camp’s edge when Beomgyu noticed you slowing down, your steps faltering.

Seo-jun.

His movements were slow, his hands trembling as he stumbled forward. He's looking at you. Seo-jun’s blood-soaked uniform and gaping bite on his neck entered your vision. Gunshot wounds riddled his chest, a soldier’s final stand. He had fought. Hard. For his team. For everyone.

"Y/N?" Beomgyu’s voice broke through the haze, soft but urgent. He noticed that you had stopped, your gaze fixed on the infected figure ahead. He squinted, and his heart sank when he realized it was someone from your team.

Seven years. You had known Seo-jun for seven years. You had planned to make things right with him, to talk, to reconcile. But how could you now? How could you fix things when he was already lost? You tried to blink away the moisture from your eyes.

“Am I ever getting a break?” you muttered to yourself, the words bitter. "Even here, you find a way to mock me, Seo-jun."

Beomgyu could hear the shakiness in your voice, the rawness in the way you spoke. He listens.

You couldn’t leave him like this. Alone in his lifeless form, wandering endlessly. He deserved more than that. “Come on, you shit,” you muttered, your throat tightening as you stepped forward, reaching for your knife. But you froze.

Around his neck, alongside his dog tags, hung another set. Min Jungwon’s. Even at the end, Seo-jun had carried that burden, blaming himself for something you both knew wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t let it go, not even in death.

Beomgyu moved before he could think. He didn't know if it was the look in your eyes or the way your hand trembled, but he knew one thing: he couldn’t let you do this. While Seo-jun was distracted by your figure, Beomgyu raised his weapon. Just as you had taught him hours ago, he aimed for the head.

Seo-jun’s body crumpled to the ground. Beomgyu guided him down gently, almost reverently. From his backpack, Beomgyu pulled an extra jacket. Without a word, he draped it over Seo-jun’s face. It wasn’t much, but it was the only dignity he could offer.

When he stood, his eyes met yours, raw and glistening with emotion.

“Why—” Your voice cracked, unable to finish the question.

“He was your friend,” he said quietly. “I'm not going to let you do that.”

Friend.

That single word shattered whatever fragile wall you’d been holding up. A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it, and you quickly wiped it away with your hand.

“He’s not suffering anymore,” Beomgyu added softly, his hand gently brushing the top of your head—you flinched, avoided his eyes, yet again. “He’s not suffering,”

He bent down to grab the duffel bag he’d dropped earlier, slinging it over one shoulder. Then, he reached out, his hand wrapping around your wrist.

“Let's get out of here.” He pulled you forward.

Beomgyu's hand didn’t leave yours until the two of you were far beyond the camp.

"Hey," you called out to Beomgyu, who was busy checking a nearby car. "This looks fresh, like it hasn’t been here long." He made his way over, and you held out a baseball cap.

"Wait," Beomgyu said, eyes widening as he took it. Turning it over in his hands, he inspected it closely. "This… this is Kai’s,"

When you looked at him, a small smile was already spreading across his face, lighting up his features like it always did.

Beomgyu… he was so easily moved by the smallest things. It didn’t take much to make him smile. Or maybe it wasn’t that simple. Maybe it was because he loved his brothers, that even the smallest sign of them was enough to give him something to hold onto.

You dropped your gaze when his eyes met yours and moved toward the next car, pretending. But your thoughts refused to stay put. Here you were again, thinking about him... about his silly antics.

In the past twelve hours, it felt like he’d done nothing but occupy your mind. Every small moment with him clung to you. The way his voice softened when he spoke, The way he’d quietly ask, “You okay?” as if you were the one who needed saving.

After Seo-jun—he hadn’t said a word about it. No awkward condolences, no probing questions. Just silence. the kind you needed. Like he just… knew. No one had ever been like this, this careful, this kind. No one had ever looked at you the way he did, with eyes that were too brown and too full of something you didn’t want to name.

You didn’t like it.

You didn’t like it at all.

“I think Kai’s already ahead of us,” you bit into the bland military ration that was handed to you. “Heading towards Jeonju, if those tracks are anything to go by. He’s smart.”

“He is,” Beomgyu agreed, a small smile at his lips as he stirred the contents of his disposable pack. “He’s the calmest one too.”

“Then I guess we will see him there,” you said with a shrug. “Now all we need to do is find a working car.”

“A manual,”

“Hm.”

“That has gas in it.”

“Figures,” you muttered. “But that’ll be the easier part.”

Silence settled over the two of you again, it had become strangely common. You both ate, focused on the food. Every so often, you’d catch Beomgyu glancing your way, and flashes you his small, boyish grin on his face.

You tossed the empty pack toward a nearby car and wiped your hands on your pants. “It’s getting dark soon,” you said. “We should camp nearby and head out at first light.” Moving at night was usually the smarter option, especially with a vehicle and a full team. But here, now? Just the two of you, on foot, with no guarantee of shelter or backup, it wasn’t worth the risk.

Sticking to the woods was safer. The fewer infected—or people—you encountered, the better. You only ventured onto the road when there was a car worth checking.

In the fading light, a barn came into view. Its doors were wide open, silhouetted against the trees. You signaled Beomgyu to wait outside while you moved to secure the area. Inside, it was clear the owner had left in a hurry, taking most of what mattered. It was empty, save for a few odds and ends no one had cared to take, its enough for a temporary shelter.

“Looks good enough,” you murmured as you stepped back outside. Beomgyu nodded, already starting to unload your supplies. The discovery of a small lake nearby was an unexpected bonus.

“I’m going to wash up,” you said, gathering what you needed and slinging your gun over your shoulder. Beomgyu gave a slight nod, his eyes lingering on you as you walked away.

The water was cold, scouring away the dirt and sweat. You were quick, not wanting to leave Beomgyu alone for long. When you returned, your damp hair clung to your neck, and your skin was clean and slightly chilled.

“Your turn,” He glanced up, eyes flitting over your freshly washed face. His heart thudded hard in his chest. Cute, he thought, forcing himself to look away. Beomgyu nodded, grabbing his things and heading out to the lake. He came back just as fast, hair dripping but visibly refreshed.

You sat side by side on the makeshift bedding, neither of you saying much. Beomgyu’s soft breathing enters your ears, hand rested close enough that you could almost feel its warmth against your skin.

You found your eyes beginning to close with peace you hadn’t realized you were still capable of feeling.

Beomgyu woke up, immediately turning to his left. There you were, curled up on your side, the rise and fall of your chest visible in the dim space. He stared, mesmerized... it was the first time he’d ever seen you asleep. You looked… soft. A side of you he never thought he’d witness.

He shifted. The urge to pee was becoming unbearable. Careful not to wake you, Beomgyu slipped off and crept toward the barn door. The cold air hit him as he stepped outside, wrapping his arms tightly around himself for warmth. He scanned the area just like you’d taught him, ears tuned to every sound. Nothing.

He let out a breath of relief and headed to a nearby tree. Unzipping his pants, he took care of business quickly, the chill urging him to hurry. After he finished and zipped back up, a faint rustling behind him made him stop. Before he could turn, a large, rough hand clamped over his mouth, oppressing his scream. Another arm locked around his neck, pulling him back against a solid chest.

“Shut up if you value your life,” a low, gravelly voice growled against his ear. The man holding him inhaled deeply near his hair, a disgusting, exaggerated sniff. “Freshly washed. You’ve got a place nearby, don’t you?”

Beomgyu’s eyes darted ahead, and his stomach dropped when three more men stepped into view. Each held a weapon: a bat, a knife, and worst, a pistol. The man restraining him gives a rough shake, his breath hot and foul. “Don’t make me ask again. Where’s your camp?”

Beomgyu shook his head violently, panic blooming in his chest. He couldn't—he wouldn't—lead them back to you. The thought of them finding you, sleeping and unaware, this was his fault. He should have been more careful.

The man growled in frustration. “Y' think this is a joke?” he spat, hardening his chokehold. Beomgyu’s throat made a strangled sound as he gasped for air. The man with the knife stepped forward, expression predatory. “Maybe this will help him remember,” he said, pressing the blade against Beomgyu’s cheek. The sharp metal bit into his skin, not enough to draw blood, but enough to make him wince.

“There’s a barn ahead,” the one with the baseball bat said,“Think that’s it?” Beomgyu’s reaction betrayed him, his wide eyes and the flash of fear gave them all the confirmation they needed.

“Yeah,” the man holding him laughed darkly, “that’s it.”

Before Beomgyu could resist, they forced his hands behind his back and bound them tightly, shoving a cloth into his mouth to stifle any protest. He struggled, but it was no use. They yanked him forward, dragging him roughly toward the barn. And he knew exactly where they were taking him. To you.

“Fucking hell,” the man holding Beomgyu growled, his gaze shifting to your sleeping figure inside the barn. A dark grin tugged at his lips. “Is this what you’re so scared of? Afraid we’ll take her away from you?”

Beomgyu thrashed, desperate to scream, to warn you, but the cloth bound tight in his mouth smothered any sound. The group moved closer, one of them stepping forward to push the barn door open. The large, old door creaked. It wasn’t loud, but it was enough to wake you.

Your eyes snapped open, adjusting to the figures looming at the entrance, shadows that didn’t belong. Your hand reached for the gun nearby. The glint of their weapons caught your eye as they aimed at you in return.

“Sweetheart,” the tallest man drawled, stepping forward. His tone was mocking, dangerous. He shoved someone in front of him, Beomgyu. Your breath hitched as your eyes locked onto his. His face was pale, streaked with dirt and tears, and a raw red mark marred his cheek. His wide, terrified eyes pleaded with you.

Red.

“What the fuck do you want, asshole?” You cocked your gun, the sharp metallic click echoing. One of them flinched. Good.

The leader sneered, shoving Beomgyu roughly to the side. He tied him to a post like he was nothing more than an animal. Your jaw tightened as you watched the way they manhandled him, your fists clenching around the gun. When he was done, the leader turned back to you, whistling low at the deadly glare you levelled at him. His cocky smirk only deepened.

“You look loaded,” he said, his eyes flicking to the bags by the wall. “And since you asked so nicely, we’d also like to take turns with you, sweetheart.”

Beomgyu shook his head violently from where he was tied, his muffled cries useless against their laughter. His chest heaved, panic consuming him as the men began to advance on you.

“We’re lucky you’re here,” the leader continued, leering. “If we didn’t have a choice, we’d take the boy instead. He’s got such a pretty face, after all.”

Red.

All you saw was red.

Your vision blurred as rage consumed you. You let one of them grab your gun without resistance. It didn’t matter.

You'll kill them all.

The leader was close now, grabbing a fistful of your hair to tilt your head back. His face was inches from yours, his smirk as disgusting as the words spilling from his mouth. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? No fight left in you?”

You smirked, just a little. It was enough to confuse him, before he could react, your teeth sank into his throat. Hard.

It was a spot right where you knew it would hurt most. A pressure point. His scream ripped through while he stumbled back, clutching at the gaping wound with blood pouring through his fingers. The bitter, metallic taste flooded your mouth, but you didn't stop. You grabbed the gun he dropped as he fell and turned, firing without hesitation.

BANG.

The man who had taken your gun didn’t even have time to aim before he hit the ground.

“Fuck—” one of them snarled, charging at you. Before he could get too close, your foot sweeped his legs out from under him. He hit the ground with a grunt.

BANG.

You aim your gun and pulled the trigger on his face. The man with the bat.

Pain exploded in your shoulder, a gunshot tearing through your flesh, but you didn’t flinch. His mistake wasn’t pulling the trigger; it was not aiming for your head like you aimed for his.

BANG.

The leader gurgled, blood bubbling up from his lips as he stared at you in disbelief. “Monster—” he chokes on the floor, his hands futilely gripping his shredded throat. His blood pooled beneath him as he sputtered his last, trying and failing to form a single word. “You—”

BANG.

You stared at the four lifeless bodies beneath you, the gun in your hand began to feel impossibly heavy. Blood clung to your shirt like a second skin, still warm, sticky. Your mouth tasted metallic, your hair a disheveled mess from the earlier struggle.

Behind you, Beomgyu sat slumped against the post, trembling. He’d watched everything, every deafening shot, every life you’d taken to protect. His body flinched with each pull of the trigger. Now, his tears streamed freely, but not out of fear. No, this wasn’t fear.

He was crying because you had to do this.

Sobbing around the cloth still gagging him, his muffled cries echoing in the now-silent barn. You moved, steps distant, as if someone else controlled them. You crouched down and began untying the ropes binding Beomgyu to the post. His breath hitched as your fingers worked the knots, your hands stained with blood that was not yours. The ropes fell loose. Beomgyu searched your face, desperate for some sign of emotion, but your eyes were blank, lost.

Before he could speak, you stood, bolting toward the barn door. Beomgyu panicked. He hiccuped, scrambling to his feet, his legs weak from being tied up for so long. “Y/N!” he tried to call, but his voice cracked. His head spinning.

You were gone. Were you leaving him? He looked around frantically, his feet faltering as the barn opened into the cool night. He couldn’t lose you. Not now.

Beomgyu finds you at the small lake nearby, kneeling in the water. The cold ripples lapped at your clothes, soaking them, but you didnt seem to notice. Your hands scrubbed furiously at your arms, over and over, like you were trying to erase your own skin. “Y/N,”

“Y-You were shot,” he said, voice cracking. His eyes darted to your shoulder, blood had begun to seep through your shirt.

You gasped for air, your chest squeezing with every shallow breath. No matter how hard you tried, it felt like the air couldn't reach your lungs. Your hands clutched your face as if you could physically hold yourself together, thoughts raced through your mind, loud and suffocating. The world around you blurred and warped, slipping further and further from your grasp.

You killed them. Monster.

“Y/N—” Beomgyu’s voice broke through. “Breathe—”

You barely registered him.

“Can you—”

“Look at me!” he shouted hard, louder this time. Hands cupping your face, trembling as much as yours. “Baby, look at me.” Your eyes darted up, locking onto his. Your tears spilled down your face.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice softening, “Just keep looking at me, brave girl.” You leaned into him, your weight heavy against his chest. His soft voice leads you.

“Okay,” he said, his forehead brushing yours gently. “I need you to help me out. Can you do that?” You nodded weakly in his arms.

“Good. Start with five things you can see. Anything, okay? Just tell me five things.” Your gaze darted, focusing on anything you could name. “The tree,” you whispered shakily. “The grass. The water. Your tears. And…you.”

“That’s it,” he said, “Now, four things you can touch. What are they?”

“Your hands,” you murmured, your fingers twitching against his. “The water. My hair. And…stones.”

“Perfect,” he said, his thumbs now against your cheeks. “What about three things you can hear?” You breathed deeply this time, the cloud in your head beginning to lift. “The wind. The water. And you.” His lips curved into the smallest, most fragile smile. “Two things you can smell?”

You hesitated. “The blood,” you admitted, voice cracking. “And…the trees.”

“One thing you can taste.”

You swallowed hard, finally meeting his eyes fully. “Metal,” you whispered, voice barely audible.

"You did it." Beomgyu’s voice trembled, his hands cradling your face with a gentleness that only made the tears come faster. He does his best to brush them away. "Thank fuck."

“Beomgyu,” his name on your lips slips out barely more than a whisper. Forehead pressed against his shoulder, your arms wrapping around him slowly, shakily, until they found their place on his back.

There's a soft press of lips against your temple, warm and fleeting.

He helped you wash the blood off your body, his hands careful, never lingering longer than necessary. His gaze flicked to yours every few seconds, searching for some sign of permission, or maybe for you to tell him to stop. But you didn't. You can't, not when his eyes held that pleading look, soft and desperate, as if this was the only way he could help you carry the weight of what had happened.

When it came time to clean your face, you stopped him with a slight shake of your head. He didn’t argue.

Later, he examined the gunshot wound on your shoulder, gently turning you to check for an exit wound. Relief flickered across his face when he found one. “It’s nothing I can’t handle, had this more than I can keep track of.” you replied. His head snapped up, disbelief written all over his features.

The two of you walked back to the barn in silence, clothes damp from the lake. Your hands swung loosely at your sides, brushing his once, then twice, until Beomgyu hesitantly reached out and took your hand in his. You didn’t pull away.

“You can wait here,” he said softly when the barn came into view. “I’ll grab our things. We need to leave, someone might’ve heard.” You nodded, understanding without him saying it: he didn’t want you to see the bodies again.

Within minutes, he returned with your bags. You rummaged through yours, finding fresh pants and underwear but no shirt. “Do you have a shirt?”

“I do,” He's already handing it to you.

“Thanks.”

Slipping it over your head, you caught the faint scent of him—musky, with a subtle sweetness. It suited him.

The two of you moved to a nearby tree, settling under its shadow. The world was still dark, the night stretching on endlessly. You sat beside him, his shoulders side by side with yours.“Can you say it again?”

“What?”

“My name,” he said, clearing his throat awkwardly. You noticed the tips of his ears reddening. “Like you did earlier.”

“No,”

He chuckled, his gaze falling to where your hands rested in your lap. “As I expected.” When you did not respond, he ventured another question. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“What about it?”

“Was that your first t—”

“It wasn’t,” you cut him off, your eyes fixed ahead. You didn’t know why, but the words kept coming. “I’ve killed before. Being a soldier in the war… it wasn’t a choice. Sometimes I even had to kill my own teammates.” You paused,“But this… it’s different. They were civilians.”

“You had to kill your teammates too?”

You turned to him, studying the calm expression on his face. His eyes—the same ones that had anchored you earlier—held no trace of distrust, even after your confession. “Why aren’t you freaked out by this?”

“Because I want to know you,” he said with a small shrug. “Believe it or not, I’ve always been a good judge of character, or at least, that’s what my mom used to say. Soobin, too.” He paused, his lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks. “Ever since I met you, there hasn’t been a single thing you’ve done that I couldn’t understand.” The answer caught you off guard, made something in you falter.

"I had to kill them because they asked me to,"

“Then you're the strongest person I’ve ever met.” You didn’t know how to respond—you dont trust your voice not to break. How could he look at you like that after everything he’d seen? After all you’d done?

Minutes passed, when you felt him shift beside you, his arm lifting as he gently guided your head to rest on his shoulder. The warmth of him made it easier to close your eyes.

"You can rest now,"

“This one doesn’t work either,” Beomgyu called out from up ahead. You were still busy checking the car you’d been inspecting—never mind. It didn’t work, either.

“Should we just go on foot?” he asked, exasperation into his voice. It had been over a day of wandering and hoping to find a working vehicle. There’d been a few infected here and there, but sticking to the backroads had kept you from running into anything worse than a small group.

“It’s dangerous,” you replied without looking up.

Silence.

Beomgyu never let a comment slide without a retort, you know that by now. Heart thumping, you stepped out of the car and scanned the area, instincts on high alert.

“BAH!” He jumped out in front of you, doubling over with laughter so intense it sounded like he might choke. “You should’ve seen your face!” he managed between gasps. “It was so cute.”

“Are you done?”

Clearing his throat, Beomgyu grinned. It was just another one of his attempts to get on your nerves. He pulled something from his pocket, a dusty Polaroid camera he had found in one of the trucks. He flipped it open and checked the film. Two shots left. Without missing a beat, he raised it to his face and clicked the button.

You blinked, unimpressed. “Are you even checking the cars, or are you just running around pretending to be Dora the Explorer?”

Beomgyu smirked as the film began developing. “You watch Dora?”

“No.”

“You just mentioned her.”

“She’s famous.”

“So am I,” he shot back. “But you didn’t know me before this.”

“Are you seriously going to bring that up again?”

“Heh.” Beomgyu’s grin only widened. He could almost see it, the tiniest twitch at the corner of your lips before you turned away. Almost. It made his heart flutter in that stupid, uncontrollable way he hated admitting to himself.

As the photo developed, he glanced down at it. The image of you slowly came into view—you, standing in the middle of the road, hair pulled into a loose ponytail, staring at something out of frame with a faintly confused look on your face. “Beautiful,” he exhales.

If you looked this good now, how stunning would you be on a normal day?

If this were a normal day, Beomgyu would be all over you.He’d give you flowers every single day, just to make you smile. He’d buy you anything you wanted, or even things you didn’t know you needed. Love is effort. It's what his parents taught him. And he’d give it, all of it. He’d take photos of you, even beg if he had to, make playlists for you, play games with you, anything.

He wondered if you’d be any good at FPS games. You were already a menace with a gun in real life, so you’d probably be terrifying in a match.

Maybe, if the world ever allowed it, he’d convince you to visit Daegu, his hometown with him. His parents would love you. His brother, too, though Beomgyu would definitely have to bribe him to keep his mouth shut about the massive crush he’d been harboring on you. Would you like… Toto?

Beomgyu stared at the camera in his hands. Who knows if he’ll ever get another moment like this—another chance—in a world as unpredictable as this one? The idea settles in his mind, and he doesn’t let himself hesitate. “Let’s take a picture together.”

You stopped in your tracks, turning to give him that deadpan, unamused stare, the one that always made Beomgyu bite back a grin. Another idea sparked his mind, “Okay, listen. After this, I promise not to mess around anymore,” He jutted his lower lip out just slightly, eyes pleading like a puppy who’d been caught chewing on a shoe.

“You promise.”

“Cross my heart,” he said quickly, nodding like his life depended on it. When you didn’t immediately reply, he skipped towards you. He knew this silence, too—your subtle little “yes” that didn’t require any words. He’d been observing you to pick up on your signals, even the smallest ones.

Without giving you time to change your mind, Beomgyu lifted the camera, stepped close, and pressed his cheek against yours. The faint warmth of your skin against his made his stomach flip, but he ignored it, snapping the picture before you could pull away.

You jerked back, shaking your head.

As the photo developed, Beomgyu stared at it, the edges curling faintly as the image sharpened. There it was—your face, with that same unamused look, your lips slightly pressed together like a daughter forced into posing for an overly enthusiastic mom. Beside you was him, the complete opposite, grinning like an idiot, dimples on full display, both your faces so close, touching.

Something about the contrast, about the way your expressions came together on that tiny square, made his heart do that stupid fluttering thing again. He tucked the photo into his pocket, alongside the other one.

He kept his promise and moved to the next car with you.

After three more hours of searching, you finally found a working car. Beomgyu let out an excited cheer, breaking into his little happy dance again. You tried not to smile, tried not to let his enthusiasm rub off on you but, honestly, it was getting harder and harder to resist.

"Catch," you called, tossing the last bag to him. He caught it easily, stashing it in the backseat. Sliding into the driver’s seat, you glanced over as he settled into the passenger side. He looked so at ease there, sprawling out and fiddling with something on the dash. A passenger princess. Or was it prince? Either way, you could get used to him being there, looking peaceful for once.

You started the engine and pulled out onto the road, the car’s windows down to let in the cool breeze. As you drove, Beomgyu’s gaze drifted to your hair, your loose ponytail starting to come undone from the wind.

“Let me fix this for you,” he said, leaning over.

You felt his hands gently brush against your hair as he worked, careful not to distract you too much while you focused on the road. In the rearview mirror, you caught sight of his face, his brow furrowed in concentration, lips slightly parted. His fingers brushed against your neck as he gathered your hair, the touch light and deliberate. You could feel the care in the way he worked, securing the ponytail more tightly this time. "There."

When he finished, he leaned back, his hands falling to his lap as he took a moment to admire his work, admiring you. His gaze lingered, drinking in the curve of your face, the way your hands gripped the steering wheel just tight enough. He never felt safer than he did here, by your side. Somehow, in the middle of all this, he’d found his safe place.

His safe place.

“Try to get some sleep while I drive,” Beomgyu's unable to look away—you were right there in front of him, so effortlessly beautiful it made his heart ache. The soft curve of your cheeks, the faint flush that he couldn’t stop staring at—he wanted to reach out, to brush his lips against them, to trace the tip of your nose with his own.

In the short time he’d been alone with you—just forty-eight hours—it felt like he’d known you a lifetime. Like you’d been waiting there all along, someone he was meant to find. He wants to know more.

“Yeah, sleep. Sure.” He replies, words catching in his throat.

You’ve been driving for a while now. Beside you, Beomgyu was fast asleep, his soft snores fill your ears. A faint smile tugged at your lips as you glanced over, his head resting against the window, one hand tucked beneath it like a pillow.

The camp was close, maybe 15 minutes away. Just 15 more minutes before you’d be separated from him. The thought twisted something deep in your chest. Selfish. You knew it was selfish to feel this way. You barely knew him, and yet…

You glanced at him again, his face soft and unguarded in sleep. Everything else seemed to fade, the road ahead, the weight of your responsibilities, even the constant buzz of survival.

Survival.

Being with him didn’t feel like you were just trying to survive.

Him, who had no choice but to end up with you. You were about to leave that camp. You're already far. But when you saw him at that overrun camp, darting between tents with nothing but desperation and bad luck to shield him from the bandits, something inside you shifted. You just moved. Your feet carried you forward before your mind could catch up, before the voice of reason could stop you.

You didn’t know then that the next two days with him would chip away at the walls you’d built.

It was the little things, mostly. The way he insisted you eat first, even when food was scarce. The way he handed you the best parts of the military rations. How he seemed to know when the weight of the barn still lingered in your mind, distracting you with his terrible jokes or a question just long enough to pull you out of it. Or how he’d ask if you’d slept okay, like it mattered in a world where nothing really did.

And that smile he gives you... so easy, so genuine, even when there was no reason for it. Like he just couldn’t help himself. But now, it was ending. It had to end. You have to end it.

You tightened your grip on the wheel, staring hard at the road ahead. This was the right thing to do, the smart thing. You’d get him to safety, to people who could take care of him better than you ever could.

He didn’t belong out here with you, and you didn’t belong anywhere.

Survival.

There's nothing more that terrified you.

You spot the camp, Jeonju. It’s much bigger, with sturdy railings circling the perimeter to keep the infected out. The car rolls closer, the guards stationed on top of the walls notice you. A blinding floodlight clicks on. You know what that means: get out and identify yourselves.

“Beomgyu,” you say, shaking him awake. “We’re here. Wake up, dumbass.”

“Huh? Oh,” he mutters, the light strike his face. “Got it.”

“We’ll leave our stuff in the car for now. We just need to head up there and check in.” He nods, following your lead as you climb out. You raise both hands in the air, palms open. Beomgyu mimics you.

“State your business!” one of the guards calls down from the wall.

Before you can answer, you notice movement out of the corner of your eye. An infected, shambling closer, too close to Beomgyu. You’re already moving, boots hitting the dirt as you drive your foot into its chest and plunge your knife into its skull.

You step back into position, brushing some blood off your sleeve. “Park Y/N!” you shout up at the guard. “I report directly to Captain Joon. I’ve got Choi Beomgyu with me, a rescued civilian.”

You waited for ten minutes, at most.

The gates creak open, the panels sliding apart to reveal three soldiers stepping out, their rifles at the ready. One of them freezes, his eyes going wide. “That’s really Y/N from the Black Berets.”

You ignore his outburst, your gaze cool as it shifts to his badge. “Can we go in now, Ji-min?”

The soldiers straighten instantly, snapping salutes in your direction. Two of them move toward the car, offering to grab your supplies. You give them a curt nod before turning to Beomgyu, only to find him already looking at you, his eyes questioning.

“Is my team here?” you ask the soldier who stayed behind.

“Yes,” You glance back at Beomgyu. His stare now answered. Without another word, you both start to walk toward the gate.

Beomgyu’s eyes widened, his breath unstable after he spotted the four figures waiting inside. They were here. They were really here.

Before he could fully process it, Soobin’s tall frame sprinted toward him, Yeonjun and Taehyun close behind. He barely noticed you stepping aside to give them space, his entire focus locked on his brothers. The first embrace hit him like a floodgate bursting. Strong arms pulled him in, and the dam he’d tried so hard to hold together crumbled. He buried his face into the familiar comfort of Soobin’s shoulder, trying desperately not to sob. He had missed them. They had never left his mind, not once.

“Choi Beomgyu,” Soobin said, pulling back just enough to look at him. “Are you okay?”

Yeonjun’s hand came up to gently ruffle his hair, a comforting gesture that made the lump in Beomgyu’s throat harder to swallow. “You’re not hurt, right?”

Beomgyu shook his head, sniffling as he wiped at his face.

“You took your time,” Taehyun teased with a small smile. “Sorry we couldn't wait for you back there. It's impossible to get to you, but we really tried.”

“It does not matter,” Beomgyu replied quickly, “Wait—where’s Kai?”

“He’s not here yet,” Soobin admitted, voice pained. “But one of the soldiers saw him escaping with someone else, a soldier. They said he made it out.”

“That ambush was insane,” Beomgyu nodded, even his heart ached. He had to hold onto hope. Kai was strong, he’d make it. Maybe tomorrow, or the day after, Kai would walk through those gates too.

A sudden panic shot through him, his head snapping to the side. “What’s wrong?”

Beomgyu eyes scanned the cluster of soldiers nearby. Where are you? He finally spotted you, standing with Captain Joon. The older man looked serious, but there was a warmth in his demeanor as he clapped a hand on your shoulder. You said something to him, your expression calm. Captain Joon’s face softened, and for a moment, it looked like he wanted to pull you into an embrace.

“She’s been with you this whole time?” Yeonjun asked, surprised.

“Since the start,”

Soobin doesn’t wait. He steps forward, taking Beomgyu by the arm as Yeonjun and Taehyun fall in beside them. Together, the four approach you. You don't have time to register what’s happening before Soobin wraps his arms around you in a unexpected hug.

“Thank you,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for bringing him back to us.”

You glance over Soobin’s shoulder, catching Beomgyu’s gaze. He’s watching you, his eyes soft and full of something unspoken—a warmth that makes your chest tighten. You manage a small smile in return, the corners of your lips curving just enough to acknowledge him. He gives back a grin, that makes his dimple appear.

Gently patting Soobin on the back, you step away. “How are you holding up?” you ask,“I heard Kai’s not here yet. But with Ji-ho looking out for him, I know he’ll make it. He’s capable.”

Your words seem to ease the tension in the group. Soobin nods, his shoulders relaxing slightly. Yeonjun offers a faint smile, and even Taehyun pats your shoulder.

“We’re managing,” Soobin says. “Just waiting to hear what Hybe’s next steps are.”

Captain Joon appeared beside you, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “You’ve done enough for today,” he says. “Go wash up. Dinner will be ready soon.”

Beomgyu trails behind the other three, footsteps slower, reluctant. He looks back over his shoulder, at the direction you went—away from him, toward your own assigned space. This camp is massive, lined with rows of tents in all shapes and sizes, yet somehow, even with so many people around, Beomgyu feels unmoored without you nearby.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. You’ll need to change the bandage on your shoulder soon. He knows that, just like he knows you probably won’t bother unless someone reminds you. It’s always him who keeps track, who insists on helping you replace the worn-out wraps.

“Here’s your room,” Taehyun points to the tent ahead. Beomgyu steps inside, placing his things near the bed. It’s small but better, an actual mattress and even a tiny bathroom. He crouches by his bag, pulling out a fresh set of clothes for after his shower.

He tugs off his shirt, fingers brushed against the knife strapped to his belt. Slowly, he unhooks it, focuses on the small engraving on the handle.... your name, etched deep into the worn metal. Would you want it back? Probably. The thought makes his pout, because he doesn’t want to let it go. Not yet.

He crosses the room and sets the knife carefully on the small table, almost tenderly, like it's an object meant for something more delicate than killing.

He showers with his heart feeling impossibly heavy.

Your hair was still damp from the shower, clinging to your neck as you ran a towel through it. Tugging a fresh pair of cargo pants up your hips, you reached for your shirt.

“You should always keep it wrapped as long as it’s not healed yet.” His voice echoed in your mind, unbidden.

“Fucking Choi Beomgyu,” you muttered, shaking your head as you grabbed the roll of bandages from the small supply pile nearby. “Always so annoying.”

Your fingers worked quickly, wrapping the fresh bandage around your shoulder. The wound looked much better now. Once you were satisfied it was comfortable, you pulled your shirt over your head and stepped out of your tent.

Your stomach growled in response with the smeel of cooking. A warm meal, finally. “Y/N!”

You turned at the sound of Yeonjun’s voice. He waved you over, seated with their small group near one of the campfires. Several other campfires are on the open space with large pots of food simmered over flames. “Sit down here,” Yeonjun offered, patting the spot on the log beside him.

You took the seat, extending your hands toward the warmth of the fire. Across, your eyes met Beomgyu’s. He was seated opposite you, quiet for once, his gaze flickering away as soon as it met yours.

Yeonjun handed you a steaming bowl of soup, carefully scooped from the pot. “Fill up. It’s good,” he said with a grin.

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking the bowl into your hands. You reached for a spoon, Soobin beat you to it, holding one out.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Let me know if you need seconds.”

You cleared your throat, a little thrown off by the casual care they offered. It wasn’t something you were used to.

The conversation around the fire swirled, voices rising and falling as they swapped stories. You ate in silence, letting the warmth of the meal soothe you. It had been so long since you’d had something like this. But one person wasn’t talking much. Beomgyu.

You coughed—ate a little too fast, the food catching in your throat. It has only been a second when a water bottle was offered.

“Drink up,” Beomgyu said, already twisting the cap off for you. He reached for your bowl, holding it steady so you could take the bottle from his hand. You took a sip, the cool water easing the discomfort. “Thanks,” you muttered.

“That’s right, Beomgyu,” Taehyun teased, smirking. “Take care of her. I’m sure she had to drag your sorry ass out there.”

“She did not!” Beomgyu blurted, his ears turning red.

“Oh, I bet she carried you on her back,” Yeonjun chimed in, clearly enjoying himself.

“What? No way!”

“You probably teased her the whole time,” Taehyun added, grinning.

“I didn’t—”

“What a baby,” Soobin finished with a dramatic shake of his head.

Their teasing bounced around the fire, growing louder. Mixed with exaggerated groans as playful shoves sent shoulders bumping on the log seats. Beomgyu, red-faced and clearly at his limit, stomped his foot on the ground in mock frustration.

You couldn’t help it; a laugh escaped you, small at first but growing. You quickly covered your mouth with the back of your hand, your shoulders shaking as you tried to stifle it.

Beomgyu's wide eyes locked on you. You laughed. You finally fucking laughed. He feels his heart about to burst at the sweet sound.

“Oh-ho, look at her!” Soobin exclaimed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “The stress must’ve caught up with her. This is your fault, Choi Beomgyu!”

"Choi Soobin, you shi—," Beomgyu sputtered in protest, and more laughter joined with you.

It had been a week since that night by the fire. A week since Beomgyu arrived at the camp with you, and a week since he last saw you laugh like that. He could still picture it, your face by the warm glow of the fire, the soft orange light making you look almost ethereal. Did you know how exquisite you look when your eyes crinkle with joy?

“Did you cut the vegetables, Beomgyu?” Yeonjun asked him as he pointed at the makeshift kitchen in the camp.

“Yeah, I did,” he replied, tossing the emptied cans into the trash. He’d offered to handle it, trying to distract himself.

Hybe still hadn’t contacted the military about their group, so they’d started helping around. The soldiers were reluctant at first, but Soobin had talked them into it. Now, they pitched in with small domestic tasks, delivering freshly laundered clothes from the women who washed them, cutting vegetables for the large communal meals, anything to stay useful. Beomgyu learned there were about forty-five people at the camp: nine civilians like them, eleven workers, and twenty-five soldiers.

It had been a week since you’d spoken to him. A week since you’d even looked at him.

Beomgyu tried. He really did.

He’d tried to reach out. He started waking up early—a feat for him, someone who once detested mornings—he’d wait by the path, knowing it was your routine to jog at first light. But the moment he saw you, stretching with Do-hyun under the rising sun, his courage crumbled. Feet rooted to the spot, unable to move closer. He tried during meals too, sweeping his eyes on the tables, hoping to sit with you, but every time their group arrived, you were already standing, tray in hand, heading somewhere he could not follow.

He even lingered around the grounds, pretending to have something to do. Sometimes, he felt a pair of eyes on him, heart leaping at the possibility it was you, but when he looked up, the space was empty. Eventually, he’d retreat to his tent, his shoulders heavy with defeat.

It felt like you were avoiding him. Ignoring him. Do you hate him? Did he do something wrong?

He lay awake most nights, staring at the canvas ceiling of his tent, replaying your moments together over and over. He could still feel the warmth of your hands. The memory of you in his arms, how perfectly you fit in it. Were you okay? Was your shoulder healing as it should? Were you eating enough? Sleeping well? Had he already become invisible to you? What is he to you anyway? A friend? Do you even consider him as one?

“You’ve been out of it these past days, Beomgyu.” Yeonjun’s voice broke into his thoughts, accompanied by a firm hand on his shoulder. His eyes searched Beomgyu’s face, concern evident. “What’s troubling you?”

“Nothing, I…” Beomgyu’s voice cracked as he tried to answer. He swallowed hard, looking away. “I guess I’m just… more tired than usual.”

“If you need to talk, let me know, okay?”

"When are you going to talk to him?" Do-hyun asked, breathless, as you pulled him to his feet after knocking him down for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. The moon guides your makeshift sparring circle. You hadn’t planned to spar with him; it just happened. Restless, you’d found yourself outside his tent, knocking like a ghost haunting its own grave.

You released his hand abruptly, stepping back at his words. “Let’s go again,” you said, more to yourself than to him.

Without waiting for a reply, you charged, throwing a closed fist at his right side. He dodged it easily, his laughter breaking the tense silence.

“You know, you’re way less terrifying when you’re distracted,” he teased, grinning at the glare you shot him. “Seriously, Y/N? How long are you gonna keep ignoring the boy? The guy’s trying so hard it’s starting to make me feel bad. If it were me, I’d have fumbled already—”

Before he could finish, you grabbed him by the neck, locking him in a chokehold. “I t-tap out! Fuck! You're going to kill me.” he wheezed, coughing as you let him go. He stumbled back, rubbing his neck. “Shit, I forgot how strong your grip is. For real, how are you not a man?” You didn’t respond. Instead, you wiped the sweat from your forehead, glancing at the clock. It was nearing 11 p.m.

“Reject the kid already, will you? Do him a favor so he can move on.” Do-hyun muttered, reaching for his water bottle. “You cold-ass woman.”

“He’s not a kid,” you said finally, your voice low but firm. Grabbing a towel, you wiped the sweat from your face. “He’s almost my age.”

“Sure,” Do-hyun replied, watching you closely as you drank from your water bottle, to the bags under your eyes. “Not sleeping again?”

You shook your head, capping the bottle and tossing it aside. “It’s harder these days.”

“I know,” he said, softer now. “But you’ve gotta try. I need to head out anyway, errands tomorrow. And honestly, I can’t take more knockouts from you. Have mercy.”

“Idiot,” you muttered, smirking despite yourself.

“You’re the idiot for ignoring—” You didn’t let him finish, rolling your eyes as you turned and headed for your tent. A quick shower later, you were lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The camp quiet, your mind was anything but. Frowning, you closed your eyes, waiting for sleep to come.

It never did.

Beomgyu tossed onto his right side again, the thin mattress beneath him groaning in protest. He lost count of how many times he'd shifted since lying down, each movement more restless than the last.

His chest felt tight, like his heart was pounding against some invisible weight. He sat up, running a hand through his messy hair in frustration. His gaze wandered aimlessly, landing on the small table by his bedside. He froze.

Polaroids.

The universe must be mocking him for missing you this much. Did he really need more reminders?

He inhaled deeply, the sound sharp in the quiet of his tent. Standing abruptly, he began pacing, his feet brushing against the worn canvas floor as a single question churned in his mind: Should I see her? His eyes flicked to the clock—11:28 p.m. Were you even awake? But then, what difference did it make? Another night of lying there, drowning in this ache, wasn’t an option. He just needed something: your face, your voice, anything.

That’s what he told himself as he stopped pacing, turning toward the small mirror propped against the tent’s corner. His reflection stared back, dishevelled and vulnerable in a way he hadn’t let himself feel in years. He raked his hands through his hair, trying to smooth it out, What the hell are you doing? he thought bitterly. You’re an idol for god’s sake.

But then again, you were… a goddess. And right now, none of the titles, pressure, his previous job or self-doubt mattered. It doesn't matter if you'll kick him out as soon as you see him.

What mattered was seeing you.

He stopped just short of your tent, staring at the outline of it. His breath hitched, and his body betrayed him as he turned away, a cowardly retreat already forming in his mind. But he only made it three steps before he falter, his fists clenching at his sides. No. Not tonight.

He turned back, counting the seconds in his head. He rehearsed the words he’d been forming for days now, words that felt too small for what he really wanted to say but would have to do. This had to count. It had to—

“I can see you out there, you know. What do you want?” The sound of your voice sent a panic through him. You sounded tired, a little annoyed. The shadows must have given him away, his pacing back and forth casting restless shapes against the thin fabric of your tent. “Do-hyun?”

“It’s… Beomgyu,” He countered quickly, the way you said another man’s name at this hour unsettling him more than it should. Silence. He braced himself for rejection, for the possibility that you’d tell him to go, that he's insane to be here at this hour, or that you didn’t want to see him.

But the truth is, your eyes are wide inside. He’s insane. What is he doing here? Why now? You stand up slowly, your fingers brushing the edge of your blanket. You can’t turn him away now. It’s too obvious. “Come in.”

Beomgyu that stood outside your tent, hand unstable when he finally pushed the flap aside. The sudden rush of light revealed you, standing there, your eyes locking onto his. For a minute, he forgot how to breathe. His eyes on your face like he was trying to memorize every line, every shadow. “Hi,” he said, it wasn’t how he had planned to start, but it was all he could manage.

You instinctively stepped behind, folding your arms across your chest as a barrier. “What is it?” You looked away, unable to meet his eyes. They were too much—too deep, too brown.

"Are you mad at me?" Beomgyu's voice wavers, cracking slightly as the words spill out. All those rehearsed lines, the ones he'd turned over in his head a thousand times, crumble into this raw, unpolished question.

"I-I— you’ve been ignoring me, Y/N. Don’t even try to deny it." His voice rises, “I called— I even called you out there twice, and I know you heard me.” He pauses, the lump in his throat refuses to go away. "Did I… do something? Something that made you mad at me?" The words are choked, his voice barely above a whisper now.

His eyes—glassy, rimmed red—look at you—he’s holding back tears; you can tell by the way his lips tremble slightly, the way he bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. But despite it all, he doesn’t look away. He can’t.

Not when he’s missed you this much.

"Beomgyu, whatever you think is between us," you let your arms fall limply to your sides, "it's nothing. This… this is just a mission. Soon, everything will go back to where it belongs." You pause, your words deliberate, heavy. "And we’ll never see each other again."

His eyebrows knit, disbelief etched his face. "Who decides that? Who says that?"

You exhale sharply, the weight of your own words pressing down on your chest. "It’s just how it is. That’s how it’s always been. You should surround yourself with people like you."

"I—" he starts, but you cut him off before he can unravel any further.

"Stop this." Your tone hardens, more defensive than you intend, but it’s the only way to protect yourself. "Don’t talk to me again, Beomgyu. Don’t seek me out. If you’re just… grateful for what happened, fine. I’ll accept that. And if you feel guilty about it?" Your voice cracks slightly, but you push through, "Then maybe… maybe you can pay me back someday. In the future."

Beomgyu’s lips trembled as he fought for his next words, his hands shaking. “Then tell me. Tell me, straight to my face, looking in my eyes, that you didn’t feel anything. That you don’t feel anything for me. That you’ll never like me, no matter what I do. Even if I…” His voice broke, a tear slipping down his cheek. “Even if I die trying.”

Everything you’ve held back finally spill over, and your voice comes out in a shaky whisper. "Dumbass."

“You can’t,” he said softly, eyes tracing the fall of your tears.

“What are—”

"I think I'm in love with you," he says, voice breaking on his confession. "I'm in love with you that I wonder how the hell I lived without you all these years. I’m so glad I met you, did you know that? If I’d known, I’d have counted down the days—even marked my calendar stupidly—just to know you were waiting for me at the end of it. And if I had a choice to go back in time, to stop this apocalypse before it happened, I wouldn’t do a damn thing. Because I’d lose the chance to meet you. Here. As insane as it sounds," His voice shakes, but he pushes on, "I won’t—I won’t force you…. to like me. That’s not what I want. But would it be selfish of me to ask you to stop acting like I'm not here? Like you don’t know me? I can’t…" He hiccups, shoulders shaking. "I just want to be part of your life, Y/N."

His words made you take a step forward, your hands trembling as you cup his tear-streaked face. He flinches at first, but then he melts into your touch, his breathing uneven. “I’m afraid,” you admitted, your voice breaking, freckles on his face evident with his face bare. “I’ll ruin you. I’ll ruin your life. I'm a fucking ruined person. Can’t you see that?”

"I see you more than you see yourself," His hands come up to cover yours, gripping them tightly as though letting go would mean losing you. "You're a fucking angel."

You sobbed at his words. Angel. The word echoed in your head,  a word so unfamiliar. How could someone as shattered as you ever be called that? How could Beomgyu see anything but the cracks, the mess? How could someone this real... exist? Is he even real? A dream? Or is he just a figment of your imagination, conjured up in your darkest moments to give you false hope?

Your tears fall faster, and Beomgyu panics, own heart breaking at the sight of you crying. Gently, he lets go of your hands and slides his up your arms, his touch featherlight, moves slowly, as though afraid he might hurt you, tracing his way to your shoulders, then your neck, until his fingers cradle your face.

“Who would’ve guessed that you’re a crybaby too?” he whispered, his voice uneven but with affection. He steps closer, wrapping you in his arms, pulling your unstable form against his chest. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, your sobs muffled against his warmth.

You feel it—all the longing, all the sleepless nights spent thinking about him. The ache of holding yourself back every time you see him from afar—waiting for you, searching for you. He holds you.

He holds you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. One hand caresses the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, while the other keeps you pressed against him. He presses soft, baby kisses to the side of your head, whispering. "Y/N,"

You stepped back slightly from his embrace, but Beomgyu’s hands stayed on your face, his thumbs softly brushing against your skin. He smiled, and you wondered how could a single expression hold so much, and somehow, make everything hurt a little less? You swallowed the lump in your throat. Maybe, just maybe, you could have this.

Even if it was only for tonight.

You rose onto your tiptoes, and leaned in. Closing your eyes, you pressed your lips to his—a fleeting, tentative kiss that barely lasted a second. It was quick, and when you pulled back, you were met with his wide eyes staring down at you, stunned. He hadn’t even had time to close them.

For a moment, neither of you moved. His eyes half-closed, his hands tightened slightly on your face, and before you could say anything, he leaned down, pulling you back in.

This time, he kissed you. He tilted his head just enough to fit against you perfectly, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that made your knees weak. His grip on your face was firm, his tounge grazing your lips—a soft plea—asking for entrance. You let him in, letting him taste you as you tasted him.

Both of you pull back, breaths heavy. A delicate string of saliva still connects your lips, breaking as Beomgyu takes a step forward more, his eyes locked on yours, "I want you."

You nod, reaching for him, your fingers curling around his arm to pull him back into you. "We have to be quiet."

His hands find your waist, fingers dip beneath the hem of your shirt. He lifts it, the fabric brushing over your skin, exposing the softness and heat of your bare waist to his touch. His palms glide over your skin.

You found yourself on your back, on the softness of your mattress, his weight settled on top of you. Delicate and warm. His hand grasps your thigh and he hoist it up his waist. “Please kiss me.” He murmurs into your mouth.

Your tongue brushes his, and he squeezes your thigh. He returns it, seeking your bottom lip to lightly suck on it. Your hands are up his shirt and he starts tugging down your loose pants. He shakily runs a finger between your legs and you inhale sharply. He rubs you, the feel of you soft, so good. He spreads you apart and gently caresses your clit. And you’re so fucking wet. He can't help but give a light sensual pinch. "Beomgyu," you moan on his lips. Made his heart flutter.

Your breathing is harsher and he looks at your pretty face as he shoves his middle finger in you, touching you is enough for him. He looks at you, wanting to see every expression you make. He’s going to fuck you until you cum all over his dick and then he’ll do it again. Until you don't doubt whatever this is. Until you won't be able to think about leaving him anymore.

He fumbles with your remaining clothes, taking his time as if savouring every second. It’s slower than you expected, partly because he keeps grabbing your face, pulling you into deep, heated kisses that leave you breathless.

Your hands help him get out of his shirt, pulls it over his head, his hair falling over his forehead prettily. He leans down and kisses you, hands grab your hair and roam your body, his mouth does the same. Your face, your neck, your shoulder blades. "You're beautiful,"

He kisses down your chest and you run your fingers through his now much longer hair. He licks your nipple and your breath hitched. He bites gently, then bites harder and your back arches, he suckles, then lick. He does it again and again, to your left and right, giving them enough attention. He hears you moan, smirks at your skin and he keeps wanting to hear it.

He goes down further, kisses down and the smell of you is divine. His face hovers and with his fingers he spreads you apart. He swallows, salivating. He sticks his tongue out, lightly licking your clit. He buries his face in, tongue inside, hands on your hips. "Shit, you taste so sweet, could eat this all day," He groans, lapping up, sucks the arousal out of you. He moves up, nose bumping on your clit then he suckles. His dick is throbbing at the way you taste. Your hands pull his hair, and he feels you down on his chin. He was leaving no parts untouched by his warm mouth.

Going back to you, looking at your face, he bows his head. “Kiss me.”

You pull his head down and kiss him, he slides right in and you cry out. "Fuck, you're so tight," He kisses you while he trusts in and out, your moans muffled on his mouth. "You feel so good," Your nails on his back scrape and he thrusts, hard, and keeps himself all the way in and you squirm under him, feeling you coming close.

"More, gyu." You whine out, legs gripping his warm waist as you pull him closer. He did, trust becoming faster, hitting the spot that made you moan out his name. He repositions himself deeper inside you, pressing you into the mattress, his free hand reaching for your clit, rubs lightly. "M'close," Then you felt it, the warm fuzzy feeling, the rush, almost blinding, the warmth of his arms and the softness of his whispered name on your lips that brought tears to your eyes. His own cum mixing with yours.

He smiled down at you, his lips quirking in a soft, almost shy grin as he took in your fucked-out expression. “I love you,” he whispered. He can't help himself.

The faint sound of running water filled the room as he disappeared for a second, and you assumed he was cleaning himself up. When he returned, his pants sit low on his hips, his chest still bare, and in his hand, he holds a warm, damp cloth.

Your eyes follow him as he approaches, his eyes filled with so much love it made your chest ache. He kneels beside you, his touch was careful as he ran the cloth over your skin, wiping away, cleaning you up. He worked slowly, keeping one of his hand holding your own, focus entirely on you.

When he was done, he looked up at you with that same soft smile, his eyes searching yours. You feel your own lips curve in response, reaching out to touch his flushed cheeks, your fingers brushing against his warm skin. The simple touch makes his smile widen into a boyish grin. His grin burned into the back of your mind. He holds you. He holds your heart too.

I love you too.

The warm rays of the morning sun seeped through the thin walls of the tent, casting a golden glow over the room. Dust motes floated in the light, drifting toward the tangled mess of blankets wrapped around your body.

It was the best sleep you’d had in a long time. You didn’t even remember falling asleep. A yawn slipped past your lips as you stretched your arms, rolling over to the other side.

You weren't alone.

Beomgyu.

He looked so peaceful when he slept, his features soft and unguarded. The sunlight kissed his skin, giving it a honeyed glow, and his hair fell messily over his forehead, looking impossibly touchable. The blanket on his side was pushed low, revealing that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. His pale chest and neck were scattered with faint love bites, marks you had left there. His lips were slightly parted, and he looked so utterly…. serene, it made your chest swell.

You reached out, your fingers gently comb his hair. “Beomgyu,” you murmured softly.

"Hm?" He hummed.

You smiled, and he returned it—his smile lazy, but somehow brighter than the sunlight spilling into the room. “Hi, baby,” he greeted,

"It's morning,"

He groaned lightly, shifting closer to you. “I think… we should stay here,” he mumbled, his voice raspy and slow, as though speaking was too much effort. He moved until he was pressed against you, his head resting on your bare chest as he planted soft, sleepy kisses against your skin.

“I have things to do, you know,” you protested lightly, though you made no move to stop him. Instead, you let your arms encircle him, cradling his head. His hand slid beneath the blanket, settling on the small of your back, familiar against your bare skin.

“Wake up,” you poked his cheek with your finger.

He parted his lips and let out an exaggerated, snore that startled a laugh out of you. “Idiot,” you said, shaking your head, though the fondness in your tone betrayed you. “I’ll give you an hour. After that, Captain Joon is going to start looking for me.”

"Let him look,"  Beomgyu groaned, burying his face deeper into your chest like a stubborn child. “But why is he always looking for you?”

“Because he’s my captain, you twat,” you replied, pinching his cheeks. “And, oh yeah, he’s my father.”

“What!?” Beomgyu shot up, his eyes now wide open and his sleepiness completely forgotten.

“Well, my adoptive father," Beomgyu’s eyes softened instantly at the word adoptive. He didn’t press, but his silence, the slight tilt of his head, was an invitation to continue if you were ready.

“Yeah, so, uh…” You swallowed hard, your fingers fidgeting slightly. “My parents were both special forces soldiers. When they were on a mission—a spy operation—they… they didn’t make it back. I was five.”His hand found yours, his fingers squeezing gently.

“I was sent to an orphanage after that,” you continued, your voice steadier now. "I was there for a few years. Then, when I was ten, Captain Joon showed up out of nowhere. Turns out, he was my dad’s best friend. He adopted me. Took me in like I was his own.”

Beomgyu nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “How did you end up being a soldier?” he asked softly.

A bittersweet smile tugged at your lips. “I guess it was always in me,” you admitted. “Even as a kid. Captain Joon saw that too. I was… kind of wild. Always getting into trouble at school... detentions, fights. I couldn’t stand bullies, even when they weren’t targeting me. I’d step in, no matter the cost.” You paused, letting out a quiet laugh. “It got worse when I got older. One time, I was walking home, and this group of older boys jumped me. They were bigger, stronger… I didn’t stand a chance. Captain Joon saw what happened, and after that, he decided to put me somewhere I couldn’t get hurt like that anymore. He took me with him, in a military camp.”

Your fingers brushed the hem of the blanket, your voice growing quieter. “I officially became a soldier when I was seventeen. Got into the Black Berets a year later.”

Beomgyu traced the line of your jaw with his fingers, his gentle touch made the words come easier.

“The time you asked me how old I was when I started…” You hesitated, but his intertwined hands with yours encouraged you to continue. “I got rude because… that question was asked of me once before. By someone. He was bitten by the infected, and I—” Your voice cracked, “I ended up killing him.”

You couldn’t meet his eyes, couldn’t bear the thought of seeing judgment, or worse, pity, staring back at you, but Beomgyu didn’t let you hide. His hands cupped your face, tilting it up until your eyes met his.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said, “He’s not suffering anymore.”

Your eyes shimmered with unshed tears as you nodded. He wrapped his arms around you, guiding your head to rest against his chest. No words were spoken. For minutes, you stayed like that, listening to the thump of his heart against yours, a language of its own.

"I should probably be more careful around Captain Joon,” Beomgyu said out of nowhere, trying to lighten the mood.

You laughed, arms around you holding you closer. When he noticed you staring at him, he tilted his head slightly, his expression playful. “What? Too handsome?”

“Pfft,” you snorted. “Androgynous.” He whined dramatically, leaning in to pepper your face with kisses. You tried to push him away, laughing as he chased your retreating lips.

“Who would’ve thought,” he murmured, “that I’d fall in love with the prettiest girl at the end of the world?”

The words brought heat to your cheeks, and you turned your face away to hide the blush. “Okay, that’s enough,” you said, slipping out of his hold and reaching for the first shirt you could find, it was his.

He sat up too, watching you pull his shirt over your body. The hem brushed your thighs, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He gathers your hair that had gotten caught under the shirt, his fingers brushing against your neck. "I need to shower, Beomgyu."

"Can I join you? You know, to save water," He immediately quips. You smirk, your eyes meeting his before you give him a subtle nod. That tiny gesture is all it takes for his heart to race, he’s sure you can hear it.

In fact, there was barely any washing done.

Beomgyu finally steps out of your tent, though it took more convincing from you than it probably should have.

You’re still inside, safe from the prying eyes. The sun is higher now, casting everything in a harsh light. He squints, adjusting to the brightness, and immediately spots a few soldiers milling about nearby.

His stomach drops. If any of them so much as glance his way, they’ll know exactly where he just came from. Your tent. The only woman’s tent in a unit of 25 soldiers.

He keeps his head down, heat creeping up his neck and to his ears as he feels the unseen stares. The scenario playing out like an idol dating scandal and dispatch is about to break the story of his life.

Choi Beomgyu, caught sneaking out of her tent at sunrise, he imagines the headline, biting back a groan. He quickens his pace, muttering to himself, "I’m so dead."

"Hold up."

A firm hand clamped down on Beomgyu's shoulder, halting his little walk of shame. His eyes widened as he turned, meeting the sharp gaze of Do-hyun. The older soldier’s eyes flicked back toward your tent—just six steps behind him—then back to Beomgyu’s freshly washed hair.

"And here I was, starting to feel sorry for you," Do-hyun said with a smirk. Beomgyu barely had time to stammer out a response before the tent flap rustled, and you stepped out.

"Do-hyun," Beomgyu glanced at you briefly, but you didn't meet his eyes, locked on Do-hyun instead. "Let’s go, yeah?" you asked, a pointed glare following the words.

Do-hyun chuckled, lifting his hands in mock surrender as he stepped back, releasing Beomgyu. "Sure, sure," he said, his smirk softening into something less smug.

The two of you walked off, leaving Beomgyu standing there, you glance back at him, catching a glimpse of his warm, flustered expression. Do-hyun caught it, muttering, "You’ve got him wrapped around your… finger,"

You didn’t even break stride, your foot shot out, connecting with his shin. Do-hyun yelped, doubling over, he clutched his leg. "Ow! Damn it, I was kidding!"

Beomgyu finally exhales when his tent comes into view, relief flooding his chest. He thought he was in the clear, until he steps inside and sees his three brothers waiting for him.

"Where the fuck were you?" Beomgyu knows he’s not getting out of this easily. This is going to be a long talk.

Beomgyu tells them. Everything. He leaves out the more private details—of course, he does. Some things are just for him to know. He starts from the beginning, telling them, that he just… fell in love with you.

The room goes quiet for a beat before Soobin steps forward, wrapping him in a hug, his voice soft. "Our little Beomgyu’s growing up," he says, sniffing dramatically.

Taehyun follows with a few firms pats on Beomgyu’s back, his smile warm. Yeonjun, leaning casually against the tent post, grins and shakes his head. "You lucky bastard," he teases, but there’s nothing but happiness in his voice.

The four of them embrace, there's a gap in their circle—a place reserved for someone who isn’t there yet but will be soon.

The day passed with a warmth in your chest, fueled by stealing stares and fleeting touches from Beomgyu.

Lunch was a lively affair, shared with Do-hyun, Eun-woo, Beom-seok, Yeonjun, Soobin, and Taehyun. The meal was filled with teasing banter, laughter cutting through the usual hum of camp life. Eun-woo’s soft pats on Beomgyu’s back and Beom-seok’s subtle nods didn’t go unnoticed, they were quiet acknowledgments.

Now, you walk toward the largest tent with your three teammates by your side. Beomgyu’s heated kiss still burns on your lips, the warmth of it fresh, even though it happened only an hour ago. — Captain Joon has called an unexpected night meeting, one that made Beomgyu pout as he agrees to wait at your tent. 

The four of you step inside and salute, standing at attention until the captain’s familiar command: "Sit down."

The scene is one you’ve known many times before. Yet, there are absences that can't be ignored. Ji-ho, reporting in via radio, assures that he’ll be here soon with Huening Kai. — And Seo-jun.

“A brand-new mission for us,” Captain Joon announces, his eyes with a glimmer of hope rarely seen these days. “Word is there’s a doctor working on the possibility of a cure. And since Jeonju camp is the most stable for now, he’ll need assistance. This is the most critical priority, and we’ll be the ones handling it.”

Murmurs ripple through the group, surprised with cautious optimism. A cure, it sounds almost too good to be true. You let out a slow breath of relief, the faintest ember of hope flickering in your chest. Maybe, just maybe, humanity has a chance this time.

“We’re leaving in a few,” Captain Joon continues, his voice firm. “No time to waste.”

When you reach your tent, Beomgyu is already seated, and waiting. The moment he sees you, he stands, and you stride toward him without wasting any second, pressing your lips to his in a kiss he immediately melts into, “Are you okay?” he asks softly when you pull away, hands finding your waist.

“Hmm.” You nod, leaning into his embrace, arms wrapping around him. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “We’re leaving now. Mission came in.”

Beomgyu stiffens. “Right now?"

“Yes.”

“O-okay.” His voice falters, and he swallows hard.

“It might take a while,” you admit, your hands sliding up to cup his face as you look into his wide, searching eyes. “It’s pretty far out, and I—”

“Come back to me safely,” he interrupts, his hands cradle your face. His thumbs gently brush your cheeks. “You don’t have a choice.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. You nod, "I promise.” Reaching up, you unclasp your dog tag, holding it carefully in your hands before slipping it around his neck. His eyes never leave yours, he watches you secure the chain.

“I’ll see you soon,”

He holds you.

It’s been two days since you left, and Beomgyu sits at the table, pushing his food around more than eating it. His mind keeps drifting back to you. The weight of your necklace around his neck is comforting but it reminds him you’re not here. He sighs.

“There's a car coming!” someone shouts from the outer courtyard. Beomgyu’s head snaps up, his heart skipping a beat. He’s out of his chair in an instant, sprinting toward the commotion, the rest of his members right on his heels. His breath comes fast, uneven, as he skids to a stop outside. His eyes widen, and for the first time in days, relief crashes over him.

“KAI!”

The four of them swarm the youngest member, nearly knocking him off his feet in their excitement. Kai’s laughter echoes through the courtyard as Soobin immediately bursts into tears, clinging to him like a lifeline. Beomgyu hugs him tightly, burying his face in his shoulder, while Yeonjun ruffles his hair affectionately. Taehyun, ever practical, starts inspecting Kai’s arms and legs for injuries.

Everything feels right. They’re together, whole. Now, he just needs you to get back here.

They fussed over Kai like he was the most fragile thing in the world, each of them trying to make up for lost time. Kai explained what happened, they had been trapped, which was why it took weeks to get here. But Ji-ho, just as you’d assured them before, had been capable. He’d taken care of Kai and somehow managed to get him back to them safely.

Later that night, Beomgyu was shuffling on his bed while Kai lounged comfortably nearby. It wasn’t long before the others would join them; Kai had pleaded for a sleepover with his brothers, saying he missed them too much to sleep alone. Of course, none of them could resist.

“Woah.” Kai says, and Beomgyu turned, pillow in hand, to see what had caught his attention. The younger was staring at the two Polaroids on Beomgyu’s bedside table, face lit with curiosity. “Is this real?”

“What, you think I photoshopped them or something?” Beomgyu laughed, a little sheepishly. He paused, before adding, “I took those with her… on the way here.”

Kai’s eyes flicked back to him, curious. “You’re together?”

“Yeah.” Beomgyu’s lips tugged into a shy smile. “She’s my girlfriend now.”

Kai’s grin was blinding, his low ponytail framed his face as he leaned closer to get another look at the photos. “She’s pretty. I’m really happy for you, Beomgyu.”

You step through the gates of Jeonju camp, your body aching. It’s been a month since you last saw this place—since you last saw him.

Your clothes are filthy, smeared with dirt and the blood of infected, but none of that matters now. The Doctor is alive, the cure is nearly complete, and your mission is done. You made it.

And then you see him.

Beomgyu is already running toward you, his eyes wide and filled with something that looks like disbelief, awe, love. You can’t stop the smile that breaks across your face, even as your legs wobble beneath you. You start running too, stumbling at first, but your body pushes through the pain, the rest of the world blurring into nothing.

When you reach him, he doesn’t hesitate. His arms wrap around you tightly, lifting you off the ground. He holds you close. You cling to him, shaking from exhaustion and adrenaline and the overwhelming relief of being home, of being with him.

Everyone stops to watch.

In a world so cruel, so damned, there’s something warm in the way two lovers find each other again.

A reminder to believe there’s still something worth fighting for.

"See you soon, and take care of yourself," Soobin leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. You nod, offering a small smile. "You too."

His lips curve into that familiar, reassuring smile as he hoists his backpack over his shoulder. "Y/N, stay safe," Taehyun says, stepping in to wrap you in a firm hug. You nod on his shoulders.

"Let’s have ramyeon soon, yeah?" Yeonjun chimes in, his usual playful grin lighting up his face. Without waiting for a reply, he grabs your face in his hands and plants a kiss on your forehead, mirroring Soobin. "I’ll cook for you," he adds confidently, pulling back but keeping his hands on your cheeks.

You can’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes. "Okay, Mr. Married to Ramyeon." He laughs too, giving your cheeks a playful pat before turning to follow Soobin and Taehyun onto the bus.

For a moment, you just stand there, watching the three of them board.

You turn to see Kai looking down at you, his expression shy. He pulls you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you with surprising strength. "I’ll miss you," he sings softly.

It’s been three months since the doctor arrived at Jeonju camp with you. A month later he was in, and the cure was complete. Those who received the shot stopped being targeted by the infected—it was as if the vaccine turned them invisible. No more running, no more hiding.

After countless tests and trial runs, the results were undeniable: 100% effective. The world is still far from healed. There’s so much to rebuild, so much left to do. But this vaccine, it’s a start.

And now, Hybe is taking them back. Back to the world they belong to. Back to the life they’d almost forgotten was possible.

A warm hand slips into yours, and you glance up to meet Beomgyu’s glassy stare. Your eyes flicker to his neck, your tags still hang there, glinting in the light. He holds your hands and lifts them to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to your palms without breaking eye contact.

“I promise to come back to you as soon as I can, okay?” he whispers, "I promise."

You know the truth.

You’ll never see him again.

You already have your orders, a mission overseas to distribute the cure, to spread it where it’s needed most. You don’t know when you’ll be back. Or if you’ll be back. The world finally has a chance, but your worlds were never meant to stay intertwined.

“Okay,” you say softly, forcing a small smile onto your lips. You’ll never wake up to the sound of his soft breaths against your skin again. You’ll never walk through the Daegu home he often described with so much warmth, never see the place where his happiest memories were made. A place he wants to go with you.

He’s an idol, a star shining too brightly for someone like you. A celebrity adored by millions. And you’re a soldier, bound by duty to serve your country. He deserves someone gentle, maybe an idol like him, or someone who fits seamlessly into his world. Someone who isn’t constantly called away to fight battles in far-off places.

It made you happy while it lasted.

This dream.

This borrowed time you had.

“I love you,” he says suddenly,, and then he’s kissing you. Once, twice—then a third time, slower. He kisses the tip of your nose, and you smile through the tears that blur your vision. You stare at him, taking in everything—the curve of his lips, the softness in his eyes, the way his hair falls... across his forehead. You try to commit it all to memory. “I love you so much,” he says, voice trembling as he cups your face.

“I love you too,”

YEAR 2030

You find yourself in the kitchen, humming softly as the news plays in the background. The aroma of spices and fresh herbs fills the space. You chop vegetables for tonight’s dinner, the rhythm of the task bringing you peace. You always find yourself great with knives, you suppose.

A smile spreads across your face as you feel it—a pair of hands, warm, gently caressing your stomach. A body presses against your back, and a soft breath grazes the curve of your neck. The scent of him surrounds you, and you don’t need to turn around to know who it is.

When you do turn, you’re met with his smile, the one that lights up his entire face, even as exhaustion lingers in his eyes. He looks like he just got home, probably rushing straight from practice, his hair still slightly damp from the shower. Without a word, he drops to one knee, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his cheek against your growing belly.

“I missed the both of you,” he whispers, voice soft and full of love.

You laugh, your hand moving to his hair, your fingers combing through the soft freshly bleached blonde strands. “I don’t think they can hear you yet, Gyu,” you tease gently, your smile tender. “I’m only five months along.”

He tilts his head up to look at you, his lips forming a playful pout that makes you giggle like you’re both still teenagers. Standing, he cups your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks, wedding band catches the light, whispering of the life you’ve built together. The life you thought was impossible. But he made it.

He made it possible.

If he wanted to—he would.

“I don’t care,” he says softly, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. Then your nose. And finally, your lips. His scent, his warmth, the way his heart beats against yours... he's home.

He holds you.

The only sound is the exchanged kisses and the faint murmur of the news on the television.

Following the record-breaking success of TOMORROW X TOGETHER’s latest comeback, member Beomgyu has surprised fans worldwide by releasing his first solo album, The Last Safe Place. The album, deeply supported by MOAs, has already sparked widespread buzz, not only for its musical brilliance but also for the heartfelt inspiration behind it: Beomgyu’s recent marriage.

“This album is a love letter, a reflection of the most meaningful chapter in my life,” Beomgyu shared. “It’s inspired by the warmth, comfort, and love I’ve found in my marriage. I wanted to capture the feeling of having someone to come home to after all the hardships, a place where your heart feels at peace, no matter what chaos the world throws at you.”

"Hey, you." he snapped his fingers at you, his chin held high as he looked down at your shorter frame. He looked you up and down, his eyes lingering on your old button-up shirt. You look up at him, tensing up as you sense his gaze on you.

"Don't tell me you're wearing... that..." the guy paused for a moment, staring at you with disgust evident in his eyes. "In my house?" he scoffed, blocking your entrance in from the front door.

You just stared back at him dumbfounded, this guys behaviour was unlike anything you've ever seen before—disgustingly arrogant. "But... but I—" you quickly got cut off, "Not another word out of your mouth. Your voice is annoying me." he said casually, crossing his arms over his chest even tighter.

You blinked, utterly confused. Is this guy supposed to be your stepbrother? You stood there, with your bags in your hand that was starting to ache from carrying heavy boxes all day. "I can't believe my mother remarried to such a loser. Seems like you take after your dad, pathetic." he smirked triumphantly, seeing the confusion and shock written all over your face. You let out a choked laugh in response, unsure wether to slap him across the face or keep quiet.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Welcome to my house, pathetic idiot." he chuckles at himself, stepping aside to let you in the house. You walk in cautiously, just to get tripped by the arrogant guys foot.

"Ouch, look where you're going next time, loser. My name is Choi Beomgyu by the way." he looks proud of himself for saying that, a satisfied smile plastered on his face. You slowly get up from the floor, quietly picking up your bags with a flushed face. Your movements are rushed and very stiff, you quite literally almost tripped over your own shoelace while getting up.

"U-umm... where's my... my room...?" you manage to mumble out, hoping this guy won't subject you to any more insults. "Your room?" he says mockingly, shaking his head. "We're sharing a room, stepsis." he says condescendingly, pointing up a flight of stairs. You nod in response, quickly rushing past him and climbing up those stairs.

...

After you had finished unpacking and relentless commentary from your stepbrother you decided to get some alone time to yourself, sneaking into the guest bathroom without anyone noticing. You needed some type of relief from this house that felt like a prison, something, anything to help you feel at least a little better.

You took your phone out of your pocket, scrolling through any random app you already had installed. Suddenly you got an idea, a risky one, but still a good one. You tapped open your web search, typing a... special website name into the search bar, pressing enter and letting it load. You scrolled through the various selection of adult videos, clicking on one that caught your eye, "Arrogant stepbrother teaches stepsister her place." ironic.

A while later, you were sat on the bathroom floor, one hand working between your legs with the other covering your mouth to muffle your moans. Your head laid against the wall, legs spread wide with your phone completely forgotten as you imagined yourself and your new stepbrother together, doing whatever was done in that video.

"Mhnn...! Mmmffn... a-ah...!" you whimpered loudly as your fingers hit a spot inside you, your secret session inside the guest bathroom becoming harder and harder to hide. "B-beomgyu...!" you whined his name, pushing your fingers deeper in yourself as you neared your climax. You didn't care about hiding it anymore, you just needed to cum and get rid of some stress.

"Mmffn...! I-I'm cumming... I-I'm cumming so hard...!" you mumur to yourself, moaning and arching your back as you climaxed intensely. Your two fingers didn't stop working as your body trembled violently, your eyes rolling back slightly.

...

After you had cleaned yourself up, you left the bathroom, returning to your shared room. You opened the door calmly, your heartbeat instantly shooting up as you see Beomgyu standing with his arms crossed in front of you as if he had been waiting for you to show up.

"Disgusting." he said under his breath, his tall and confident composure intimidating your nervous one. "I heard everything, you know? You're absolutely pathetic, a disgusting, pathetic loser." Beomgyu spitted out, his eyes shining with amusement.

You shook your head aggressively, denying everything. "N-no, no... I... I wasn't doing anything in the guest bathroom, I swear...!" you defend yourself in a rush, not noticing you had revealed something Beomgyu didn't even know. "Pppftt, denying it now?" he scoffed. "I never said you were doing anything in the guest bathroom, but I didn't have to. Since you already exposed yourself." he says mockingly, leaning down to look at you straight in the eyes.

"I... I..." you stammer, speechless yet again under the hands of your stepbrother. "Pervert. Say it, you're a disgusting pervert." he demands, straightening up to twice your size again. You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly becoming dry.

Beomgyu's smirk turned into a scowl when you didn't instantly respond. He grabbed your wrist tightly, pulling you towards him. "I said, say you're a disgusting pervert." he commanded, his tone dominate and belittling. You mumbled out a quiet "I-I'm a... a pathetic pervert..." your eyes flickering to everywhere but Beomgyu's. "Good girl. You know just how pathetic you are now, don't you?" he cooed mockingly, patting your head.

You nodded reluctantly, your face flushing a soft pink as an involuntary sound escaped your lips. "Mmmph..." Beomgyu raised an eyebrow, following up with a deep chuckle as he pulled you even closer against him. "What was that, whore? You'd be so adorable if you weren't so disgusting." You buried your face in Beomgyus chest, feeling your cheeks heat up even more than before.

Beomgyu suddenly pushed you against a wall, his chest pressing against yours as he leaned in. "I think you deserve a punishment for being such a whore..." he whispered in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. Your eyes looked down at the floor, your mind completely blank and confused.

Beomgyu's eyes scanned the room, landing a some bottles of bottled water sat on his desk. He grinned happily, grabbing one of the plastic bottles and twisting the cap open. "Open up, baby." he said, letting go of your wrist to force your mouth open. His hand squished your cheeks roughly, the edge of the water bottles opening touching your lips as he slightly titled it up.

"Say 'Aahh'..." he commanded, pouring the water into your mouth without waiting for a response. "Mmhhnn...!" your mouth filled with the warm water, some of it spilling out and sliding down your chin. You instinctly swallowed the water, the feeling of it going down heavy in your throat. Beomgyu kept going, force-feeding you the entire bottle of water. He immediately reached for another bottle, tossing the first one in the trash. "B-beomgyu... I—" he cuts your words off by squeezing your cheeks together harder, opening your mouth wider and forcing more water down your throat.

...

Five other bottles, later your thighs were pressed together tightly, the feeling of your bladder being full strangely good. Beomgyu finished forcing the sixth bottle of water down your throat, throwing it in the trash along with the others. "Good girl. Now, let's see how long you can hold it." he grinned, keeping you pinned against the wall with no freedom to move. He suddenly gently pressed his hand against your lower abdomen, chuckling when you let out a soft gasp. "Hold it, wouldn't wanna embarrass yourself further." he said mockingly, spreading his fingers out wide and pressing harder.

"Mmmffn...! B-beomgyu..." you whimpered crossing your legs against each other hard to keep any piss from spilling out of your bladder. "Hmm? What's wrong? Wanna go to the bathroom, baby?" he said gently, though his actions contradicted his soft tone as he slowly silde his hand down your pants. "S-stop it...!" you protested weakly, your voice shaky and unstable. Beomgyu ignored your words completely, his hand making it's way into your panties.

"Shhh... this is your punishment." he placed one finger over your lips, his other fingers pushing their way to your entrance. He shoved two fingers into your tight hole as deep as he could, adjusting them to press against your bladder. You whined loudly, your thighs squeezing together in a weak attempt to stop Beomgyu. "Ah, ah, ahh... This is what you deserve for masturbating in my bathroom." he said, pressing his fingers harder against your bladder.

"Mmhnn...! B-beom... nngh... gyu...!" you couldn't help but moan as Beomgyu pumped his fingers in and out of you roughly. "Yes, baby? What is it?" he cooed, increasing the pace of his fingers and pressing harder against your bladder again. You whimpered weakly and shook your head, tears forming in your eyes as you struggled to hold your piss in.

Suddenly, Beomgyu hit a spot deep inside you, causing you to let out a loud needy whine. "Mmmhnn...! B-beomgyu!" you cried out his name, feeling his fingers purposely rubbing against that spot. You couldn't take it anymore, tears rolling down your cheeks as you felt your bladder lose control. You let out a choked sob, your bladder bursting and letting a stream of piss out and soak through your pants. Beomgyu's already wet hand was covered in you warm piss, yet he didn't stop fingering you even as some little drops of piss gushed out.

"A-ahh...! Beomgyu...!" you cried out, feeling something else about to spill out of you. Beomgyu knew what was going to happen, you were going to cum all over his hand. His eyes shined with amusement, his fingers fucking you harder and faster, determined to bring you to your climax. "Cum for me, baby. Show me how much you love your punishment." he demanded, finding that same spot from earlier to rub against. You nodded, your tears soaking your shirt collar as you moaned loudly and came hard on his fingers.

"Sweetheart."

Warm hands find your waist, circling you with a gentle pull, long fingers tracing slow, reverent patterns across your bare skin. A soft squeeze follows, then, warm featherlight kisses trail from your neck to your ear, each one taking time to settle on your skin. Your name slips from his lips, barely more than a breath, before he tucks himself closer, body melting into yours.

"Wake up, sleepyhead."

You laugh softly when you feel him press another kiss behind your ear. He always wakes you up like this; unhurried, endlessly affectionate. And no matter how much you loathe early mornings, he somehow makes them worth waking up for.

Turning over, you’re met with his familiar smirk, eyes already tracing every inch of your face like it’s the first time he’s seeing you. His hands find your cheeks, cradling them gently like he always does. As if he hasn’t held you a thousand times before. As if you haven’t been his to hold since high school.

"It's a crime to be this pretty when you just woke up, don't you think?" he teases, his nose bumping against yours before he gives your lips a quick peck.

"It's too early for your silly jokes, Soobin," you mumble, voice still heavy with sleep as you reach for him, burying your face against his shoulder blades. His warmth is familiar, comforting. Your eyes slip shut again, and he hums softly, his hand tracing slow, soothing patterns on your back.

"I'm not joking," he murmurs.

"Okay," you whisper back, not quite awake but not quite asleep either.

A beat of silence. Then—

"Are you sleeping again?"

"No."

"You’re going to be late."

"Uh-huh."

He exhales a quiet laugh, shifting beside you, and when you finally lift your head, his face is already turned toward you, bathed in the gentle glow of morning. His dimples appear with a smile—one he always saves for you, like tiny craters in the universe of his face. You reach out, pressing a finger into the tiny hollow of his cheek, and his grin only widens.

How does he never grow tired of looking at you like this?

"Come on, let’s eat, yeah?" he coaxes, pinching your cheeks.

You let yourself watch him—watch the way his eyes soften, the way he always waits for you, the way his love sits so effortlessly in the space between you.

"I love you," you whisper.

His fingers brush your cheek, his smile turning impossibly fonder.

"I love you more."

He somehow managed to pull you out of bed, though not without a few sleepy complaints. You lazily threw your hair into a ponytail, an attempt at looking somewhat awake. The moment he caught sight of it, though, laughter spilled from his lips, his dimples deepening with amusement.

“What is this?” he teased, reaching out to play with the loose strands. "A masterpiece of chaos?"

"It's ugly, isn't it?" You pouted, lips jutting out just enough to make his teasing falter. Panic flashed across his face before he quickly cupped your cheeks, his thumbs brushing over your skin as he pressed frantic kisses all over.

“No. You’re beautiful,” he murmured between each kiss. “Always beautiful.”

You let him win that small battle, if only because the warmth of his touch made surrendering easy.

It's always easy with him.

"Put some butter and milk in it," Soobin says, watching you whisk eggs in a bowl. He’s perched at the kitchen table, chin resting in his hand, his gaze fixed on you as you move around the kitchen. The pancakes on the stove have just started to sizzle.

"You like them better that way," he adds.

"Oh, right!" You laugh, hurrying to grab the missing ingredients from the fridge. You mix them in just the way he likes, and when the pancakes are golden and ready, you set the plates down in front of both of you, fetching the utensils.

"Thank you, love," he hums, cutting into his pancake as you take your first bite. A satisfied groan leaves your lips as the warmth of the food soothes your hunger.

"Nothing beats pancakes for breakfast," you sigh. "You and your obsession with them."

He chuckles, watching you with amusement, his elbow propped on the table and his chin resting in his palm. "Good job, chef."

You roll your eyes, dramatically bowing. "You're welcome."

He grins before his expression softens. "You have plans later, right? Be careful out there, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"And—"

Before he can finish, the sound of the doorbell cuts through the moment.

"I’ll get it," you say, pushing your chair back.

He nods at you with a smile, watching as you disappear toward the door.

You step toward the door of your apartment, fingers curling around the handle before pulling it open.

"Wonyoung, good morning!" you greet with a soft smile, but the way her eyes widen—just for a fraction of a second—doesn’t go unnoticed. She hides it quickly, clearing her throat as she shifts the bags in her hands.

"Morning," she says, stepping inside, her gaze immediately scanning you.

Her gaze sweeps over you, taking in the messy hair, the oversized shirt that’s swallowed you whole—the same one she saw you wearing last time. The deep shadows under your eyes, the pale exhaustion etched into your skin.

"Are you okay?" she asks, careful, cautious.

"Yeah, I am," you answer without hesitation, as if saying it fast enough will make it true. You turn to grab the house slippers meant for her, but your fingers hesitate when you notice Soobin’s slippers still neatly tucked by the door.

He didn’t wear them? But the floor is cold.

Shaking the thought away, you straighten up. "I'm having breakfast with Soobin. We made extra, by the way. You can eat with us."

Silence.

Wonyoung just looks at you, her expression unreadable, her lips parting slightly before closing again. There’s hesitation—pain, even—as if she’s searching for the right words.

"What's wrong—?"

You don’t get to finish.

The bags slip from her hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud as she strides toward you. Before you can react, her arms wrap around you, pulling you in tight. The force of it makes you stumble slightly, but she doesn’t let go. Her grip is desperate, as if she’s holding onto something fragile, something already breaking.

You feel her take a deep, shaking breath before she whispers, voice barely above a whisper.

"Y/N… Soobin’s been gone for two years now."

Panic grips you as your breath catches in your throat. Your head snaps toward the table, the very spot where you left him, only to find it empty, a plate of untouched food, sitting there like a ghost.

Everyone in the world fears something—even those who swear they don’t. And at the core of it all, there’s death. It is inevitable and final. It’s like spending years studying, only to fail every job interview. Like working yourself to the bone for months, only to walk away empty-handed. Like pouring your heart into a meal, only to take a bite and realise it tastes terrible.

But for you, fear isn’t just about endings. It isn’t just about pain. What haunts you more than death itself is the thought of being forgotten—or worse, forgetting.

Forgetting is terrifying. Yet, as you sit there, clipping your nailbeds, lost in thought, forgetting made you see him. You saw him this morning, standing there, just as he always had. And without thinking, you breathe.

For that fleeting moment, he’s here. Because you forget that he’s gone.

"Y/N."

You look up from the table, your fingers stiff against the wood. Your mom's eyes are swollen, glassy with unshed tears, rimmed red from exhaustion. She looks at you with so much pity it makes your stomach churn. "Are you even listening to me?"

"I am, Mom."

She exhales sharply, dragging a hand down her face. "I said we should go back to Dr. Park for another check-up. And maybe… maybe we should finally consider what she’s been recommending—"

"No." Your voice is firm, cutting through the air. "It’s just a waste of money—"

"That’s why I’m working two jobs, dear." Her voice shakes as she reaches for your hands. You flinch, but she doesn’t let go. Her grip is warm, trembling.

"You’ve been hallucinating again." She swallows hard. "I thought time would make it better. I really did." Her breath hitches. "But it’s been two years now. Your dad... he’s sick. He can't even get up on the bed, and—"

"You don't understand, Mom." Your voice trembles as tears well in your eyes. Crying has become second nature—easier than eating, easier than sleeping, easier than existing without him. "How am I supposed to act? I'm trying, I promise I am."

"Y/N." Your mom wipes her own tears, her breath unsteady. "It’s hard for me too. He was my son."

You drop your gaze, staring at the table, at the empty space in front of you, anywhere but at her.

"It haunts me," she whispers, "how deeply he loved you. He’s always here. Always with you. Always worrying about you."

The words steal the air from your lungs. Your chest tightens, the room tilts.

"But do you really think," she continues, voice breaking, "that he wouldn’t understand? That, of all people, he wouldn’t want you to keep going?"

The chair screeches against the floor as you stand abruptly. Your mother flinches at the sound. You turn to leave, but her voice stops you just before you step away.

"He loved you more than his own life," she says softly. "Do you really think it wouldn’t break his heart to see you like this?"

You bite your lip as you step out of your parents' house. Wonyoung had dropped you off earlier, she didn’t trust leaving you alone. No one does anymore. Everywhere you go, people watch you with that same look—pity, like you’re a glass figure they’re waiting to see shatter.

Like you’ll be the next one to disappear.

Your chest tightens as tears prick the corners of your eyes, blurring the edges of the world. A hiccup escapes, sharp and unexpected, and you clamp a hand over your mouth as if that might keep everything else from spilling out. You fumble with the car door, your fingers trembling against the handle. It’s only been three months since you managed to get behind the wheel again, but even now, the familiarity of it feels like a fragile lifeline—something that says I’m still here. I’m still trying.

Two years. 

Two years since his funeral.

Two years since you last stepped into your office.

Two years of nights that felt endless, of mornings that felt pointless.

Two years of watching the people around you crumble under the weight of your grief, their hearts breaking because yours refuses to heal.

And for two years, the doctors have been whispering the same thing, their voices clinical, detached.

The procedure of erasing him from your memory completely.

Your knuckles whiten around the steering wheel as you pull out of the driveway, heart pounding harder than the engine. Every turn, every streetlight, every crack in the pavement feels like it carries his shadow. But there’s only one place where it feels bearable—one place where you can almost convince yourself he’s still there.

Choi Yeonjun’s eyes swept across your face, taking in the tear-streaked cheeks, the vacant gaze, the way you trembled just standing there. He didn’t say anything, just stepped aside and pushed the door open a little wider. You walked past him, your steps sure, like you were following an invisible thread pulling you toward the one place you needed.

"Do you need anything?" You shook your head. Because what you need isn't here anymore.

And then you slipped inside. His room.

Two years had passed, and Yeonjun never touched a thing. Dust had settled, time had moved forward, but this room remained frozen—trapped in the moment before everything shattered. They had been roommates for years, but after Soobin died, Yeonjun never found the will to replace him. Never found the strength to erase the evidence that he had once been here, that he had once been real.

No one was ever allowed inside.

No one but you.

You crossed the threshold like a sinner entering a church, hands trembling, breath unsteady. And when you sat down on the left side of the bed—his side—your chest caved in as you sob.

This was where he always slept. Where he curled into you on restless nights. Where he pressed sleepy kisses to your temple, murmuring half-formed dreams against your skin. The sheets no longer smelled like him. Time had stolen that, too. But the ceiling above was the same one you woke up to with him beside you, and if you closed your eyes, you could pretend.

Pretend that if you reached out, you’d feel his warmth. Pretend that if you called his name, he’d answer. Pretend that you weren’t alone.

But pretending could only take you so far.

You never found the strength to open the door again. You curled into yourself, gripping the blanket like it could hold you together. And when sleep finally came, it was with his name spilling from your lips.

A name that no longer had a future.

The knocking pulled you from the depths of sleep, insistent. You groaned, the sound barely more than a rasp, your throat raw from last night’s tears. Your eyelids felt swollen, heavy, reluctant to open. "Yeah?"

"It's afternoon," Yeonjun said through the door. His tone was careful, but you could hear the quiet concern woven between the words. "You’ve been sleeping for over twelve hours."

Shit.

You knew that wasn’t normal. But then again, nothing about you had been normal for a long time. Some nights, sleep was a stranger you couldn’t reach no matter how exhausted you were. Other days, it swallowed you whole, dragging you under until the hours blurred into nothingness. Staying in bed felt easier.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, "I'll come out in a minute."

Yeonjun hesitated. You knew he wanted to say something—to tell you that you didn’t have to apologize, that he understood, that he wasn’t judging you. But in the end, he just sighed. "Okay."

You listened as his footsteps retreated down the hall.

With a heavy heart, you forced yourself to move, peeling the blanket away like it weighed a thousand pounds. Every part of you ached—not just physically, but in a way that settled deep into your bones, into the spaces between your ribs. The bathroom mirror reflected a version of you that you barely recognized. Hollow eyes, a face drawn thin by grief, lips pressed into something that was neither a frown nor a smile—just existence. Surviving.

You turned on the faucet, splashing cold water onto your face, letting the chill bite into your skin. Your fingers gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white, as you sucked in a breath.

And then you saw them. On the shelf behind you; Soobin’s shelf.

Your hairbands.

The sight of them made you waver. Because it was proof, wasn’t it? Proof that once, you had a place here. That once, he was here to tease you about leaving them everywhere, to slip them onto his own wrist absentmindedly, to hand them back to you with a laugh.

"You always lose your hairbands, baby."

Soobin's voice was soft and teasing as he pressed lazy kisses along your cheek, your temple, anywhere he could reach. You tried to ignore him, focused on brushing your teeth, but he never made it easy. His hands slipped under your shirt, palms warm against your bare skin, tracing absentminded patterns over your stomach. He always did that—always found some excuse to touch you.

"So," he murmured, grinning against your jaw as he pressed your cheeks to his. "I bought a whole stack of them."

You paused, raising an eyebrow at his reflection in the mirror. "A whole stack?"

"Mhm." His fingers tightened slightly, possessive. "So now you have one less excuse to leave—and one more reason to come back."

Your hairbands. Like you, were waiting for someone who was never coming back.  You shake your head, snapping yourself out of it. Then you heard knocking again.  "Yeonjun. I said I’ll be out in a minute."

A pause. Then, softer this time—

"It’s been an hour since you last said that. Are you okay?"

You exhale, the breath shaky, uneven. Time has slipped through your fingers again, and you hadn’t even noticed. But that’s nothing new.

It happens more often than not.

You sit with a book in your lap, determined to do what they say might help—immerse yourself in another world, let fiction be a temporary escape. But you blink, and somehow hours have passed, and you’re still stuck on the same page, the words forgotten.

You eat lunch, fork moving mechanically between your plate and your mouth, only to glance outside and realize the sky has darkened, the day gone without your permission.

You tell yourself you’ll go out, that today, you’ll meet Wonyoung like you promised. You put on your shoes, even grab your coat. But then the door never opens. And before you know it, she’s the one standing there, knocking, asking why you didn’t come—why you never showed up.

You know it’s getting worse. And the worst part? You don’t know how to stop it. You don’t want to stop it.

Because it means moving on.

Moving on has always felt like erasing him. Like accepting a world where Soobin is nothing more than a memory—left behind.

And the thought that one day, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday—everyone, even you, will stop mourning him?

That terrifies you more than anything.

You eat slowly, each bite feeling heavier than the last. Yeonjun had made you bacon and eggs—simple, warm, something that should’ve felt like comfort. But the food is cold now, left waiting for you just like he was. He eats in silence, but you feel it—his eyes keep flickering toward your wrist, checking. He doesn’t say anything.

It yanks you straight back to those first few months after Soobin’s death.

"Y/N?" Yeonjun’s face is sharp with concern as he pushes open the door. He had knocked—once, twice—but you hadn’t answered. That alone was enough to send his heart into a spiral.

"I brought you some food—" His words cut off the moment his eyes land on you. You’re sitting at the edge of the bed, shoulders curled inward, your body eerily still. But then he sees it—your wrist, the red staining your fingers, spilling onto the white sheets like ink bleeding through paper.

His breath catches. And then—

“What the fuck are you doing?” The words tear from his throat again, raw and panicked. The bags slip from his grasp, hitting the floor with a muffled thud, but he doesn’t care. He’s already rushing toward you, dropping to his knees, reaching for your wrist with hands that won’t stop shaking.

“What are you doing?!” He shouts—not out of anger, not at you—but because he’s terrified.

It scares him. God, it scares him. What would his best friend say?

"I—I don’t know," you sob, voice wrecked. Your body trembles under his hold, and the words spill out between uneven breaths. You just saw it and you couldn't stop yourself. "I don’t know what to do anymore."

Yeonjun clenches his jaw, his own tears burning behind his eyes. "You must not do this," He’s trying to be strong for you, but his hands betray him, quivering as they hold onto you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away completely. Because you might. Because you want to. "Please, Y/N. Please."

You were so beautiful in Soobin’s love, and now it clings to you like a disease.

"I know it’s hard," he chokes out, pulling you into his arms. "Fuck, I know. But think of his face." He pleads. "Whenever you see your wrist, whenever you look at your skin—think of him. Do you ever want to hurt him?"

"Jjunie." Yeonjun's eyes lift to meet yours. "You don’t have to keep looking at my wrists anymore,"

A breath leaves him, slow and measured, as if he’s been waiting to hear that. He tries for a smile, small. "It worked like a miracle, didn’t it?"

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. "He always is." The smile that flickers across your lips feels foreign, like something borrowed from a version of yourself that no longer exists.

"My dad…" you hesitate, fingers curling into the fabric of your sweater. "I—I need to go back to work."

Yeonjun watches you carefully, as if afraid you’ll change your mind. He nods. "It’s only about time, Y/N."

Silence stretches between you before he speaks again, voice careful, "Are you considering the treatment?"

You don’t answer.

Yeonjun didn’t kick you out.

He never would.

In the afternoon, the two of you sat on the couch—long enough to fit three, but only occupied by two. And yet, without thinking, without speaking, you both left a space between you. A space for him.

Infinity War played on the screen, a movie you’d both seen more times than you could count. It was muscle memory at this point—the dialogue, the fight scenes, the inevitable heartbreak.

The credits rolled, and the room felt heavier.

"Soobin always bawled his eyes out here," you whispered, voice trembling. You laughed, but it cracked in the middle. "Like a baby."

Yeonjun exhaled shakily, his own throat tightening. "It makes me wonder how such a tall man could cry that easily."

You nodded, wiping at your face as tears slipped free. "He’s a loser." Your sob broke through before you could stop it. "He’s my loser."

Yeonjun pressed his lips together, but it was useless. His own tears fell before he could even blink them away. "Fuck," he muttered, voice thick.

Neither of you moved.

Because some absences can never be replaced.

"It's time for you to move on," Yeonjun says, his voice steady but careful. "You tried going back to work, but you can’t. You should be out there, living your life."

A fresh wave of grief crashes over you. "It feels like I'm betraying him, Jun." Your voice breaks, and before you know it, you're fully sobbing, the weight of it pressing down on your chest like it might crush you.

Yeonjun exhales sharply, his hands clenching into fists. "I feel like he's going to haunt me any day now for letting you stay like this, and he'd probably call me an idiot for not shaking some sense into you sooner." he half-jokes, but it’s bitter. It’s pained. The two of you laugh, but it doesn’t reach your eyes, dies as quickly as it comes.

"But if you're worried about him—about who will take care of his… grave," Yeonjun hesitates as if the word itself could break you. "I promise, I’ll do that. His family will, too. He won’t be forgotten, Y/N. Ever." You hate it. Hate that he’s making sense. Hate that every word he says feels like it's prying you away from Soobin, piece by piece.

"Your father, your mother, your siblings... they need you back," he presses on, his voice gentler now. "And you… you need to go on with your life. That treatment, it’s the only thing that can help you now."

You shake your head, barely able to breathe between the sobs. "I can't let him go."

Yeonjun swallows hard, his hands trembling as they reach for yours. "You’re not letting him go," he whispers. "He's already gone."

And then, softer, like he’s begging, "And I know, if he were here… to talk to you one last time, he would beg you to keep living."

It took him two years to say it, but Yeonjun cried with you that day, his own grief spilling over as you sobbed into the worn-out cushions of the sofa. Because he, too, was once afraid—to let go, to move forward. But he knows now, knows in the deepest part of himself, that Soobin, the kindest soul he had ever met, the person who loved you deeply, would understand.

Yeonjun will spend his lifetime visiting Soobin’s grave, honouring him in the quiet ways he can. For Soobin. For you.

Even if he has a family of his own one day. Even if his hair turns grey, and his legs grow too weak to stand. Even then, he will still go. And he’ll pass that promise down to his children, to his grandchildren, so that Soobin’s name is never forgotten.

But if he lets you waste away like this, there will be no future to carry on. And the guilt would eat him alive because Yeonjun knows—more than anyone—what Soobin would have wanted.

It’s cruel, cruel that he had to pull the names of your family into this, had to remind you of the people who are still waiting for you to come home. But it’s the truth. And if you can’t find the strength to fight for yourself, then at least let them be the reason you try.

You step out of the car, your breath hitching as your eyes sweep over the familiar neighbourhood—the one you used to visit so often, the one that once felt like a second home. Now, after two years, it feels like stepping into a past life.

"Y/N!"

You barely have time to react before Soobin’s older sister is pulling you into her arms, her laugh warm, her embrace familiar. It nearly unravels you.

"I missed you," she murmurs.

You swallow the lump in your throat. "I missed you too, unnie."

And then your eyes land on the small boy in her arms—the baby who was just two the last time you saw him. Now four, grown but still soft with childhood. His wobbly cheeks, the way his dimples deepen when he shifts shyly under your gaze—

It’s too much.

"Hi," you say, voice barely above a whisper.

"Hi," he replies, eyes wide, cheeks flushing as he clings closer to his mother.

You look away. Because he looks too much like him. Because for a second, your mind plays cruel tricks, and you almost convince yourself that if you just turn your head, Soobin will be right there, smiling at you like he used to.

But he's not. He never will be.

"Come inside," his sister says gently, as if she understands the storm inside you. "Mom knows you’re here." And you nod, forcing your feet to move, even as your heart screams for you to turn back.

In the first month after Soobin was gone, his mother stayed by your side. She held you as you cried, made sure you ate, whispered that she understood, because she had lost him too.

In the following months, she kept visiting, kept checking in. But as time passed, she began to pull away. Subtly, at first. The visits became less frequent, the calls shorter. And then, one day, they stopped altogether. Your messages, your calls—they went unanswered. His family, the people you once thought of as your own, had slowly closed their doors to you.

Except for his sister.

She leads you inside, her expression unreadable as she gestures toward the dining table.

And there she is. The woman you once called mother.

"Mother," you bow, the word slipping from your lips before you can stop it.

She doesn’t even turn to look at you. "How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?" Her voice is clipped, distant. "And why are you here?"

You swallow, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. "Because I wanted to see you. I wanted to talk to you."

Finally, she rises from her chair, her gaze locking onto yours. And it is nothing like before. It is cold. Empty. Unforgiving.

“Get out, Y/N,” she says, her voice devoid of warmth. “Don’t come here anymore.” Your chest tightens. You don’t even realize your hands have started shaking.

"Mom, don't be like this," Soobin's sister cuts in, her voice soft but firm.

And for just a moment—a brief,  moment—you see it. The way her lips press together. The way her shoulders tense. The way her eyes, for just a second, glisten as though they, too, are on the verge of breaking. She blinks the tears away before they can fall, turning away from you, like it’s the only way she can keep standing. She walks away without any second glance.

“I’m sorry,” Soobin’s sister whispers.

You force yourself to smile, though it trembles on your lips. “It’s okay,” you murmur. “I just… I just really need to talk to her.”

You spent the hour with Soobin’s sister, unraveling everything you had kept inside. Every dark thought, every ounce of guilt, every desperate attempt to hold onto him. And she listened. She held your hand, pulled you into her arms.

But time moves forward, even when you don’t want it to.

You check the clock, exhaling. “I’m going to try talking to her again. I have plans after this, too.” She doesn’t stop you. But the way she squeezes your hand before letting go, it’s as if she knows how much this is going to hurt.

As you walk through the house, memories seep into every corner. His presence is everywhere. The framed pictures lined the walls, the dent in the couch where he used to sit. It’s overwhelming. It steals the breath from your lungs, forcing you to press a hand to your chest just to steady yourself.

You don’t belong here anymore. And yet, you can’t bring yourself to leave.

The kitchen light is on. The soft rhythm of a knife against the cutting board fills the silence.

She’s there.

Soobin’s mother stands at the counter, slicing vegetables with practised precision. You swallow, stepping forward, trying to find your voice. She doesn’t look up.

“Didn’t I tell you to leave?”

"Mom, I missed you." Your voice trembles, barely above a whisper, and for a moment, her hands still. The steady chopping ceases, but she doesn’t turn. She keeps her back to you, her shoulders rising and falling with each controlled breath. "I came here because… I wanted to let you know that I think it’s time. I’m going to get the treatment."

Your own arms wrap around yourself, as if bracing against the cold creeping into your bones. "It will alter my memory. There’s big a chance I’ll forget you, too."

The words shatter something inside you. "But I wanted to say it—just one last time. Thank you. For everything. For giving birth to Soobin. For raising him into someone who could love me so deeply, who made me feel safe, who made me feel like I belonged here. Thank you for accepting me, for loving me. And I love you. I always will. I just… I just hope you can forgive me for what I’m about to do."

At your last words, she turns. And for the first time in a year, you see it—the grief she’s buried, the pain she’s carried alone. Her eyes, red and wet, spill over as she closes the space between you, pulling you into her arms.

You don’t hold back. You collapse into her, sobs wracking through your body as she holds you like she used to. As if you were still hers. As if you always would be.

Her hands run soothingly over your back, her voice breaking. "My daughter… I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you had to go through this."

She clutches you tighter. "I thought… if I pushed you away, if I kept my distance, maybe you’d find a way to stand on your own. I thought if I pushed you away, maybe it would force you to move forward. Maybe it would break whatever was keeping you trapped in the past. It felt like it was my fault you couldn’t move on. Our fault. That the love my son left behind has been anchoring you instead of lifting you. And I’ve been so afraid, afraid that his love, instead of saving you would destroy you." She cries, "I prayed for you every single day. That you would find the courage. That you would choose to keep going."

You shake your head against her shoulder, your grip on her tightening. "I understand. I do. I just—" Your breath hitches. "I’m scared. I’m scared to forget him."

She exhales shakily, her lips pressing against your hair. "Forgetting… it’s easier than suffering for the rest of your life." Her hands cup your face, her thumbs brushing the tears away even as her own continue to fall.

"You won’t lose him. Not really. Whatever Soobin left in this world, it’s you." Your breath shudders as she presses a kiss to your forehead.

"I want you to live, sweetheart. To build a life that he would be proud of. A new one, filled with love, with hope. And maybe, one day, we’ll meet again—whether you remember me or not. And even then, I will love you. Always. Just like he did."

It was a hard goodbye—one that clung to your skin like the scent of home you’d never return to. Their arms around you had been warm, their voices soft, their smiles trembling. And as you drove away, watching Soobin’s family grow smaller in the rearview mirror, you forced yourself to smile, to wave back.

But the moment they faded from sight, the mask crumbled.

Your hands tightened around the wheel as your breath hitched, but it was useless. You pulled over, burying your face in your palms, sobs wracking your body.

You knew you would never see them again.

A shuddering breath escaped you as you wiped your tears with shaking fingers, swallowing against the grief clawing at your throat. You couldn’t fall apart now. Not yet.

Because there was still one more goodbye to say.One more person waiting for you. One who had left but never truly rested. Because for two years, you hadn’t found the courage to let go.

To free him.

You don’t know how you managed to bring yourself here. Your legs felt heavy the whole way, like they knew what your heart refused to accept—that every step forward was another step closer to goodbye.

The grave is pristine, not a speck of dust in sight. Someone else had been here. Someone else still comes. And for a moment, a tiny splinter of relief wedges itself into your grief. He’s being cared for, even without you.

You stand there, your throat tightening, your lips parting—then closing again. The words are trapped somewhere deep inside you, tangled between the memories and the pain. What do you even say? How do you speak when just looking at his name carved into stone is enough to make your chest cave in? How do you even start? What do you say to someone who can’t answer back?

And then your eyes fall to the base of the headstone. White roses. Fresh. Untouched.

Your breath stumbles.

White roses—his favourite. The same ones he gave you that night, trembling fingers offering a bouquet, his eyes filled with so much hope.  Now, they sit beside his grave, a brutal echo of the past.

And you wonder—when did forever become something so short?

You swallow hard. "Hey," you whisper. Just one word, and already, you feel yourself crying. "Are you somewhere nice?"

"I really… I really hope you are," your voice trembles, your vision blurring. "God, I cry so easily now. You’d tease me for it, wouldn’t you?" A broken laugh escapes your lips, but it fades as quickly as it came. "I’m nothing like the person you knew. I'm not that woman anymore. I’ve changed." You take a shuddering breath. "All because you left me."

The confession spills out before you can stop it, "You left me here alone, and I didn’t know what to do. Because you were my world, and our plans—" Your voice cracks. You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head. "No. No, Soobin. I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean any of it. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry."

Your knees buckle, and you let them. You fold into yourself, pressing your palms against your face as the sobs finally come, wrenching their way out of you. "I’m weak," you choke out. "I’ve been nothing but weak without you."

Time slips away. You don’t know how long you sit there, trembling, letting everything have its way with you. At some point, people come and go, visiting the graves nearby. They stay for a while, whispering prayers, placing flowers, saying their goodbyes. And then, one by one, they leave.

But you don’t.

Because you know, this is the last time you’ll ever be here.

What does it truly mean to forget?

Is it letting go of the bad memories, even if it means losing the lessons they left behind? Erasing the trauma, even if it forged the strength that kept you standing? Wiping away the heartbreak, even if it unmade the love that once felt endless? If forgetting means unravelling the version of yourself shaped by every moment... then is it really freedom? Or is it just another kind of loss?

And if you don’t forget—who carries the weight of those memories with you? The nights spent in quiet conversation, the laughter that once echoed in familiar streets, the warmth of his hand in yours. Does one painful ending justify the erasure of everything that came before?

It doesn’t. Because memories do not vanish. They are not erased like ink wiped clean from a page.

The streets still remember the way you walked together. The wind still hums with the echoes of his voice. The people who once saw your love still hold its remnants, even in passing glances. And perhaps, this is the only way to keep it beautiful. Your memories, deserve to be left as they are. You should not taint it any further.

"I decided to do it," you whisper, your voice barely carrying over the wind. "I’m finally doing it, love. It took me so long, but… I will."

"I don't want you to think that I'll forget you. Because you're my life." A shaky breath escapes your lips, your fingers tracing the edge of cold stone as if it were his hand, warm and real, just one last time. "But you don’t have to worry about me anymore," you murmur. "You can rest now."

Your eyes lift, meeting the name carved into eternity—Choi Soobin.  A tear slips down your cheek, catching on your lips as you whisper, broken and raw—

"I love you. And I’m sorry."

Sorry that it took this long. Sorry that you held on when you should have let go. Sorry that no matter how much time passes, some wounds never really heal.

Your wounds will never heal.

The overhead lights burn against your swollen eyes. You blink, but it only makes the sting worse. You thought they would’ve dried by now. That at some point, your body would just refuse to keep grieving.

Do people have a limit? Is there a point where you simply run out? Or does the body just keep producing sorrow, as long as there’s pain to feed it? Has anyone in history ever cried so much that their body just… gave up?

Maybe not.

Or maybe, if you stay like this long enough, you’ll be the first. Because this is all you know how to do now.

Cry. 

Cry for him. 

Cry for yourself.

Cry because it’s the only thing that makes the weight in your chest feel even a little less suffocating. Because if you stop, even for a moment, you’re terrified you’ll realise just how empty the world is without him in it.

You're not strong enough.

"Are you sure you don’t want me to come in?" Your mother’s hand is warm as she pats your back, enough for you to let out a breath you were holding.

"Yeah," you whisper. "You can wait for me in the waiting area." Your eyes flicker toward the entrance as another person steps in. She carries a box, full of things and when your gaze meets hers, you swear you see your own reflection staring back.

Haunted.

Your own box grows heavier in your hands.

"I’m a big girl, you know," you murmur, forcing the words out as if saying them makes them true.

Your mother gives you a small smile before kissing your cheek. "I’ll be here," she says softly. "After all of this, I’ll be here to pick you up."

Something tightens in your chest. Such simple words, so ordinary, yet they make your throat close up. One less worry, a hundred more to carry.

But she’ll be here after.

No matter what happens behind those doors, no matter how much of you is left when it’s over—your mother will be here, waiting on the other side.

And that should be enough, right?

You take a step. Then another. Three steps before something in you falters, pulling you back. You turn around, and your mother, standing right where you left her. Her eyes meet yours, and one of them glistens now, like she’s holding something back. She’s trying to be strong for you.

"Does it have to be today, Mom?" Your voice wavers, barely above a whisper. "I mean… can we, can we just—" The words die in your throat. You swallow hard. You promised him.

You promised.

And if you don’t do it today… you might never do it at all.

“Honey, we can always come back.” Your mother’s voice is soft. She’s in front of you now, hands warm on your shoulders. “We can reschedule, and—”

“It’s fine.” You shake your head, refusing to meet her eyes. If you look at her, if you see the way she’s looking at you, you might shatter right here, in front of her. So you turn away. The door is just a few steps ahead. White. Sterile.  All you have to do is cross it. You can do it. You have to do it. Because—

You promised him.

"Miss Y/N?" The sound of your name barely registers. You don’t even remember sitting down. One moment, you were outside and now—now you’re here. In this cold, sterile waiting room, surrounded by people clutching their own silent burdens. Boxes. Everyone has one. Resting on their laps. Some are dressed in stiff work clothes, like they came straight from their jobs. Others wear the softness of home... sweatshirts, slippers, a kind of exhaustion that no amount of rest could ever fix.

No one speaks.

No one looks at each other for too long.

It doesn’t matter where you came from. It doesn’t matter who you were before this moment.

You’re all here for the same reason.

"You need to sign the waiver. Please read each clause carefully dear. The nurse will call you once it's your turn." The papers were handed in your hands, making your heart pound, each beat a hammer striking painfully inside your ribs. The relentless ticking of the clock thumps in your ears, a fierce reminder of the gravity of what you’re about to do. Your fingers tremble against the pen, gripping it so tightly your knuckles ache, but the pressure doesn’t help you—nothing ever will.

You sigh, biting your lip so hard you taste a bit of blood. Your stare drifts ahead, settling on a woman a few seats away. Her eyes are red, swollen. She isn’t crying anymore, but she looks like she hasn’t stopped in days.

You follow her stare, down to the box in her lap. It’s small. Too small. A bib, baby rattles, tiny clothes meant for someone who never even saw their first birthday. Your throat tightens. You force yourself to look away. Swallowing hard, you check your own papers. Your box sits beside you, shut tight. Your mother had suggested covering it with a cloth—to make it easier, to keep you from looking at it. And it worked.  Because if you had to see what was inside…

You don’t know if you’d still be here.

Your hands tremble as you stare down at the waiver, the words blurring in and out of focus. You read the clauses again. And again. And again. Your eyes trace the final lines, the words smudging under the sting in your eyes.

You have given extensive thought behind your decision and give "Brighter Days Inc." the exclusive permission to remove this person completely from your memory:

☐ Yes ☐ No

You shakily checked what you knew... he'd want for you. You need to think this is what he would've wanted. 

“Y/N?” The nurse’s voice is gentle, but it still makes you flinch. She stands in the doorway, dressed in white, looking at you. You wipe away a tear, but another one slips free before you can stop it. “You can come inside now.”

“Okay,” Your legs barely carry you as you stand. Your trembling hands clutch the box, holding it so tightly.

Inside, the room is cold, sterile. Three people wait—one dressed in blue, one who looks like the doctor, and the nurse who fetched you. The chair in the middle looms, surrounded by wires, screens filled with numbers and statistics you don’t understand. But the moment your eyes land on the headrest, on the equipment waiting there—your stomach drops. Your body moves before you can think. A step back, then another, until a hand gently stops you.

The nurse reaches for your box. Your fingers twitch as they slip away from it, “Let’s get you on the chair,” she says softly. You nod. You don’t trust yourself to speak. You started crying again. Not with sound, not with sobs... just endless, silent tears slipping down your face, one after the other.

No one tells you to stop crying. No one even reacts. You wonder how many people they’ve seen like this.

How many they’ve seen as wrecked as you.

Her hands are warm against your shaking ones, steadying you just enough to guide you down into the chair. You let her. You don’t have the strength to resist. The doctor moves quickly, securing straps around you—across your wrists, your chest. Another band wraps around your finger, likely for your heartbeat. It’s already racing. You don’t need a machine to tell you that. The person in blue starts placing wires against your temple, the cold press of metal settling on the right side of your head. It sends a shiver through you, but you don’t move.

You barely breathe.

“Okay, so now—” The doctor’s voice is calm, clinical.  “As you’ve read, you’ll need to recall the moments tied to the things you brought. We asked you to choose items that hold the strongest memories because only then can they be altered. These machines will help bring them to the surface. You don’t have to force it—we’ll go slow, one step at a time.” A pause. “Are you ready?”

Your throat closes. Your hands curl into weak fists against the armrests. All you can do is nod.

The man in blue moves quietly. You barely notice him at first, lost in the weight pressing down on your chest—until he reaches for your box. The cloth is lifted. Your breath catches.

The first item is pulled free, and the moment your eyes land on it, something inside you crumbles. "Wa-wait," A sob rips through you, raw and unrestrained, your whole body trembling. The nurse kneels beside you, her eyes unbearably soft, understanding. "It will be much easier after this," she murmurs.

You swallow back another sob, hiccupping through shallow, gasping breaths. It's ridiculous, isn’t it? That at your weakest, you're placing your trust in strangers. That you can't even find the strength to speak. But this isn’t for you.

For him. For your family.

For him.

Your nails dig into the synthetic material on the armrest. You close your eyes, surrendering to their instructions, to the machines humming around you. A sharp beep echoes in the room, signalling the process to begin. A single tear slips free, tracing a path down your cheek, and despite the agony twisting in your chest, you manage the smallest, most broken smile because you see his face.

Memories. It all flashes.

THE PEN

"Let's take a 30-minute break, and then we'll go over the discussion again, okay?" Your ten-year-old eyes lock onto your homeroom teacher, a sigh slipping past your lips. Math has never been kind to you. Numbers blur together, equations twist into impossible knots in your head. If you had it your way, subjects like this wouldn’t even exist. You’d much rather read—preferably a hundred books. Or better yet, a hundred manga.

You reach for your bag, already deciding that a "break" means exactly that. No memorizing. No thinking about numbers. Your brain deserves rest. With a small pout, you pull out your current manga, flipping through the worn pages with practiced ease.

Your friends prefer watching anime, gathering around their phones or talking about the latest episodes. But your mom—she's strict about screen time. Too much of it, she says, will rot your brain. So, you stick to reading. At first, it was just a substitute, a way to keep up with your friends. But over time, it grew on you.

You're barely on the second page when a shadow falls over your desk.

"Uh, Y/N? Do you have, uh… an extra pen?"

You glance up, mildly irritated at the interruption, only to be met with the tallest boy in your class—Choi Soobin. A transfer student. You’ve only been classmates for a few months, and until now, you’ve barely spoken.

"I don’t," you reply flatly.

His eyes dart to your open pencil case, where at least five pens sit in plain sight. "But… you have so many," he points out, looking almost betrayed. "Please? I swear I’ll give it back!"

You sigh, flipping another page of your manga, already regretting this conversation. "Fine."

He grins, reaching straight for the glitter pen.

"Not that one—" Your head snaps up. "That’s off-limits, it’s my favourit—"

"Wait, is that Inuyasha?!" His voice practically jumps an octave, eyes wide with excitement as he plops down in the seat beside you without a second thought. "I love this series! I read them all the time!"

Your annoyance falters, replaced by something close to surprise. You glance at him, then at your manga, then back at him. "It’s my favourite," you say, flipping the page. "I have all the volumes."

His eyes widen. "Whoa. Lend me some?"

You raise a brow. "And what do I get in return?"

"Uh… strawberry milk?"

"I hate strawberries."

"Hand massages?"

You pretend to consider it, tapping your chin. "I’ll think about it."

He nods eagerly, leaning in a little. "Okay, but—serious question. Kikyo or Kagome?"

"Kagome," you answer without hesitation. "I pity her." At that, he studies your face.

"But Kikyo…" he murmurs, gaze dropping for a second. "I pity her more." His voice is softer now, "Because she doesn’t get to be with Inuyasha anymore. And I think… that’s sad."

For ten whole minutes, the two of you went back and forth—voices overlapping, hands flying in exasperation—until your classmates abandoned all pretence of studying just to watch. Some whispered bets under their breath, stifling laughs as you and Soobin yapped at each other like two kids fighting over the last piece of candy.

And then, finally, Soobin sighed, slumping in defeat. "But at the end of the day," he muttered, rubbing his temple, "Kikyo is Kagome, right?"

You scoff, shaking your head. "That’s not how it works." You roll your eyes, turning back to your manga. "Loser,"

And then—he laughs. Not just a chuckle. A real laugh, the kind that makes his eyes scrunch up until they almost disappear, deep crinkles forming at the corners. His dimples dig so deep it’s like someone pressed a pencil into a soft dough, and his cheeks, full and round, look annoyingly pinchable. You catch yourself staring, warmth crawls up your neck, spreading to your ears.

That day, for the first time, you let someone else use your glitter pen.

THE POLAROID CAMERA

Your feet dangle lazily in the air as you scribble in your notebook, your laptop propped open in front of you. You scroll through pages, searching for answers, when a notification pops up.

Meet me at the playground?

You sigh, fingers hovering over the keyboard. But I’m doing homework…

I’ll let you copy mine.

Your lips twitch. Okay. Be there in 10 minutes.

Excitement bubbles in your chest as you throw on a hoodie and a pair of shorts, not even bothering to check if they match. You bound down the stairs, brushing past your mom just as she calls after you. "Be careful—!"

"I’m meeting Binnie, Mom!" you shout over your shoulder. Her resolve crumbles instantly. She sighs, but there’s a small smile in her voice as she mutters, “Be home before dark!”

The walk to the playground is short. When you arrive, you spot Soobin awkwardly lingering by the swings, kicking at the dirt with the toe of his shoe.

"Soobin!" His head snaps up, and the moment he sees you, a grin spreads across his face.

It’s been three years since you first met, three years of him becoming your best friend. Everyone at school knows it. High school doesn’t feel as scary because he’s always there—hovering, teasing, sticking by your side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. People assume you’re together, which is ridiculous. He’s your best friend. Sure, he goes everywhere with you, sure, you’ve fallen asleep on the same couch during sleepovers, sure, his family adores you, and your mom—well, sometimes it feels like she likes him more than she likes you. But again, he's your best friend.

You slow your pace, tilting your head playfully. "What’s up? Finally giving in and letting me copy your homework?" You wiggle your eyebrows, smirking as you catch the faint pink dusting his cheeks—something that happens more and more these days.

But instead of rolling his eyes or firing back with a sarcastic remark, he just exhales. "Happy birthday," he says. "Happy 13th birthday."

Before you can react, he holds out a neatly wrapped box. Confused, you take it, fingers fumbling with the ribbon before you lift the lid. Inside, is a brand-new Polaroid camera. The exact one you’ve been rambling about for weeks. You gape at him. "No way."

Soobin shrugs, scratching the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you. "You wouldn’t shut up about it," he mumbles. "Figured it’d be easier to just get you one instead of listening to you whine forever."

Your throat tightens, something warm spreading through your chest.  You can't stop yourself from hugging him. His hands stilling on his sides.  "Shut up," you whisper. "And thank you."

If you weren’t pressed against him, your face buried in the fabric of his hoodie, the hoodie you gifted him, you would’ve seen the deep flush creeping up his neck, turning his cheeks a fierce shade of red.

THE TEDDY BEAR

“Stop staring.” You nudge his foot under the table, twirling the lollipop in your mouth—the strawberry ones. You used to hate the flavour, the fruit too, but it was impossible to keep up when it’s his favourite. “Am I ugly or something?”

Soobin hasn’t stopped looking at you since you showed up at his house. Not the kind of stare that lingers, but the kind that keeps sneaking glances every five minutes, like he can’t help it.

You cut your hair. The long strands that used to reach your back now barely brush your shoulders. Because I’m turning 18 tomorrow, you told him earlier. And of course, he laughed.

“Okay, okay,” he finally says, chuckling. You’re sprawled out on his bed now, while he’s still at his desk, spinning a pen between his fingers. “Do you wanna sleep over tonight?”

You freeze. Hands dropping from your face, you stare at him. “Why?” you ask, voice laced with suspicion. “Seriously? I’ve spent the midnight of my birthday with you for almost… five years now?”

“Four years.” — “What?”

“It’s four, not five.” He pushes up his reading glasses—the ones that somehow make him look even more handsome. Not that you’d ever admit it. He leans back in his chair, casual as ever. “Stay over, okay? Let’s play League.”

You scoff. “So you can bully me the whole time? Yeah, no thanks.”

“I’ll go easy on you.”

You grab a pillow and chuck it at him. He catches it effortlessly, smirking. “That’s worse!”

You stayed. One pout from him, and you caved. You acted annoyed, but in truth, you just didn’t want him to know how easily he could sway you. You will do anything to hide the fact that he had you wrapped around his finger, whether he knew it or not.

And so, you played. You laughed until your stomach hurt, cursed loud enough that Soobin’s sister pounded on the door, yelling at you both to shut up. But it didn’t matter. Nothing outside that room ever really did when it was just the two of you.

Your birthdays used to be simple, just another day with family, another year passing by. But ever since Soobin came along, they became something special. Something that felt irreplaceable. And the thought of him not being there, of waking up to a birthday where he wasn’t the first person you saw, made your throat tighten in a way you couldn’t explain.

Maybe you didn’t want to explain it. Maybe you were scared to.

"Let's go out to the balcony," he says, shutting off his computer with a final click. You glance at the clock—11:45 PM. Fifteen minutes till you turn eighteen.

"Why?"

"Just because." He nudges you forward, hands settling on your shoulders, his touch impossibly light. No matter how much taller or broader he’s gotten over the years, he never holds you too tightly. It’s always careful. And that’s why your heart stutters in your chest every time.

You step outside, the night air crisp against your skin. The trees sway below, dark silhouettes against the dim glow of the streetlights.  You wrap your arms around yourself, glancing at him. "So… are we spending my birthday just standing here?" you tease. "Shouldn't we be doing something? Eating ice cream, maybe?"

He smiles, "We’ll do that after," he says, already stepping back inside. "Wait here."

You're confused as he leaves you outside. Through the thin curtain, you see his shadow moving; shuffling, hesitating. "Soobin, don’t tell me you got me a cake or something," you call out, teasing. He doesn’t answer right away, and that alone makes you smirk. "So you did get me a cake."

"Sh—no. Yes. Ugh, I hate you," he groans, but when he steps out, there it is, a cake in his hands, eighteen candles flickering in the night breeze. He clears his throat, awkwardly starting, "Happy birthday to you…" His voice is unsure, barely above a murmur, but it’s enough. You smile, and as cheesy as it sounds, your heart clenches in your chest. You close your eyes, letting the warmth of the moment settle over you.

Please let forever be like this.

You blow out the candles, and when you open your eyes, he’s grinning. "I baked this, by the way."

"Wow, looks amazing," you breathe, taking the cake from him. The effort, the slightly uneven letters of your name written on top—it makes your throat tighten. You don’t say anything, just sit down beside him, forks in hand, digging straight into the cake. The wind picks up slightly, ruffling your hair, but neither of you cares. You talk, laugh, and steal bites from each other’s sides, like time doesn’t exist.

"Y/N," he says, your name rolling off his tongue softer than usual. His gaze lingers, watching as you hug the big white teddy bear he got you. Your fingers clutch the plush fur, cheeks pressed against it, lips curled into a quiet, content smile.

His chest tightens.

"Eight years... For eight years, I, I've been," He falters, blinking, momentarily losing himself in the way your eyes widen at him. God. You’re beautiful.

"Hmm?"

He exhales sharply, fingers twitching at his sides. His heartbeat stumbles over itself, but before he can think, before he can think of the script he rehearsed over and over, before he can convince himself to hold back—

"Could I please be your boyfriend?"

THE SILVER METAL BAND

"Sweetheart."

Warm hands find your waist, circling you with a gentle pull, long fingers tracing slow, reverent patterns across your bare skin. A soft squeeze follows, then, warm—featherlight kisses trail from your neck to your ear, each one taking time to settle on your skin. Your name slips from his lips, barely more than a breath, before he tucks himself closer, body melting into yours. "Wake up, sleepyhead. It's almost midnight,"

You laugh softly when you feel him press another kiss behind your ear.  Turning over, you’re met with his familiar smirk, eyes already tracing every inch of your face like it’s the first time he’s seeing you. His hands find your cheeks, cradling them gently—like he always does. As if he hasn’t held you a thousand times before. As if you haven’t been his to hold since high school.

"It's a crime to be this pretty when you just woke up, don't you think?" he teases, his nose bumping against yours before he gives your lips a quick peck. "I love looking at you,"

"We're seriously keeping up with the tradition?" you mumble, voice still heavy with sleep as you reach for him, burying your face against his shoulder blades. Your eyes slip shut again, and he hums softly, his hand tracing slow, soothing patterns on your back.

"Happy 25th birthday, baby," he murmurs. Then, softer—like he’s letting the words settle between you before he dares breathe again, "I love you." His voice pulls you from the edges of sleep, and when your eyes flutter open, you find him already watching you.

Is there anything in this world more beautiful than love? More sacred than being loved?

"Thank you," you reply, smiling. He sits up beside you, and you chuckle softly as he fumbles for something on the floor beside the bed. "What did you get me this time?"

But then your breath stumbles. White roses. A small black box in his hands. Your heart clenches. "Soobin,"

"I’ve been thinking about how I should do this," he starts, chuckling nervously, though his fingers tighten around the box as if anchoring himself. "I thought about renting a place, throwing a party, taking you to some fancy dinner, or even an overseas trip." His gaze finds yours, earnest. "But the truth is, nothing makes me happier than waking up beside you. Nothing feels more right than this—just us, here, like this. So I chose this moment, this place… because I want it forever."

His voice trembles, his hands unfolding the box before you. The silver ring with a single diamond sitting atop. "So please," he whispers, his throat tight, his eyes searching yours. "Could you—will you—marry me?"

“Fuck.” The word rips from your throat as reality slams into you. The room is chaos—voices rising, bodies moving, the cold bite of metal and plastic pressing against your skin. The doctor’s hands fly across his keyboard, adjusting something you don’t understand, while the nurse grips your shoulders like she’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You’re crying.

You don’t remember when it started, but the tears won’t stop. Your breath comes in sharp, panicked gasps as your hands scramble to your chest, fingers clutching desperately at the thin chain around your neck. The ring is warm against your skin, pressed into your palm, solid and real. His ring. The one he slid onto your finger with shaking hands.

“Please,” your voice cracks, “please—just let me keep this.”

The nurse exchanges a glance with the doctor. Their hesitation is suffocating. “We need to take it,” someone says—calm, detached. Like this is just another part of the process. Like it doesn’t matter. “It goes with the rest of your belongings.”

Your heart seizes. The box? What else was in the box? You try to remember, but your mind is a blur of static, you can't. You can't remember now. “No,” you sob, curling around it, pressing it to your lips, your chest, anywhere that might keep it safe. “Please. Not this."

The nurse looks at you with something that almost feels like pity. A softness in her eyes that only makes your chest ache more. “You’re almost done, honey,” she murmurs, her voice gentle, coaxing. “A little more. You can do this. Just close your eyes. You just have to close your eyes.” Your hands won’t stop shaking. The tremors run up your arms, through your ribs, settling somewhere deep in your throat. You feel the prick of a needle, the slow push of something cold into your veins. It soothes the sharp edges, dulls the panic—but not enough. Not enough to stop the tears from slipping down your cheeks. “Close your eyes,” she whispers again.

You do.

Your hands are in his. The car hums beneath you, the city lights flashing by in a blur, but all you can focus on is him. He drives with one hand, the other wrapped around yours, bringing it to his lips every time you hit a red light. Soft, lingering kisses against your knuckles, “How many babies would you want?”

You nearly choke on your drink, coughing as you turn to him. “What?”

He laughs, eyes flicking toward you for just a second before focusing back on the road. “I mean… I’d love as many as we can have. But of course, it’s your body, baby. You get to tell me.”

Your heart flutters. “We don’t even have a wedding date yet.” Another red light. Another kiss against your hand.

“I know,” he says, voice softer now. “It just crossed my mind. Last night, I dreamt of a little girl… she looked just like you.” He pauses, his thumb brushing against your skin. “She was so beautiful. Like you. And I—”

His words are cut off by the violent, shattering force of metal colliding with metal. The world twists—spins—flips. A scream rips from your throat as the car is thrown into chaos, gravity shifting, glass cracking, the deafening sound of impact swallowing everything.

In the middle of it all, his hand finds yours. Instinctive. Desperate.

Then stillness.

A ringing in your ears. The distant sound of voices, footsteps pounding against the pavement. Shadows moving outside the wreck. Someone is calling, you think it's for an ambulance. Your chest heaves as you groan, the taste of blood thick on your tongue. Pain radiates from everywhere, your head throbbing as you press trembling fingers against your scalp. Everything hurts.

You turn, breath shaky, searching. Soobin.

You look to your right and he’s already looking at your face. Pale, dazed, blinking too slowly. "Y/N, are you okay?" His voice is hoarse, weak, but when you nod, he exhales a shaky, "Thank fuck."

His grip tightens around your hand. You can barely feel it, your body is numb, adrenaline rushing through your veins. But you squeeze back. Hold on. You breathe. It’s going to be okay. The ambulance is coming.

Then your eyes drop. And your stomach lurches. "Soobin?"

A jagged piece of debris—large, sharp, too deep—juts from his stomach, trailing up his chest. Blood blooms around it, staining his shirt, spilling over his hands where he grips it like he’s not sure whether to pull or hold on.

Your world tilts again. This is just a dream. "Soobin, what—what—how the—"

There’s so much blood. Too much. Your hands press against the wound trembling, trying to keep it from spilling out, but it’s everywhere—warm and sticky between your fingers, staining your skin, pooling beneath him. You’re sobbing, whispering frantic words that don’t make sense, but you can’t even hear yourself. The panic is eating your face, roaring in your ears as you struggle to breathe. “How should I—”

Then his fingers find your face.

His touch is weak but certain, cradling your cheeks, forcing your wild, tear-filled eyes to meet his. His voice is hoarse when he speaks, but stronger than it should be. “Look at me.” His grip tightens, thumbs brushing your tears away. “Baby, shhh, look at me.”

You shake your head, choking on a sob. “Soobin—”

“I don’t wanna see you cry.”

You’re unravelling. He’s bleeding out beneath you, and you can’t do a damn thing to stop it. “Help! Please, someone help us!” you scream, voice cracking. There are people—so many people—but no one can touch him.

His breath stutters, but he still holds onto you. “Y/N.” Your eyes blur with tears as you grip his hand, pressing his palm tighter against your cheek. “Look at me, yeah?” His lips tremble, but he’s still here, still fighting to keep you calm. “Just keep looking at me. Please.” His forehead rests against yours. “It doesn’t hurt when you’re looking at me. We’re gonna get help soon. You're gonna get help soon, okay?”

The last memory crashes over you, pulling you under. Your chest feels heavy, unbearably so, but then… slowly… it gives. The weight that has kept you drowning eases, just enough for you to take a breath. The sound of machines hums beside you. A final tear slips down your cheek.

It feels like the end.

You close your eyes, just for a moment, just to see him one last time—the Soobin you knew like the back of your hand.  And then, you see his face. That soft, lopsided grin that always made your heart stumble. His voice is a whisper, just a breath against your skin.

“I’m proud of you.” Your lip trembles. “You’ll be okay.”

"Congratulations, it's successful."

The doctor shakes your hand, his grip firm, reassuring. You smile, nodding along. The nurse beside him looks at you with warmth, and before she can react, you throw your arms around her. She lets out a small gasp before melting into the hug.

You feel light. Weightless.

They tell you the treatment worked. They tell you your mother is waiting outside. You nod again, absorbing their words, but for a brief moment, your fingers drift to your neck, expecting something to be there. But it’s bare.

You push the thought away as you step outside. The air feels fresh against your skin, and then you see her. Your mother. She looks thinner than you remember, her cheeks a little sunken, her eyes holding something you can’t quite place. Had she lost weight?

"Hi, Mom," you say, smiling. She looks at you—really looks at you—and her lips part. She smiles back.

"Oh, honey," she breathes, pulling you into her arms.

You giggle, warmth spreading through your chest. "What’s wrong?"

She pulls back just enough to cup your face, shaking her head. "Let’s go home, okay?" You nod, letting her guide you toward the entrance. Everything feels new, yet oddly familiar, like a dream you barely remember but somehow miss.

You're about to step outside when someone walks in. A bouquet of white roses in their arms. Your breath catches, feet falter. Your head turns instinctively, eyes following the flowers, something deep in your chest stirring, something you can’t name.

Your mother notices. "What is it?"

You blink, exhaling softly. "Nothing." You force a small smile, eyes lingering on the roses. "Those flowers… it’s beautiful."

YEAR 3100

"Yeah, I'll go home after class, Mom," you say, balancing your phone between your shoulder and ear as you adjust your bag. "Plus, I'm nineteen. An adult now. I can take care of myself."

Your mom chuckles on the other end, the kind of laugh that says she doesn’t quite believe you but won’t argue. "Alright, alright. Just don’t stay out too late."

"I won’t." She sighs, but you can hear the smile in her voice as she bids you goodbye.

The campus is buzzing with energy, students milling about for the event. It’s a collaboration between three schools—art students showcasing their work, others just here to admire.  Beside you, Wonyoung loops her arm through yours, eyes scanning the crowd. "Girl, I’m getting us drinks," she announces. "Wait for me here."

You roll your eyes with a laugh. "Okay, okay. Don’t take forever." She winks before disappearing into the crowd, leaving you standing in the middle of it all.

Your eyes drift over the canvases, taking in the strokes of colour, the textures, the stories woven into the art. And then, you stop. Something about this one halts you mid-step. Oh. It’s a painting of—

“You’re a fan of Inuyasha?”

The voice beside you is warm, curious. You turn, finding a tall boy with black specs watching you, his hands tucked into his pockets. He shifts slightly when you meet his gaze, and after a beat, he offers you a small, hesitant smile. It’s barely there, just a quirk of his lips. And yet… his dimples poke through anyway.

He’s cute.

“It’s my favourite,” you reply, tearing your eyes away from the painting.

He nods, a quiet hum escaping him. “Mine too.” Then, after a pause, “Kikyo or Kagome?”

You blink at him. He stares at you, and something in your chest stirs.

Not deja vu—no, it’s not that fleeting, ghostly sense of repetition. This is different. Deeper. It feels like a memory you never knew you had, something tucked away in the quiet corners of your mind. Like a song, you don’t remember learning but somehow know all the words to. Like a book misplaced on a shelf, rediscovered years later—its pages worn, its story intact, as if it had been waiting for you to return.

It feels like something preserved, sealed in the vault of you.

Something... archived.

"To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

His voice is strangely distant, the words belong to someone else, rehearsed and repeated.

The ring slips onto your finger, its cold touch startling against your skin. You can’t tell if it’s the chill of the metal that makes you shiver, or the way his voice carries an indifference that seems to sit deep in your chest, pulling your breath with it.

The wedding dress; tailored from the finest silk, adorned with labyrinthine details, feels like something borrowed. Isn’t this supposed to be every girl’s dream? The happiest day of your life? The moment where everything begins, the start of your own family, your own story?

None of it feels like it. Not when he hasn’t said a single word to you since you arrived. It plagues your mind. And all you want to do is kick off the heels that bite into your feet, rip off the tiara that feels like a crown of lead, and run.

You let out a shaky exhale, the breath trembling in your chest when the ring settles on your finger. Your hands slip from his grasp, falling limply to your sides. The vows are done, the words spoken, but all you feel is an overwhelming urge to escape.

Your head turns, seeking the one person who feels safe. Your unsteady gaze finds Soobin, his worried eyes already fixed on you. He gives you a small, almost imperceptible nod, the kind only he would know how to give. All you want is to fall apart—to let the tears come, to crumble into the silent comfort of his eyes, whispering it’s okay.

The pastor’s voice pulls you back, and your soon-to-be husband cups your face with a tenderness that feels reluctance, almost calculated. Hands warm but the eyes that meet yours, cold.

He leans in, and you close your eyes. His lips brush yours, soft, landing just shy of your bottom lip.

“And now, I pronounce you husband and wife,” the pastor declares, the words echoing hollowly in your ears.

Everyone claps.

It's official.

He is now your husband.

"Can you at least smile?" your mother’s sharp voice cuts, gaze fixed on you with her usual expectation. Her lips press together in disapproval. "I don’t want you embarrassing us, honey," she adds, eyes narrowing.

You force a small, strained smile as another guest offers their congratulations. The words feel hollow, and meaningless.

"Mother." Soobin’s voice interrupts, his equally sharp gaze lands on her, and without waiting for her permission, he steps closer, hand brushing your elbow. "We have friends over there. I’ll take Y/N for a bit."

Your mother opens her mouth, distaste printed on her face. "I could go with her—"

"It’s just our friends, Mother," Soobin interjects, his words clipped but polite enough to stop her in her tracks. "Nothing that requires your attention. Besides, I believe Miss Park was trying to get your attention earlier."

Before she can argue further, Soobin’s hand slips into yours, and he gently tugs you away. The grip is reassuring, steady—something to anchor you in this mess.

The crowd seems endless. More congratulations, more empty smiles. Your eyes wander, scanning the room, searching for the one person who should be at your side. But he isn’t there. He isn't… here.

Your husband is nowhere to be found. He vanished as soon as the ceremony ended.

Soobin doesn’t say anything as he leads you into a quiet, empty room. Once inside, he shuts the door firmly behind you, sealing out the noise of the party.

The second the door clicks, his hands are on your face, cradling you like you might break. And you do.

"Soobin," you choke out, your voice trembling. Hot tears stream down your face, and he pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

"Shh," he murmurs, his voice shaky, his hand rubbing gentle circles on your back. "It’s okay. Let it out."

The tears come in waves, carrying with them all the weight you’ve been holding in; every forced smile, every empty thank yous, every aching reminder of your husband. That today isn’t what it should be.

"It hurts me," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "It hurts me that my dearest, sister had to go through with this." His words tremble, just like his hands that hold you tightly.

You can’t bring yourself to reply. Instead, you cling to him, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his jacket, making his heart clench. "Where the fuck is he anyway?" his voice betrays his frustration.

"I don’t—I don’t know," you whisper through your sobs. "How am I supposed to do this, Soobin? He wouldn’t even look at me." And beneath it all, the deeper truth haunts you. It isn’t just his absence or his coldness that hurts.

It’s the undeniable, unspoken reality that settles into your bones and refuses to leave: Choi Beomgyu doesn’t love you—not the way you love him.

The echoes of your wedding vows dance in your ears. For better or worse, you hear. For richer or poorer. In sickness and in health.

Until death do us part.

Three families, known as the Choi Enterprises, dominate the landscape of your country.

Names synonymous with power, wealth, and control. Together, they form an empire that touches nearly every facet of life, businesses towering over the economy like unshakable pillars.

Untouchable.

The first family commands the skies. They own the nation’s largest airline, a fleet that spans lands, with Choi Yeonjun, the celebrated heir, poised to inherit it all.

The second family shapes the skyline with their sprawling malls, and colossal structures that symbolize luxury and excess. Choi Beomgyu, their only son, is the face of it.

And then there’s your family, the architects of indulgence. You own the most prestigious hotels in the country, five-star havens that host the rich, the famous, and the powerful. Your brother, Choi Soobin—the prodigy, the golden child who has been groomed for this role his entire life.

And then there’s you. The second child. Since young, you were conditioned, moulded; not to lead, not to build, but to belong to someone else. To be a wife. One whose marriage would serve a purpose, a bargaining chip in a deal that you have no voice to protest.

Every day since you came of age felt like walking on thin ice, never knowing when it would crack beneath you. You lived with the constant dread that your father could announce your engagement at any last moment. If you were lucky, perhaps it would be someone whose face you recognized, or someone whose name didn’t sound foreign on your lips.

The three families have stood side by side for decades, their ties intertwined by history and convenience. With the heirs of each family so close in age, it was inevitable that you all ended up in the same place: a ridiculously expensive university your families could buy their way into.

It was no surprise that you had known Choi Beomgyu since you were children. And that you've loved him since.

Though you could never quite pinpoint when it began.

Your nine-year-old eyes scanned the room, overwhelmed by the sea of adults towering over you. Too many big, tall people, too many unfamiliar faces. It was the first time your dad had brought you along, always choosing your older brother instead. Never you.

“Would you like something to eat, Y/N?” your nanny asked. You shook your head, distracted. You were trying to find your brother, the one you’d begged to follow today, only to lose him. You had thought this place would be exciting, but now, you would have preferred serving tea to your dolls.

This place wasn’t fun at all.

When your nanny got busy with a conversation, you seized the chance to slip away. You weaved through the crowd, ducking under tables when the adults became too dense. You spotted Soobin ahead, standing with his friend, Yeonja? No, Yeonjun. The one who teased you mercilessly whenever he visited your house. They were too far away.

Giggling with excitement, you ran towards them, eager to finally reach your brother. But your foot caught on the edge of a rug, and you fell hard. “Ow.” You whimpered, face smacking the floor. A sharp, stinging pain in your mouth made your eyes well up. You wiped at your lips and froze when your fingers brushed against something small and hard.

Your front tooth had come out. “No. Soobin, Daddy!” you wailed, embarrassment creeping in as people started to stare. You were about to shout again when a boy appeared, no taller than you, holding out a handkerchief.

“Use this,” he said.

“No,” you mumbled.

“Huh?”

“I said I don’t want it.”

He raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Do you want everyone to think you’re ugly?” His words made you pause, his brown eyes studying you with a mix of curiosity and something else... something protective. The way he stood, it was as if he was shielding you from the judgmental eyes around you. “If you keep crying like that, everyone will think you are.”

The bluntness startled you, and it worked. Your mommy doesn't like it whenever you're crying anyway. She says it's unsightly. You grabbed the handkerchief, sniffling as you dabbed at your mouth. He watched you stand wobbly, one brow raised in quiet observation.

“Soobin?” he asked, recognizing your brother’s name.

You nodded, surprised that he knew.

He nodded back, taking your pinkie in his small hand and leading you across the yard, toward your brother safely.

That day was the day you first met your husband.

"Hey, have you heard? Choi Beomgyu and Park Ji-won broke up for the fourth time this semester," Jake, one of your batchmates, announces with a grin, his voice cutting through the chatter of your little group. The names make you freeze mid-conversation. "It’s hilarious, bro. Ji-won was literally stomping her feet like a kid."

"You little scandalmonger," Ryu-jin quips from beside you, rolling her eyes. "Why are you so invested in them? They’re a batch ahead of us. We don’t even cross paths with them."

You won’t encounter Choi Beomgyu often. The last time you had a proper, civil conversation—one forced by your parents—was when you were fifteen, and even then, your brother had been there too. That was five years ago.

During your first year, Choi Beomgyu was in the second. He got a girlfriend, Park Ji-won, the queen bee of their batch. Beomgyu was already famous, and their relationship quickly gained a reputation of its own, known for its ups and downs, the drama playing out like a spectacle for everyone to watch.

“Uh, h-hi, Y/N.” A boy stammers nervously in front of you. You look up, surprised to see him holding out a small box of chocolates. “I… I made these for you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

A soft smile forms on your lips as you reach out to take it. “Thank you, Hanbin.”

The way his name rolls so easily off your tongue catches him off guard. His eyes widen, and his face flushes a deep shade of red. He stammers out something that might be “you’re welcome” before ducking his head in a quick bow and practically fleeing the scene.

As he disappears into the crowd, Ryu-jin lets out a low whistle, her grin mischievous. “Oh-ho, my ever-charming and impossibly kind Y/N,” she teases, pinching your cheek in a way that makes you laugh and bat her hand away.

You hold the box of chocolates out to her, and without missing a beat, she takes it with a delighted, “Don’t mind if I do!”

“Why do you always know everyone’s names?” Jake asks, leaning over to snag a piece of chocolate before Ryu-jin can stop him. He pops it into his mouth, then gives you a mock incredulous look. “There are way too many people trying to win you over. If I were you, I wouldn’t even bother keeping track.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I don’t really try to memorize their names, Jake,” you explain, your voice softening. “But when someone puts themselves out there like that, when they go out of their way to do something kind for me, even if I don’t feel the same, the least I can do is acknowledge it. Knowing their name… it’s just part of respecting the effort they made.”

Jake leans back, arms crossed, pretending to look unimpressed. “You’re way too nice for your own good, you know that?”

The rest of the conversation became a blur. The details didn’t matter—they never really did. Choi Beomgyu had gotten back together with her again. That’s how it always went, didn’t it? Still, your mind dawdled on him, as it often did, bonded to a memory from so long ago: the boy with sceptic eyes and a hand who had guided you safely to your brother.

You couldn’t explain it fully, this quiet pull you felt toward him.

Maybe it was the way he kept to himself at gatherings, speaking only when necessary. His words always carried a weight your mother would later describe as "intelligent," her tone laced with rare approval. It could’ve been his eyes, dark and warm, matching the soft chaos of his hair. Or perhaps it was his low voice, that left a faint shiver dancing along your spine without warning.

Life had always been laid out for you, each piece polished and placed neatly on a silver platter. Nothing ever seemed truly exciting, not when you could have anything you wanted with minimal effort. You’d never been particularly interested in dating, either. Why chase something when the pursuit itself felt dull?

Choi Beomgyu was… different. He wasn’t even someone you could simply talk to. Maybe that’s why he fascinated you so much.

He's impossible to ignore.

"He's sick again… ugh."

The words grated on your nerves, cutting through the hallway like nails on a chalkboard. You were at your locker, minding your own business, stacking books into your bag. Ji-won’s loud voice, drew the attention of everyone within earshot.

You were ready to walk away from the nauseating cheap fog of their perfume, when her next words stopped you cold.

"Beomgyu's sick," she continued, tossing her hair back like it was some grand inconvenience to her. "We went shopping yesterday, and he lent me his umbrella when it rained. Now he's sick. Honestly, such an idiot move."

How could she talk about him like that? Here, in front of all these people, where anyone could hear?

"And I told him not to play basketball today," Ji-won added with a careless shrug. "I mean, it's not like some game is more important than my plans."

Some game? The basketball match wasn’t just some game—it was one of the biggest events of the year, something their team had poured weeks of practice into. And she expected him to ditch it for her whims?

The sharp clang of your locker shutting ripped through the air, louder than you intended when you closed it. The hallway fell silent. Ji-won flinched, startled by the sound, then turned, ready to snap at whoever dared interrupt her. But when her eyes met yours, the words died in her throat.

Your stare pinned her in place, unwavering. The entire hallway seemed to hold its breath, watching, waiting. Everyone knew better than to cross you, Choi trinity’s princess.

After a few long seconds, you broke eye contact, turned on your heel and walked away, each step of your Valentino sandals echoing with you.

As much as you wanted to speak, as much as the words burned at the back of your throat, you couldn’t. Because no matter how much Ji-won infuriated you, no matter how carelessly she spoke about him, this wasn’t your battle to fight.

You had no right to.

Beomgyu wasn’t yours to defend.

You body moved without thinking, pulling your phone out to call your driver. Medicine. Ingredients for a recovery soup. You listed everything quickly, your voice brisk to mask the slight shake in it.

Cooking had always been something you loved. There was a comfort in its simplicity—a recipe was just steps to follow, a methodical course that brought things to life. You liked how it could make someone happy, how it could bring warmth, even when words couldn’t.

When the ingredients arrived, you made your way to the university’s cooking room. It was meant for culinary students, but a single request to the club president had granted you access.

You tied your hair back, rolled up your sleeves and got to work. The familiar motions of chopping, stirring, and seasoning steadied you. The savoury aroma filled the room, spilling over into your senses. When the soup was done, you ladled it into a glass container, the warmth radiating through your hands. Perfect for the chilly wind outside.

It's no surprise that he got sick.

You packed it carefully, along with the medicine, into a small bag, and made your way toward his classroom. Sunghoon had told you where Beomgyu’s seat was, promising to keep it quiet. No one could know about this.

Not even Beomgyu himself.

The classroom was empty when you arrived, just as you’d hoped. Rows of desks stretched before you, soaked in the soft, dim light of late afternoon. Your steps faltered when you unexpectedly spotted him. You were about to turn around when you noticed he was asleep.

There he was, slumped over his desk, his head resting on folded arms. His chest rose and fell in slow, steady breaths, his face flushed with fever.

You swallowed hard, the sight tugging at something deep inside you. His eyelashes, dark and delicate, brushed against his cheeks, and for a moment, he looked so unguarded, so unlike the version of him you were used to seeing.

Slowly, you approached, placing the bag on the desk beside him with the utmost care, as if any sound might disturb him. But as much as you tried to stay quiet, the pounding of your heart seemed impossibly loud in the silence.

You stood there longer than you should have, your gaze lingering on the soft lines of his face. His fever-reddened cheeks, his slightly parted lips; he looked so vulnerable, so human in a way that made your chest ache.

Your breath caught as you turned to leave. It was hard to breathe in this room, hard to ignore the charm he had on you, even now. With one last glance at his sleeping form, you turned and walked out.

It felt like you were leaving your heart with him.

Beomgyu stirs awake, his body aching and cold, as if the chill had seeped into his skin. His head feels heavy, but a faint warmth near him pulls him in. He blinks sluggishly, there's—a container of soup resting on his desk.

Soup?

Confused but drawn to it, he sits up slowly, the movement making his head spin. His fingers tremble slightly as he uncaps the container, and the smell that greets him is like a hug he didn’t know he needed. His stomach rumbles in response.

His gaze drops to the items beside it: medicine, utensils, carefully placed. Whoever left this thought of everything.

He picks up the spoon, dipping it into the golden broth. Bringing it to his lips, he tastes it. His eyes widen, a soft sound escaping him—surprised. It’s incredible.

It reminds him of his mother’s cooking, back when she still had time to make him meals. A strange fullness settles in his chest as he takes another spoonful, the warmth spreading, chasing away the numbness. He can’t stop eating—it’s too good.

“Babe?”

The sound of Ji-won’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He looks up as she walks in, holding two water bottles. Her eyes land on the container in his hands, her expression flickering with something unreadable.

“Oh,” she says casually, stepping closer.

Beomgyu smiles, his lips curving softly, his voice lighter than it’s been all day. “Did you make this?” he asks, hope threading through his tone. “It’s amazing. Seriously, it’s… it’s so good. Fucking delicious.”

Ji-won blinks, startled by his enthusiasm. He was grumpy and on edge all day because of his fever. Who left this? she wonders, panic flickering beneath her composed exterior, her gaze darts to the container again, then back to Beomgyu, who’s looking at her expectantly.

“Oh, yeah—yeah!” she blurts, forcing a bright smile. “Of course, I made it.”

Beomgyu tilts his head, surprised. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Anything for my boyfriend,” Ji-won replies, stepping closer as she places the water bottles on his desk. Her smile feels tight, but she pushes through. “That’s how much I love you.”

He chuckles softly, eating a spoonful again. “Well, I love it. Thank you for this. It made me feel so much better.”

That wasn’t the last time.

You told yourself it would be. Swore it, even. No more going out of your way for him. No more small, secret gestures. But every time you thought it was over, you found yourself pulled back in, like some invisible thread tying you to him.

It started with the soup. The day after you left it, you saw him. His face, pale and tired the day before, was flushed with warmth again, life returning to his features. Sunghoon mentioned, almost offhandedly, how Beomgyu wouldn’t stop bragging about the meal, how he raved about it like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

And something about that stuck with you.

From then on, it became quite a bad habit. Throughout college, whenever you heard he was sick, you found yourself leaving small comforts behind. A bottle of tea on his desk, sweets slipped into his lockers during a lecture. And it didn’t stop there.

One time, Beomgyu forgot something important; a book, a charger, you don’t even remember now. You lent yours to Sunghoon, pretending you didn’t care, pretending it wasn’t just another way to help Beomgyu without him knowing.

Because you didn't want anything back.

When rumors spread about him sneaking around with his girlfriend, you stepped in before it escalated. His father will be angry about it, so you talked to that person who caught him, not for his sake but for your own, because the thought of his world unraveling in front of him was something you couldn’t bear to witness.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

It wasn’t for him. It couldn’t be.

It was for you.

The way your eyes scanned every room at social gatherings, always searching for his familiar face in the crowd. The way you couldn’t relax until you caught sight of him or the way your heart jumped whenever you spotted him, even if he didn’t notice you.

It was an addiction. One you couldn’t seem to break, no matter how many times you promised yourself you’d let go.

Were you in love with him for those four years? Or was it more than that?

"As you already know, this is Y/N, son," Beomgyu's mother announces, her perfectly manicured hands resting lightly on your shoulders. Beomgyu’s gaze meets yours. His hair is longer now, sitting at the edges of his sharp jawline, almost to his shoulders—much different to how you remember him last, on his graduation day. A whole year has passed since then. And you've graduated now too.

His suit; a dark blue so deep it could pass for black, fits him perfectly, exuding quiet sophistication. In contrast, your white Balmain dress feels almost too bright, too bold, clinging to you in a way that leaves no room for subtlety. You feel exposed under his probing eyes.

This morning, your mother had insisted—no, demanded—that you wear an elegant dress. You hadn’t understood why, but now the reason stands clear.

Beside you, your brother Soobin sits rigid, yet observing. He’s always been offensive, and tonight is no exception.

The two Choi family heads are deep in conversation, their voices low but purposeful, like they’re planning something big. It’s just the two families here tonight, seated at an impossibly long table in an equally expensive restaurant. The grandeur of the setting only amplifies it—the entire floor of this lavish place reserved just for this dinner, the emptiness around you making it feel more like a stage than a private meal.

“Your marriage will take place at the end of the year,” Beomgyu’s father declares. The words snap you out of your daze, and your head jerks toward him in shock. A soft gasp escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“What?” Beomgyu’s voice is sharp. His jaw tightens when he leans forward, composure beginning to crack. “You made me end things with Ji-won last week, and now you’re telling me I’m engaged?” He practically spits the words, hands curl into fists on the table. “To someone I don’t even know?”

Ji-won. You flinch involuntarily, hands dropping to your lap. You start picking at your nailbeds. The air feels thick—too thick to breathe.

“Who is that?” Beomgyu’s father demands, his tone filled with disdain. “I told you not to mention that whore again.” His words are venomous, and you barely have time to register the insult before the sound of Beomgyu’s chair scraping against the polished floor reverberates through the room.

Everyone flinches as he rises, his movements full of suppressed fury. Your heart pounds. He stands there seething, glaring at his father, everyone staring, daring for him to do something before he turns on his heel.

You bite your bottom lip, trying to hold yourself together. The sting in your chest is undeniable. Disappointment wells up, as Beomgyu's actions fill the silence you can’t bear to break, your gaze fixed anywhere but the head table. Soobin’s hand suddenly moves into your line of sight, prying yours apart gently—stopping you from further tormenting your hands. His fingers curl around yours, tight.

Beomgyu's retreating footsteps echo, each one louder than the last, leaving a charged silence in their wake.

The next time you see him is on your wedding day.

You didn’t think it would happen like this. You truly didn’t. You’d clung to the faint hope that he’d at least show up before the ceremony—just once. You went to the fittings alone, picked out the rings by yourself, and stood in bakeries surrounded by couples, as you chose the cake flavour on your own. A conversation, even a brief one, might have eased the unease that had settled in your chest like a stone.

Maybe, when the time comes, you’ll work up the courage to ask him if he can at least try to be casual with you.

But every assurance came from his parents, empty promises that fell on ears too tired to process anymore. Your parents clung to those words, desperate for this union. A necessary marriage, they said. A solution.

None of it reassured you. How could it, when the groom himself was nowhere to be found? You never saw him.

It was as though you were preparing to marry a ghost.

When he finally sees you, it’s as you walk down the aisle, dressed in a gown that feels heavier than it should. His gaze lands on you, a one-second glance that’s gone before you can even register it. He doesn’t look at you again. Not during the vows, not during the ceremony, not even as you both stand side by side, bound by words you barely believe.

And now, instead of his arms around you, you find yourself sobbing into your brother’s shoulder. Soobin holds you tightly. The irony was funny—it was Soobin, the whole reason to why Beomgyu was introduced to you all those years ago.

Beomgyu, the boy who returned you safely to your brother that night, the one who left a permanent mark so indelible it stayed for years. The same mark that now hurts you, refusing to fade no matter how many years passed.

It's cruel.

Happy 26th birthday baby girl! xoxo

You smiled faintly at Ryujin's text as you stirred the pancake batter you'd made from scratch. The comforting smell of vanilla and butter filled the kitchen, your kitchen.

As much as you endured your parents' endless whims, you had to admit, you loved the simplicity of domesticity. There was something grounding about it. It made you feel useful, capable, like you could create something perfect, even in a life that often felt far from it.

"Y/N." The sound of your name broke your focus. You looked up, catching Beomgyu standing at the doorway. He was already dressed in his usual impeccably tailored suit, his fingers fiddling with the knot of his tie. "I'm heading to the office early today,"

"Again?" Your voice was softer than you'd intended. "At least have breakfast before you go. I can finish this quickly."

"Thank you," he dismissed, gaze shifting away. Avoiding yours. Reminding you the line that's stretched between you cannot ever cross. "But I'll eat at the office. I don't want to be late. I might be back for dinner later. Maybe."

He adjusted his tie one last time, nodded in your direction, and walked out without another word. The soft click of it closing behind him felt louder than it should have.

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. It was fine. You were used to this. Not because he left early again, but because it was an important day for you. A day you’d spend, once again, without him. Another day spent in the quiet of this too-big penthouse, with no one but yourself for company.

Two years into your marriage, you had learned to temper your expectations. Love was never meant to be part of the deal, and you had told yourself, over and over, that you didn’t need it. But no amount of reason could stop your heart from aching, from yearning—for Beomgyu to see you. Not as a piece of some agreement or a cog in the machinery of alliances, but as a person. As you.

Maybe even as a friend.

He wasn’t unkind. Not once had he raised his voice or shown you disrespect. But in some ways, his indifference stung more. He was here, yet not here, like a shadow that lived in the same space but never touched yours.

And sometimes, you wished that he would be mean to you, he would shout at you or he would hurt you—at least then, there would be something to feel. You hate that you gave him power over yourself.

You told your mother about it, you never saw your parents love each other, not in a way that felt real, not in front of you. She offered one thing that made sense to you.

Someday, you'll have children, and your child will give you a new purpose. You wanted to push back, to argue, but the next words stopped you cold—“Because if being an invisible wife isn’t enough, your children will see you.” You didn’t want to bring a child into this, into a life painted in shades of grey. An innocent child shouldn’t have to bear it. A child born not out of love? The thought made your chest tighten.

And yet, in the darkest, most desperate corners of your mind, another voice whispered something wicked. A voice that insisted maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

You sighed, finding the courage to pick up the spoon to eat, imagining a child sitting across from you, soft brown eyes mirroring his.

Alone, but somehow, it felt a little less lonely.

"Boss, there's a party later. It's Mr. Yoon's farewell dinner."

Beomgyu glanced up from his laptop, his secretary’s voice pulling him from the post-meeting haze. Mr. Yoon; one of his father’s most loyal employees, someone who had been with the company for years. Letting this occasion go unnoticed wasn’t an option, not for someone like him.

Later that evening, Beomgyu arrived at the resto-bar, the space already alive with the hum of laughter and conversation. As soon as he stepped inside, heads turned. Employees greeted him with a mix of respect and warmth, but his smile, though polite, didn’t reach his eyes. It was business, like always. When someone announced that the night’s tab was on him, a wave of cheers erupted, but Beomgyu barely reacted. He offered only a nod before grabbing a beer and retreating into his thoughts. Are you asleep—

"Omg, Beomgyu?"

The familiar voice jolted him. He turned his head sharply, and there she was—Ji-won. Her platinum blonde bleached hair gleamed under the bar lights, her lips curved into a playful smile. She looked almost the same, except more polished. She hadn’t changed much, down to the way her manicured fingers grazed her cheek as she tucked her hair behind her ears.

"It's you! I haven't seen you in what, two years? Almost?" she said, her tone bright, her lashes fluttering in the way she knew he once liked.

"Yeah," Beomgyu replied curtly, his voice neutral. "Nice to see you here." He grabbed his beer and took a long sip. Her laugh rang out, light and infectious, the same laugh that used to feel like heaven to him. She knew exactly what to do, exactly how to pull him in.

Beomgyu raised his beer and took a long sip again, letting the alcohol burn its way down. He probably should go now. Her friends surrounded them, teasing and nudging, playful comments flying back and forth. He stayed composed, answering in clipped sentences, trying to keep his distance.

He just needs to find the time to excuse himself.

But at some point, her friends drifted away, leaving her behind; drunk and alone, leaning heavily against the table. Beomgyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. He could have left her there. Maybe he should have. But instead, he found himself walking over.

"Come on," he said quietly, offering his hand. "Let me take you home."

She looked up at him, her eyes glassy but soft, and smiled. It was a smile that used to mean so much more.

Her warm hands envelop his.

The drive to her address was heavy with silence. Ji-won kept glancing at him, her eyes longing, but Beomgyu stayed focused on the road. Her address glowed faintly from his phone’s GPS. When they arrived, he got out, rounding the car to help her. She wobbled slightly, her drunken state evident, but he steadied her without a word and walked her to her door. She didn’t let go of his arm.

As they reached her doorstep, she turned to him, her voice trembling, raw. “Did you forget all about me already?” she asked, her voice breaking slightly. “Because… because I haven’t. It's still you, Beomgyu. I still love you.”

The words stopped him cold. He looked at her then, really looked at her. The faint blush on her cheeks, the way her hair fell messily over her shoulders, and that familiar scent of her perfume. Memories flashed. The way she’d cried when he said goodbye. The way she’d begged him to stay, her arms wrapped around him like she could keep him forever. He remembered the way he had talked to his father—looking for any chance. Only to be met with a no. A hard, unrelenting no.

It was too much. She's too familiar.

He's too close.

And then, she leaned in.

Her lips touched his, soft just like they used to be. He shouldn’t. But when the small of her hands gripped the lapels of his suit, pulling him closer, he kissed her back.

It wasn’t gentle—it was desperate, messy, like trying to reclaim something lost. Her body pressed against his, and the sound of her soft moan made him grip her arms. He presses her against the door. Her hands tried to open the front door for them to go inside. It felt like a reunion, a fleeting taste of something they weren’t supposed to have.

But then she whispered against his lips, “Do you think we’d be married now if your father hadn’t stopped us?”

The word married hit him, made him open his eyes, freezing in place.

He pulled away, his breath ragged, staring at her. His lips still burned with the sin of hers. What the hell was he doing?

Ji-won stared at him, her expression a mix of confusion and hurt. “Beomgyu—” she started, but he shook his head, taking another step back.

“I… I can’t,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

Without waiting for her response, he turned and walked away, his steps hurried and uneven. She reached for him—called his name, voice crying, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

All he could see was your face.

At home. Waiting for him. Leaning to the countertop with your stupidly sweet unnecessary smile. The crinkle by your eyes. It flashes over and over, drowning out everyone, and everything else.

Beomgyu gets into his car, his hands trembling as he fumbles with the keys. The engine roars to life with an urgency that matches his racing thoughts.

His grip tightens on the wheel as the image of Ji-won flashes in his mind. Her words. Her touch. The kiss. His stomach churns. What the hell was he thinking? Did he still love her?

The elevator ride to your floor feels agonizingly slow, every second stretching endlessly. He can barely hear his own breathing over the pounding of his heart. When the doors open, he steps out hesitantly, his footsteps dragging as he approaches the front door.

He pauses in the entryway, his eyes scanning the room until they land on you.

He sees you.

You're curled up on the couch, your head resting on a pillow, a blanket draped loosely over your legs. His eyes dart on the kitchen, there sits a plate of untouched food, now cold.

Dinner. You still made him dinner.

His chest tightens. You waited for him. Despite everything, despite the fact that he’d made no promises, despite the countless nights like this, you still waited.

How? he thinks, his mind reeling. How could you wait for him, when he hadn't given you anything to hold on to?

He glances at the clock on the wall. 6 a.m. His jaw clenches. He hadn’t even noticed the time had passed. He’d been so caught up at the party, so lost in the haze of old memories and poor decisions, that he’d forgotten about you entirely.

He steps closer, his gaze softening as it falls on your face. You look peaceful, your breathing even, your features illuminated by the dim light filtering in from the window. There’s something unfamiliar stirring in his chest.

The urge to reach out, to touch you, is overwhelming. But as his eyes fall to your lips, a shameful reminder washes over him, he knows that his lips had been with someone else only minutes ago.

It would be cruel to let it stain the divine of your skin.

“Come here,” Beomgyu spoke, which made you look at him through the mirror for a couple of seconds before seeing him beckon you over. You walked towards him, about to sit on the edge of the bed, when he grabbed your arm and sat you between his thighs.

“What is it?” you asked softly. You felt his arms tighten slightly around you, his fingers brushing the fabric of your robe. He hadn’t spoken to you all day, hadn’t so much as looked at you too. You just got out of your shower when you saw him sitting in your bed. And now, here he was—unexpected, yet demanding this closeness.

He didn’t answer. Instead, his lips pressed against the curve of your shoulder. You could feel his breath, warm against your skin. His hand slid slowly from your waist to your side, tracing the outline of your frame. You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening. You knew what this was. What he wanted. What he was about to do.

This was the pattern you had grown to recognise. The times he came to you like this, seeking the comfort your body could offer. The way his touch made you feel seen. And when morning came, like always, he would retreat—pulling away, storms behind his eye, leaving you to wrestle with the hollow ache in your chest.

Nights like this made it hurt more.

“Nothing.” He says. You felt his hand caress your thigh as he kisses your shoulder. He turns you around. He licked his lips before letting it explore the inside of your mouth, making you moan. He grunts in your mouth as his hand snakes to the inside of your thighs, kneading the soft flesh.

He pushes his clothed crotch to your heat. He removes the top part of your robe, his lips easily finding themselves on your nipple, kissing around it before hungrily latching his mouth on it. The feeling of his wet tongue circling your bead and the growing tent on his pants rubbing on you made your body heat up.

You should push him away.

But then he looked up into your eyes, almost begging. It's soft, glassy which makes you wonder if you're ever going to see it other than like this. At that moment, the truth hit you: this was all he could offer. This collision, the press of his skin against yours—this was all you’d ever have of him. The pain intensified. He goes up and captures your lips again.

“I want to be inside you,” he murmured against your kisses. Fine, you thought. Just this once more—one last time. You placed your hands on his chest, pushing him back gently, turned around and got on all fours. You arched your back, pressing your head onto the mattress. Your ass was in the air, and you were exposed to him. Hearing him move behind you made you close your eyes.

Beomgyu was shocked. For you to offer yourself like this, so quickly, caught him off guard. He blinked, taking in the curve of your back, and the way you presented yourself.

You felt his tip rub against your folds and swollen clit, making you whine. He pulled your legs farther apart before plunging two fingers to make sure you were ready to take him.

You moaned, feeling his long fingers massage your walls. Your wetness trickled on his hand, and it only made him harder. He sucked his fingers when he pulled out. You felt every inch, his cock reaching places that made your body arch instinctively beneath.

It burns, and it burns so good.

“You're always fucking tight.” He kneads your ass cheeks, thrusting slowly at first before gradually increasing in speed. You felt so full as he pushed into you. He reached for your clit as you buried your face into the pillow. “Y/N…” His hard cock reaches the deepest parts of you. Beomgyu flipped your body without warning, and your arm immediately flew to your face. You turned your face away from him, not knowing that he’s been observing you.

You’ve been hiding your face the whole time as much as you can. Seeing his eyes felt unbearable. Because meeting his eyes will make you want him. To want him more than this. Something he will never be able to give.

“Y/N…I want to see your face.” He grabbed your hand to move them away, and Beomgyu felt a pang in his chest when he saw your swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks. You were sobbing underneath him.

“Please…” Your voice cracked, barely a whisper. “Just make me cum. Okay?”

You were breaking your own heart, chasing his own. And as he stared down at you, his indifference, the wall he’d built so carefully around himself, was killing you.

“What's wrong?” He urges you. His thrusts are unceasing as tears continue to fall down from your eyes. “Y/N…” Your orgasm hits you hard. Your toes curled as you cried out his name. Your walls were squeezing his cock. He grunts at how tight you feel around him. His hands were gripping the back of your knees as his hips stuttered, about to reach his own climax.

Even as he continued to move, his pace sloppy and desperate, your quiet sobs filled the room, uncontrollable. Beomgyu stilled above you, his heart twisting painfully at the sound. He hated himself—hated the way he’d reduced you to this.

You feel his hot cum inside you. When he finally pulled away, he collapsed beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. His unsure eyes drifted to you, curled up in the blankets, your shoulders shaking as you tried to stifle your cries. You moved your whole body under the sheets, clung to the fabric like it was the only thing holding you together.

Hiding. Hiding from the one who was supposed to be your other half.

The sight of you like this made his throat tighten, his chest heavy with something he couldn’t put into words. He had never wanted to hurt you, yet here you were.

That night, Beomgyu lay unable to find sleep, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling of your bedroom walls. You were an angel, one he had broken with his own hands.

You wake up, heart racing.

Your hands instinctively move to your face. It’s that dream again. The same one that’s haunted you night after night. The memory of him. That night. The last time Beomgyu touched you. It’s been just over four weeks.

Even in sleep, he doesn’t let you go.

You blinked, your surroundings blurry in the faint light of your room. How did you get here? You were sure you’d fallen asleep on the couch. The question barely settles before an uneasy twist in your stomach pulls you back to the present. A wave of nausea rushes through you, sharp and sudden.

Your hand flies to your mouth as you scramble out of bed, your legs barely keeping up as you dart to the bathroom. You made it just in time, collapsing onto your knees as your body seized itself forward. The bitter taste burned your throat, each heave leaving you weaker than the last. You sat there, gripping the cool edge of the toilet, tears slipping silently down your cheeks.

You pushed yourself up, legs still shaky, and made your way to the sink. The cold water was a welcome distraction, splashing against your skin and dripping down in rivulets. You scrubbed at your face harder than you needed to, as if the water could somehow rinse away more than just the sweat clinging to your skin.

Grabbing a towel, you patted your face dry, letting your gaze drift to the untouched box of tampons sitting quietly on the shelf.

“Y/N?” The knock on your door startled you. Tossing the towel aside, you stepped out of the small bathroom and crossed the room to open the door.

There he stood, his dark eyes locking onto yours the second the door opened. He scanned your face. “Are… are you okay? I heard a loud thump.” His voice was uneven, like he wasn’t sure he should even be asking.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly. You moved to step past him, but the moment you did, he took a cautious step back, his body shifting as though he couldn’t bear to be too close.

It stung, but you didn’t let it show. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No,” he replies, eyes darting to the vases on the table. “You got flowers?” Beomgyu’s stares on your face. The way your face softens at the mention of them, he notices it instantly. He doesn’t like it, not one bit.

“They were given to me.”

“Two dozen?” he presses, “By who?”

“Soobin,”

“And?” he asks again, though there’s no need. He already knows who.

“Yeonjun,” The name lands heavy between you.

His jaw tightens. “He dropped them off here yesterday? Why did—” His words tumble out quickly, too quickly.

Because it's your birthday.

“He was with Soobin, Beomgyu,” you interrupt, brushing past him toward the refrigerator. Your steps feel heavier than they should Blinking, you try to push the swelling emotions back down. Normally, you’d brush this off. So why does it feel so different today? Why are you getting emotional? You pull out a bottle of water, taking a long sip to steady yourself before asking, “What time did you come home yesterday?”

Silence.

You drink slowly, giving him time to answer, but he doesn’t. The room feels stifling in the stillness, the hum of the refrigerator suddenly too loud. You set your empty glass on the table with a dull thud, your eyes drifting back to him.

He’s standing there in his usual morning look, white shirt hanging loose, black pyjama pants slightly wrinkled. His hair is a mess from sleep, and his skin looks paler in the soft light. There’s something about how vulnerable he looks in the mornings that always catches you off guard.

He's painfully beautiful.

“Around the morning,” He's hesitant. He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t meet your eyes, and the tightness in your chest only grows. There’s an ugly nagging feeling at the edges of your thoughts.

“I’ll go get ready for work,” he says, shutting the conversation before it even has a chance to go further.

It doesn't surprise you anymore.

You step into the opulent glow of the five-star Skyline Restaurant, the clink of fine china and hushed laughter swirled around. Fingers gripping your white Dior purse, you scan the room, heels clicking against the polished marble floor. Your eyes sweep over faces until a familiar one stops you in your tracks.

“Pretty girl.” Ryujin’s voice called out, smooth and warm. She raises a hand in a poised wave, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. You mirror her expression, weaving your way toward her. Heads turn as you pass, your perfume is delicate yet potent.

“How are you?” she asks as you reach her, gaze soft yet probing.

“I’m okay,” you reply, sinking into the plush couch across from her. The tension in your shoulders eases, if only slightly. “Thank you for the gifts, by the way. And I’m sorry I couldn’t meet up with you yesterday, like you wanted.”

“I understand.” Her reply is casual, but her eyes betray her. They flicker to the dark crescents under yours, the ones you’ve tried to conceal but can never quite hide. “It’s always him, isn’t it? At the end of the day.”

Your fingers wrap around the porcelain cup in front of you. The tea is hot against your palms, and you take a tentative sip. It tasted faintly of jasmine, soothing and bittersweet. The silence between you stretches.

“Y/N.” Her voice pulls you back, insistent. Your eyes meet hers, and for a moment, you can’t look away. “He’s the reason you’re like this. It doesn't have to be, but he made it this way. You see that, don’t you?”

"I know."

Ryujin’s eyes flickered with hesitation, the way someone falters before delivering a blow. Eyes darting between you and the untouched tea in front of her. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” she began, her voice soft but unsteady. “But I… I heard something.”

Her words made your heart clench. “What is it?”

“I mean, I’m not completely sure, but it came from someone I trust and—”

“Ryujin,” you snapped, sharper than you intended. Your chest tightened as dread crept in. “Tell me.”

She hesitated, her lips parting slightly before closing again. “Did he spend the night with you yesterday?”

You felt the world shift under your feet. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Your silence was enough.

He wasn't.

Ryujin’s expression softened, pity creeping into her features, “I—there was a party,” she said, her voice quieter now, hesitant. “One with Beomgyu and Ji-won.”

The name made your stomach drop.

“They were together all night,” she said, her words rushed, like she wanted to get them out before she lost her nerve. “And someone… someone saw them. Beomgyu practically carried her into his car. They left together.”

Your vision blurred for a second, the edges of the room fading as her words registered. You forced yourself to blink, to breathe. “Oh,” you whispered.

Ryujin stood abruptly and moved to sit beside you, taking your trembling hands into hers. “Confront him,” she urged. “Find out if it’s true.” She squeezed your hands. “I’m so tired of seeing you like this. Always giving and giving while he takes whatever’s left of you.” Her voice cracked. “Loving him silently. Loving him so hard isn’t going to make him love you back.”

You didn’t even realise you were crying until the tears started dripping onto your lap, soaking into the fabric of your dress. Ryujin hated it. She remembered you in college; how you laughed so freely, how your eyes sparkled. But now, that light she admired so much was dimming, as if someone had reached inside you and quietly stolen it piece by piece.

Ryujin swallowed hard, blinking back her own tears as she watched yours fall. How hurt must you be to cry like this—without a sound, without even a gasp? Just the quiet, stream of tears slipping down your face, carving paths of pain?

She hated seeing you like this, hated how one person had managed to turn the full-bloomed, radiant version of you into a shadow of yourself, a bud closed off to the world.

That someone can easily break you, when you spent years building yourself.

You're waiting.

It's 10 p.m. The hours have crawled by since you drove back here. You look around. This space, where you are supposed to build a family, where love is supposed to be—is nothing but a cold place to you.

You're sitting on the couch, the same couch you’ve spent countless nights on, staring at the clock, waiting for him. Your hands rest in your lap, trembling slightly, though you don’t realise it. With nothing but fear, the fear that you’re losing something you never truly had.

Your phone buzzes again. Two names alternate, calling over and over. You don’t pick up. You don’t even look. You can’t.

Because the truth is, you don’t know if you’ll make it through the night without hearing from him. Your husband.

The elevator dings softly, and Beomgyu steps into the penthouse. His tie hangs loose around his neck, his hair tousled and far from his usual pristine self. He looks tired, distracted—like he’s been anywhere but here. His eyes met yours.

"Why are you still awake—"

"Do you think I don’t know what you’ve done?" Your voice cuts, trembling. You see his eyes widen, just a fraction. It’s so small you almost missed it.

"Ji-won." Her name burns as it leaves your mouth, bitter. His eyes flicker toward you for just a second, a split second, just long enough to know that he heard, but there is nothing in them. Nothing.

He moves with calculated slowness, setting his bag down on the table, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. Time ticked. He doesn’t even try to explain. Doesn’t even look at you long enough for you to find a trace of the man you once thought you knew. His thumb brushes over his ring like it’s something he’s forgotten. A ring that should have meant forever.

"I can handle it all, Choi Beomgyu," you say, your voice firmer now, though your hands tremble at your sides. "I’ve handled it all, haven’t I? I didn’t say anything when you kept talking about her, days after we got married, on our honeymoon, or right in front of your family."

His back stiffens, his hands gripping the edge of the countertop. Beomgyu swallows the lump in his throat.

"Not once in these two years did I tell you how small you made me feel, how you made me feel like I didn’t belong in your world. Like I was a stranger in my own marriage." Your voice cracks, but you keep going. "I stayed silent, And after all of that, after everything, I stayed. I stayed because I thought… maybe it was enough. And yet, you still chose to cheat on me?"

You’re shaking now, and your voice rises despite your best efforts to keep it steady. "If you had just come to me and said you didn’t want this anymore, I would’ve let you go. I would’ve walked away, Beomgyu. Because everything I’ve done, every single thing, has been for you. For this marriage. For our families."

His head finally lifts, and his eyes meet yours. You hate how you feel small under his gaze, how his silence feels like a condemnation of your own vulnerability.

Beomgyu swallows hard, his jaw tightening. "That’s not what happened, Y/N."

"That you didn’t go home with her? That you weren’t with her on my fucking birthday?"

Your words hit him like a punch, and his eyes widen, the crack in his composure visible now.

"What?"

"You heard me." The burden festering inside you for so long is finally out. It feels small, inadequate even, but you don’t care anymore. You can’t. You can feel his eyes on you, and it's your turn to refuse to meet them. You’re done searching his face for answers that will never come.

You rise from the couch, your movements sharp, fueled by hurt and exhaustion. Steps are quick, your breaths are shallow as you reach your room. The door slams shut behind you with a force that echoes behind. Your hands tremble as you swipe on your phone. Tears blur your vision, falling onto the screen as you scroll, fingers fumbling to find the number you need.

You don’t think. You can’t. The tears are hot and relentless, burning tracks down your cheeks as you press the call button.

The line clicks immediately.

Outside your room, Beomgyu stands in the hallway, pacing back and forth. His footsteps are uneven, restless. The truth is, he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t even know where to begin. Every time he tries to form the words in his head, they fall apart before they can leave his lips.

How can he explain it? How can he make you understand? He never thought it would come to this, never thought he’d have to say it out loud. He’d always believed he could keep it buried, that you’d never find out.

He presses a hand to his forehead, exhaling sharply. He hasn’t spoken to Ji-won since that night. Not once. She tried to reach out; texts, calls, even showing up unannounced, but he shut it all down. He shut her out.

The irony isn’t lost on him. He, who once was hopelessly in love with her had turned his back on her entirely. What surprised him the most was how easy it was. All it took was thinking of you.

And the sight of your tears now terrifies him.

Beomgyu has always been a confident man. He was raised to be one. It’s who he was taught to be the man who could command a room, close deals, deliver speeches without a stutter. But none of that matters now. Standing here, in front of your door, he feels small. Helpless. Negotiating with the world is one thing; facing the pain in your eyes is another.

He sighs, dragging his hands through his hair in frustration. His chest feels tight, his mind racing. He should knock. He knows he should try, should say something, anything.

He lifts his hand to knock, but the door swings open before he can. Your eyes meet his—red, swollen, glassy with unshed tears—and it feels like the air is knocked out of him. Beomgyu's chest tightens painfully, and then his gaze falls to the suitcase in your hand,"Where are you going?"

You don’t answer. Instead, you step past him, avoiding even the smallest brush against him. The sound of your suitcase wheels echoes in the hall. His heart stutters, his feet frozen in place.

"Y/N," he pleads, reaching for your wrist. His eyes flicker down to your hand, and the absence of your ring feels like a blow he wasn’t ready for.

"Beomgyu," you say quietly, pulling your hand away from his grasp. "I’m going to stay with my brother for a while."

You don’t wait for his response. You can’t. If you stop now—if you meet his eyes again—you might change your mind. You walk toward the elevator, heart pounding, and breaking, but you don’t look back. When he doesn’t follow, when he doesn’t try to stop you, it cracks a little more.

The elevator doors begin to close, you think that’s it. This is the end. But then, his hand darts between the doors, forcing them open. You glance up in surprise. You've never seen him this unsure, or nervous before.

"At least let me see you out," he says softly. "Please,"

He stares at you. You nod, stepping aside to make room for him. Neither of you speaks, and the distance between you feels impossibly wide, even in the small space.

"Call me if you ever want to talk again," he finally breaks the silence, eyes fixed on the ground, "I’ll wait for you," You don’t respond, your throat tightening as you stare straight ahead, willing yourself not to cry.

Perhaps, it is his turn to wait for you.

It’s the longest elevator ride of your life.

In the parking lot, your brother is the first thing you see—tall and imposing, his glasses doing nothing to soften the sharp frown etched across his face. His eyes sweep over you, landing on the suitcase in your hand before darting behind you. The worry darkens instantly into anger when he sees Beomgyu trailing a few steps behind.

"You fucker," Soobin spits, brushing past you to square off with him. His voice is cold and furious. Beomgyu doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down, even as your brother towers over him.

"I gave you the benefit of the doubt," Soobin growls. "I thought, at the very least, you’d treat my sister with the respect she deserves. But you—"

"Soobin, stop!" You step forward, your hands desperately reaching out to hold your brother’s fists clenched at his sides. "Please, let’s just go."

He hesitates, jaw tightening as he swallows his anger. With a final, scathing glare at Beomgyu, Soobin turns away. He reached for your suitcase, grabbed it without a word and shoved it into the trunk of his car. Then he opens the passenger door, his expression softening ever so slightly as he looks at you. "Get inside."

You slide into the car, your hands trembling as you clutch them in your lap. Soobin slams the door shut behind you, the sound shouting in the empty parking lot like a final warning.

Beomgyu stands there eyes never leaving your form, unmoving, as the car engine roars to life. His chest feels like it’s caving in as he watches Soobin pull away, the tyres screeching against the pavement. It’s almost insulting, the way the sound seems to echo his own turmoil.

His eyes follow the car until it vanishes from sight, leaving nothing but silence and the crushing weight of knowing you’re gone.

Beomgyu steps back, dragging his feet to somehow delay the reality settling in around him. Every few steps, he glances over his shoulder, the faintest flicker of hope burning in his chest. Maybe you’d be there. Maybe you’d come back.

Maybe this was just a nightmare he hadn’t woken up from yet.

But you didn't.

The elevator doors slide open, and he strides inside, his mind blank and racing all at once. He walks, heading straight to the kitchen for water, something to soothe the dryness in his throat, the tightness in his chest. But as he passes the living room, his eyes catch on the portrait hanging above the mantel.

The wedding photo.

It hangs on there, just as it always has, but tonight it feels unbearable. His eyes lock on your face, and he falters. How could he have missed it? The slight redness in your eyes, the way your smile looks stretched too thin. How can a bride look so unhappy? How did it take him this long to realise how beautiful you looked that day, despite everything? How could he have failed to tell you?

How could he have been so blind?

He wasn’t the only one hurting that day. You had to stand there, dressed in white, while he grieved for someone else. On the day that was supposed to be yours, his mind had been somewhere else, tangled in memories of a woman who wasn’t you. And he never talked to you about it, not once. He never told you what you needed to hear. That it wasn’t your fault. That none of it was your fault.

He blinks hard, his vision blurring. The cracks were always there, weren’t they? Small at first, almost invisible, but they spread, creeping through everything until you were barely holding on. And he didn’t see it. He didn’t see you. Now, he stares at the picture like it might give him some kind of answer, some kind of clue to undo it all, but all it does is make the ache in his chest grow sharper.

He wished he had known. He wished he had known that the hurt consuming him would fade. He wished he could’ve said it all sooner, when the chance was still there. To tell you the truth. That he indeed had kissed her. That it was a mistake. He should have fallen to his knees and begged you to forgive him.

Would it have made a difference? Could one moment of honesty, one action, one choice have been enough to hold you here, to make you stay?

"Fuck," His voice was unsteady, tears stinging his eyes—tears he didn’t even know he was capable of. He can’t remember the last time he cried. Maybe he never has. He never cried. His hand moves on instinct, reaching for the cabinet, but instead of a glass, his fingers close around the neck of the whisky bottle. Water won’t cut it tonight. He twists the cap off, letting it fall to the counter with a hollow clink, and takes a long, burning sip.

It doesn't dull anything. Not yet. So he drinks.

It’s only been an hour, barely even that, since you left, but it feels like his world is already collapsing.

You wake up groggy, your head spinning and eyes feeling heavy. You can’t remember when you fell asleep or even how. You shift on the bed, Soobin must have carried you here.

Right. You’re at his place now.

"Y/N, you awake?" your brother’s voice carries down the hall, accompanied by the mouthwatering smell of bacon. Your stomach growls unexpectedly. You drag yourself out of bed, splash water on your face in the bathroom, and head out of the room.

“Good morning,” you mumble, stepping into the kitchen. The sight of Soobin setting down a plate of pancakes and Yeonjun grinning at you makes your chest feel warm.

Yeonjun stands and strides over, wrapping you in a tight hug. His hugs are always the warmest. He’s your brother’s best friend, someone who’s been in your life long enough to feel like family. He's known you since you were children, and you see him as your own brother.

He rests his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to the table as the corners of your lips tug into a soft smile you can’t seem to hold back. You sit down, and Soobin begins piling food onto your plate.

"Do you have any plans today?" Soobin asks casually, his focus still on divvying up breakfast.

“None, really,” you reply, your attention entirely on the bacon in front of you. Your stomach practically growls in anticipation, and without waiting, you dig in.

A little too eagerly, apparently. You choke, coughing as you try to swallow too quickly.

Yeonjun’s reaction is immediate, he’s already filling a glass of water before you even finish coughing. He places it in front of you and grabs a few napkins, sliding them your way with a concerned look. “Slow down, Y/N,” he says, his tone gentle but firm.

“Sorry,” you croak out, taking a sip of water to soothe your throat.

Last night, when you arrived, your brother didn’t ask for explanations. He didn’t push, didn’t pry. Instead, he pulled you into a hug, letting you collapse into him, tears soaking into his shirt as you broke down.

You heard him curse, his voice tight with restrained anger, but he didn’t say anything else. He just let you cry. His hands rested firmly on your back.

He didn’t ask because he knew. He knew that words wouldn’t help—not now. And maybe, he was afraid that asking would only deepen the pain already spreading through you.

It’s the reason Soobin hasn’t married yet. He’s had plenty of offers, proposals that would benefit his business, alliances that would make sense on paper. But none of it feels right. Not when he knows what you’ve endured.

He can't forget the look on your face on the day of your wedding. He keeps his distance, telling himself he has no right to fall in love or build a life of his own. How could he, knowing the choice was never yours? How could he allow himself to stand in the light of his own happiness, knowing it would only cast a longer shadow over you?

It would be unfair. Unfair to chase his own happiness.

He’s afraid. Afraid that loving someone, finding joy in his own marriage, would feel like betrayal or it would mean abandoning you to face your burdens alone.

"How are you?" Yeonjun asks, his gaze lingering on the dark circles under your eyes. His frown deepens.

"I'm… better," you say, the words catching in your throat as you force them out. It’s a lie, and you both know it. You’re far from better. Not when the image of Beomgyu standing in the parking lot, staring at you as you left, keeps haunting you. He looked… You shake your head, forcing the thought away.

You can’t go there, not now.

“There’s a party this weekend,” Yeonjun says, trying to sound lighthearted as he takes a bite of his food. “Some kind of school reunion. I think it’s three batches combined. You should come with us.”

"Yeah," you mumble, poking at your plate. "Ryu-jin’s been bugging me about it. Since Jakey won’t be able to make it, he’s overseas right now."

But the words falter on your lips as the thought you’ve been trying to avoid pushes its way forward. You don’t have to say it out loud; it’s already there, written on your face. Beomgyu. He might be there.

"He won’t be," Soobin says firmly, it's almost as if he read your thoughts. "I made sure of it. And if, by some chance, he shows up, I’ll stick by your side all night."

Your eyes flick over to Yeonjun, and he gives you a slight nod, his expression softening. "I’ll be there too,"

The days pass in a haze, each one blurring into the next, but this time, you’re not navigating them by yourself. You lean on your brother more than you ever thought you would, and somehow, he never seems to mind.

Soobin, who skips work without a second thought, pulling you out of the house when he sees you sinking too deep into yourself. He drags you to museums, to quiet cafés, or even just for drives with no destination.

And then there’s Yeonjun. No matter how busy his life is, he keeps... showing up. When Soobin’s tied up, Yeonjun is there, knocking on your door with his humor pulling reluctant smiles from you when you least expect it.

It’s not perfect, it’s still hard. Some days, you still lock your doors and don't come out no matter how many times they knock. There are days you don't even utter a single word. But they’re there, both of them, holding you up when you can’t do it yourself.

For the first time in two years, you don't feel alone.

“He’s not on the list, don’t worry,” Ryu-jin’s voice crackles through the speaker of your phone. You grip the steering wheel a little tighter, your eyes fixed on the road ahead. Soobin’s car leads in the lane in front of you.

"It's fine," you say, "It's not like I'm going for him, anyway."

"Okay. See you there," Ryu-jin replies before hanging up. You swallow hard, trying to push down yet another nausea rising in your throat. You focus on the road.

When you arrive, you walk alongside Soobin toward the entrance. Heads turn, whispers ripple through the crowd. The two of you; the university’s so-called power siblings, command attention without even trying. People smile, greet you, and their eyes linger on your Dior dress, but you barely notice.

“You’re finally here,” Yeonjun’s familiar voice calls out as he approaches, his warm smile cutting the tension in your chest. He grabs your arm gently, pulling you closer. “I’m glad you came,” he says softly, his eyes holding yours before focusing on Soobin.

"You're early." Soobin exchanges a quick greeting with him, heading off briefly to grab drinks for the three of you.

“Y/N!” Ryu-jin throws her arms around you, grinning as her eyes sweep over you. “Why do you always have to look this good?” she teases playfully. You laugh softly, a flicker of warmth in an otherwise heavy evening. The four of you settle at a table, waiting for the event to begin.

The night feels… okay. Not great, not life-changing, but okay. A simple glimpse of normalcy.

The week leading up to tonight lingers in your mind. Beomgyu’s messages. The flowers left at Soobin’s door. The missed calls that filled your screen, each one a reminder of everything you’ve been trying to forget.

You ignored them all. You had to.

Even now, standing here among friends, the memories creep in when you least expect them. Every time you close your eyes, you see them. You see her. And you see him.

And all the things that could’ve happened between them.

No matter how hard you try, the ghosts cling to you, refusing to let go.

You scrub your hands under the cold stream of water, the scent of soap mingling with the sterile air. The sound of the bathroom door creaking open doesn’t register at first, not until you hear her voice.

“Hi, Y/N.” You freeze, your stomach twisting before you even turn around. Through the mirror, her face appears behind you—Ji-won. The last person you wanted to see.

“What do you want?” Your reflection betrays the tension in your jaw. Your stomach twists violently. You don’t want to do this. Not here. Not now.

“Look, I just… I just wanted to say I’m sorry. About what happened between you and Beomgyu.” Her words falter, her tone weak, as if that soft voice could somehow soften the blow. “I—I didn’t mean for it to happen,” she continues, “It just… it just happened. We didn’t mean it.”

You know what hurts more than being cheated on? It’s the sickening realization that the person they chose is better than you in every way. Prettier. Maybe even smarter. More… everything.

Your throat tightens, but you force yourself to speak, “Stop, Ji-won.” You glance at her through the mirror, your chest tightening painfully. “I get it. I can see why.”

She looks startled, her brows drawing together. “Y/N, I’m really sorry. I know you know we had… unfinished business—”

“Unfinished business?” You spin around to face her, and the words tumble out before you can stop them, “With someone else’s husband?”

“That’s why I came to apologize,”

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head as your chest burns with a mixture of anger and pain. “Well, I don’t need it. Did you expect me to hug you?” You let out another laugh, this one harsher.

“Congratulations, I guess.” You step closer, each word laced with venom. “But don’t you ever come near me again. If you do, I’ll press charges. It will be really ugly. Do you understand?”

Ji-won nods stiffly, her expression crumbling under the weight of your stare. Without another glance, you turn on your heel and walk out of the bathroom, your steps hurried, the adrenaline rushing through your veins.

By the time you’re in the hallway, your breath is coming in short gasps. Your chest feels tight, constricted, like you’re drowning in your own emotions. You press a hand to your chest, forcing yourself to keep walking, but your vision blurs with unshed tears.

You can’t breathe.

The alcohol should’ve been enough. You thought it would drown everything out; the ache, the gnawing in your gut, the weight pressing down on your shoulders. But the pain is relentless, carving its way through you, burning and cold.

It starts in your chest, spreading like wildfire, suffocating your lungs, and crawling up your spine until it feels like you’re being pulled apart from the inside. It’s sharp, chaotic, like a bullet ricocheting through your body, tearing apart every fragile piece it touches.

You hear Ryu-jin’s voice calling your name, faint and distant, but you don’t turn around. You can’t. No. The crowd around you feels stifling, every laugh and every cheer scraping against your raw nerves. You’re barely holding it together, and you know that if you stay even a second longer, you’ll shatter in front of everyone.

You just need to go. To get away. Anywhere but here. Because right now, in the middle of this party, you feel like an open wound, with no place to hide.

“Where the hell did she go?” Ryu-jin muttered under her breath, panic creeping into her voice as she scanned the hallway outside the bathroom. She had only stepped away for a minute, grabbed what she needed, and when she came back—you were gone.

She storms back to the table, her heart racing. “Soobin, did you see Y/N?”

Soobin looked up immediately, concern flashing across his face. “She was with you, wasn’t she?”

“I lost her,” Ryu-jin admits, held up her phone, frustrated. “I’ve been trying to call, but her phone’s not connecting.” The worry on Soobin’s face mirrors her own, and for a moment, neither of them speaks.

“I’ll check outside,” Soobin says, already rising to his feet, his determination written all over his face. Yeonjun appears at the table just as Soobin leaves. “I’ll go with him.”

“Ryu-jin? Hey, long time no see.”

She turned to see Jay standing there, his familiar easygoing smile not quite registering in the chaos of her mind. “Jay,” she said, forcing a tight smile. “Hey. Yeah. Long time.”

Jay tilted his head. “Surprising. Where’s Choi’s golden girl? Isn’t she usually glued to your side?”

Ryu-jin hesitated, her smile faltering. “They… stepped out for a bit,” she lied, tone distracted.

Her gaze drifted across the room, and that’s when she saw her. Ji-won. Sitting with her group of friends, laughing, carefree, as if she hadn’t done enough damage already. The sight of her felt like a slap to the face. “The audacity…” Ryu-jin muttered under her breath.

Jay follows her line of sight, his eyebrows raising when he spots her. “That’s Ji-won, right?” he asks, his tone laced with something between curiosity and disdain. “The one who’s always been weirdly obsessed with Y/N?”

Ryu-jin’s head snapped toward him. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean,” Jay continues, shrugging, “back in college, she had this… thing. Like, she couldn’t stand it whenever someone said Y/N was pretty, which was often. It was kind of insane, honestly. Everyone knew Y/N was the prettiest girl back then, and Ji-won hated it. Like, visibly hated it.”

Ryu-jin chokes on her drink, coughing as she shakes her head in disbelief. Her fingers twitch with the urge to march over to Ji-won and give her a piece of her mind, but before she can act on the intrusive thought, Soobin reappears. His face is pale.

“She’s been in an accident,”

You got into an accident.

Beomgyu was sitting in his office when the call came. Everything around him blurred, the world spinning out of focus. It felt as if time had stopped for him, while the Earth kept spinning mercilessly. His body froze, but his mind was spiralling.

Y/N. Accident. The words replayed on a loop in his head, loud and cruel. He couldn't process them, couldn't let them sink in, because doing so would mean accepting that something terrible had happened to you.

You got into a car accident. Something terrible happened.

His throat tightened as he gripped the phone with trembling hands. "Wh-where… which hospital?" he stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear. His heart pounded so hard it felt like it might shatter.

The answer came, muffled like it was coming from underwater. The call ended before he could fully react. The phone slipped from his hand onto the desk as he staggered to his feet, his legs shaky beneath him.

Somehow, he made it to his car, though he couldn’t remember how. His chest heaved. With shaking fingers, he dialled another number, desperate for more answers.

“Don’t bother coming here, Choi Beomgyu.” Soobin’s voice was sharp and breathless when he answered. It sounded strained, furious even, and it only made Beomgyu’s heart sink further.

“Is she okay?” Beomgyu whispered, his voice barely audible. The question felt like it would break him. His chest felt like it was caving in, the pain clawing at him as he braced himself for the answer. He bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood, his free hand digging into his hair as he fought to stay grounded.

“She’s…” Soobin’s voice faltered, and that hesitation was enough to send Beomgyu spiraling further. “They’re trying. The doctors are doing everything they can.”

It wasn’t enough. Those words, those pitiful attempts at reassurance, did nothing to quiet the storm raging inside him. His hands tightened around the steering wheel as panic surged through him. If Soobin couldn’t say you were okay, it meant you weren’t.

Beomgyu floored the gas pedal.

His mind raced as fast as the car, every thought more horrifying than the last. What if he was too late? What if he never got to see you again? His breath hitched at the thought. His hands gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles pale.

He had to see you. Alive. Breathing.

Anything less would destroy him.

Beomgyu bursts into the hospital, his heart pounding so loudly it drowns out the sterile beeping and muffled voices around him. He barely registers the nurse’s directions to your room. All he knows is that he has to see you. His feet carry him faster than his thoughts, and when he spots the door, he doesn’t expect the two familiar figures standing outside.

Ryu-jin sits on a chair, her face buried in her hands as her shoulders shake with sobs. Yeonjun is pacing, his expression tight with worry, his hands clenched into fists.

The moment Yeonjun sees Beomgyu, he stops dead in his tracks. His gaze hardens, sharp and unyielding, as he steps forward and blocks the door with his arm.

“She wouldn’t want to see you,” Yeonjun snaps, his voice low and venomous. “Get the fuck out of here, you piece of shit.”

Beomgyu freezes for half a second before anger flares in his chest, red-hot and uncontrollable. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he shouts, shoving Yeonjun hard enough to make him stumble back a step. “I’m going to see my wife!”

Yeonjun doesn’t back down. If anything, he looks even angrier.

“Stop it! Both of you!” Ryu-jin’s voice cracks as she looks up, mascara streaked down her tear-stained cheeks. She doesn’t bother wiping it away. Her hands tremble as she points at the door. “Visitors aren’t allowed until tomorrow. She’s in surgery, Beomgyu. And it’s not… it’s not a minor one.”

Those words hit him like a freight train. The fight drains out of him, leaving only fear in its place. He stumbles back a step, his hands running through his hair as he struggles to breathe. “Surgery?” he whispers, his voice breaking. “What kind of surgery?”

Yeonjun glares at him, unmoving. “And now you come running,” he spits, his tone bitter. “After all this time? Now you care?”

Beomgyu clenches his jaw, meeting Yeonjun’s fiery gaze but saying nothing. Because he knows Yeonjun’s right.

Yeonjun’s shoulders sag, and his voice softens, “You don’t even know,” he says, eyes on the floor. “You don’t know what a fucking queen your wife is.”

The unexpected shift in tone stops Beomgyu in his tracks. He stares at Yeonjun. His words, they're spoken with such devastation that it leaves him frozen. He sees the sullen look on Yeonjun's face. After all, Yeonjun has always been soft when it comes to you.

So soft that it terrifies Beomgyu.

"Beomgyu." Soobin's voice cuts through the heavy silence, pulling Beomgyu out of his spiralling thoughts. He turns toward him, barely able to focus. "Let's talk here."

Beomgyu nods silently and walks over, his legs feeling heavier with every step. He follows without a word, leaving Yeonjun and Ryu-jin standing alone near the door.

Ryu-jin watches Yeonjun out of the corner of her eye. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t said a single word since his last bitter remark to Beomgyu. He stands there, staring at the floor. His hands clasped together.

The silence stretches uncomfortably, and she can’t help herself. “Yeonjun…” she starts hesitantly. “You’re not… in love with her or something, are you?”

Her words made Yeonjun’s head snap up. His eyes meet hers, and for the first time, Ryu-jin sees it, really sees it. The glassy sheen in his eyes, the way his lips part but no words come out. The heartbreak painted so clearly on his face that it makes her chest ache. “You idiot,” she whispers, her voice soft with pity.

Yeonjun lets out a shaky breath, his gaze dropping again as if he can’t bear the weight of her sympathy. “She’s… my best friend’s little sister,” he murmurs, his voice raw and quiet. “I didn’t think it was possible. Not for me. Not for her.” He doesn’t answer directly. He doesn’t need to. It’s all over his face.

Yeonjun was in love with you, ever since he first saw you.

Beomgyu sat across from Soobin, his hands clenched tightly in his lap as he listened. Soobin’s voice was calm but firm as he explained what the doctors had said, stress was the last thing you could handle right now. “I’ll let you know if it’s okay for you to see her."

The words didn’t settle easily. Beomgyu didn’t understand why no one would tell him anything about your condition, why every detail was kept from him. But knowing you were stable, even for the moment, was enough. He swallowed his frustration and nodded, agreeing to Soobin’s terms.

Still, he couldn’t help himself. As Soobin turned to leave, Beomgyu’s voice cracked, raw with desperation. “Please,” he begged, “Let me see her. Just once… before I go.”

Beomgyu felt like his heart was clawing its way out of his chest, beating so erratically it left him breathless. It begged to escape, just as he begged silently to be allowed into the ICU. His hands trembled, numb and unsteady. He flexed his fingers, forcing a crack to echo through his knuckles, before gripping the cold metal of the doorknob.

On the other side of this door was you, the woman he hurt.

The thought made him pause, the ache in his chest spreading to his throat, tightening it like a noose. He wasn’t sure he could face you, not like this. But he couldn’t stay away, not anymore.

The door creaked softly as it opened, and his heart stuttered at the sight of you. Your face was pale but peaceful, your eyes closed, your breaths slow and steady. The sound of the machines around you was the only thing keeping him grounded.

He stepped closer, each movement hesitant, his guilt weighing heavier with every inch he bridged between you. When he finally reached your bedside, he froze, staring down at your hand—fragile and adorned with IV needles. Slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours. They were soft. Warm. And just that small, simple touch made him breathe again—really breathe—for the first time in days.

“Baby,” he whispered, the word breaking in his throat.

He sank to his knees beside you, clutching your hand to his face. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over before he could stop them. They fell onto your skin, warm and unrelenting, a silent apology for every mistake he had made. He pressed his lips to your hand, shoulders shook as he cried.

The past few days without you had been unbearable. If he ever had doubts, or worries, if he ever hesitated, those thoughts were gone now. It's you. He’d thought about every little thing you did that he had taken for granted. All of it. And he realized, how much it all mattered.

How much you mattered to him.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, whispers to your skin as he continue to kiss your palm. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

The tears wouldn’t stop, and neither would the words pouring out of him. “You mean everything to me. I didn’t see it before, but I see it now. I love you. God, I love you so much.”

He squeezed your hand, hoping that somehow you could feel him. That even in this fragile, unconscious state, you could hear the desperate beating of his heart, could feel the truth in his touch. “I’ll do better,” he whispered, “I’ll be better. If you’ll just… if you’ll just give me another chance. Please.”

He didn’t know if you could hear him. He didn’t know if you’d ever forgive him. And he hates himself how it took him this long to figure it out.

Beomgyu’s heart was in his hands now, fully exposed and vulnerable, waiting, you could somehow feel it. He rested his forehead against your hand, tears pooling on the stark white sheets. If you gave him the chance, he’d spend the rest of his life proving that his love is real. He was finally here, standing in the world where you had once stood so heartbreakingly alone. And that his heart was yours, completely yours.

He would spend forever making up for what he had done. Even if it kills him.

“Where were you?” you asked, reaching over to grab the strawberry from the basket on the kitchen table. Beomgyu’s chuckle filled the room. “I went drinking with Taehyun. Just a light drink,” he said casually, his hand brushing your shoulder as he passed behind you to grab a plate.

“Why? Did you miss your husband?” he teased, carefully plating the food before setting it down in front of you. You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You wish.”

He chuckled, handing you a spoon and fork before moving around the kitchen. A tall glass appeared on the table next to your plate and he poured you water.

“Did he miss me too?” Beomgyu’s voice was soft, almost tentative, drawing your gaze upward. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you were caught in the tenderness there. It made your heart ache in that way only he could.

“He?” You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at your lips as you swallowed. “What makes you so sure it's a boy?” Your hand instinctively brushed over your stomach as a quiet smile softened your face. The thought of your little one—boy or girl—filled you with a warmth you couldn’t quite put into words.

“I just feel it,” A small smile flickered across his lips, “What if we get twins?”

You looked down, your thoughts wandering to tiny clothes, little shoes scattered across the floor, and pastel-painted walls filled with light and laughter. “That would be… amazing,” you murmured.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Beomgyu pulling out the chair beside you. He sat down at first, but then, almost as if drawn closer by some unseen force, he shifted. You felt his gaze before you saw him; soft, unwavering, and filled with a kind of awe that made your chest tighten.

“That sounds nice, two little you running around.” he breathed, his voice almost a whisper. His hand reached out slowly, brushing against your stomach. You set down your utensils, giving him a soft nod as you shifted slightly, allowing him more access.

Beomgyu lowered himself onto his knees in front of you, his large hands resting gently on either side of your growing belly. He glanced up at you, his eyes searching yours for a brief moment before he let out a long, steady breath. Then, with a tenderness that made your throat tighten, he leaned closer, pressing his forehead gently against your stomach.

“Mommy and Daddy love you,” he whispered, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. He sounded so vulnerable, so small, like all the pain he had been carrying had finally spilled over. His lips pressed softly against your stomach. And then, without a word, he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face against you.

Your hand moved instinctively, threading through his soft hair with slow, soothing strokes. He pulled you closer, as though being near you could quiet the storm in his heart. Your fingers trailed down the back of his neck, over his shoulders, and down his back.

And then—it shifted.

In your dream, you were cradling a baby to your chest, its tiny body safe in your arms. Beomgyu leaned down, smiling widely as you do.

You woke up, panting.

You were dreaming. It shattered as reality came rushing back. Pain coursed through you, sharp and unrelenting, pulling a small, involuntary sound from your lips.

The memory hit next, as vivid as the moment it happened. Driving through the night with tears blurring your vision, your hands trembling on the wheel. The sound of your ragged breathing, the pounding of your heart. You were speeding, desperate to outrun the ache inside. Then the impact—another car colliding into yours, the violent spin before your vision went black.

“Hnn,” you whimpered, barely able to get the sound out. Your throat was dry, parched, and every part of you ached. You needed water.

"Y/N," a voice broke through the haze of your awakening. You turned your head to see your brother, Soobin. His face paled as he dropped whatever he was holding and rushed to your side. “I—I—”

“Water. Please,” you rasped, your throat dry and raw.

Soobin nodded quickly, his hands trembling as he reached for the water bottle on the nearby table. He uncapped it, holding it to your lips as you drank. Relief was fleeting; the ache in your chest outweighed the dryness in your throat.

“What happened?” you asked, your voice a little stronger now, though your hands still shook.

“You got into an accident,” he said, settling into the chair beside you. His voice was low, almost fragile. “A surgery was performed. You’ve been unconscious for three days.”

You nodded, trying to process his words, but his silence that followed unsettled you. ou looked at him, noticing the way his eyes darted away from yours, how his lips pressed together like he was holding back something he didn’t know how to say.

“What is it?” you pressed, your chest tightening with dread.

Soobin hesitated, his hands fidgeting in his lap before he reached out to take yours. “Let me call the nurse first, okay?” You nodded, though the fear in his voice made it hard to breathe.

You nodded, your anxiety growing as he stepped out. Moments later, the nurse arrived, and then the doctor, their voices calm and professional as they began explaining the details of your condition. But their words blurred together; a haze of medical jargon that barely registered, until one sentence shattered everything.

“You were in your first trimester when the accident occurred. The baby didn’t survive. I’m so sorry for your loss.” Your world tilted. Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, it felt like your heart had stopped.

“A baby?” you whispered, the word foreign and fragile on your lips.

The nurse and doctor offered their condolences before quietly excusing themselves, leaving you alone with Soobin. Your hands trembled as they instinctively moved to your stomach. “I was pregnant?” Your voice cracked, disbelief and anguish bleeding into every word. "Soobin?"

“Y/N…” Soobin’s voice was choked with emotion.

“I mean… they’re saying I was…” You stopped, the reality sinking in with a force so cruel. “Oh.”

“I didn’t even know,” Tears blurred your vision as the enormity of it all crashed down on you. You lost a baby. A life you didn’t even know you were carrying. A piece of you that was gone before you ever had the chance to feel it, to know it, to love it.

Did you have to lose your child too?

The sobs came hard and fast, wracking your body until you could barely breathe. Your hands covered your mouth, trying to hold in the grief that spilled over anyway. “I didn’t even know I was pregnant.” you choked out, your voice breaking. “And now… they’re gone.” Your hands clutched at your stomach as if trying to hold on to something that was no longer there. "It's all my fault."

Soobin wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest as your cries tore the room. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice shaking. He held you tightly. The only thing that kept you from falling out.

Your cries grew louder, as the loss consumed you. The one you saw in your dream, so warm in your arms. You had held them, hadn’t you? You could still feel the weight of their tiny body in your arms.

Your baby.

All you could do was mourn for the life that had slipped away before you even knew it existed.

It’s been a week since Soobin made his last call to Beomgyu. A week since you opened your eyes in the hospital. And yet, Beomgyu has heard nothing.

Every day, he drags himself to the hospital. But every time, the answer is the same: no. On the fourth day he arrived, you’d been discharged. You were gone.

Still, every morning, Beomgyu wakes up with that same aching hope that refuses to let go no matter how much it hurts. He gets through the day somehow, clutching at the thought of seeing your face again. But by night, when the world quiets, he’s left with nothing but his tears, falling asleep with the weight of your absence pressing down on his heart.

He’s distracted, eyes fixed on the same line of text glowing on his computer screen. It’s been minutes, maybe longer, and he still hasn’t moved past the first sentence. His mind is elsewhere—adrift—when a knock on the office door pulls him back.

His secretary peeks in, face filled with cautious expression. “Sir, I’ve been calling your phone. Someone’s here to see you, Park Sunghoon.”

Beomgyu blinked, confused. Sunghoon? His old batchmate, someone he’d shared classes with years ago. They hadn’t talked in forever. He nodded slowly, signalling her to let him in.

The door opens fully, and Sunghoon strides in. His pale complexion contrasts starkly with the black polo shirt he’s wearing, and Beomgyu notices the glasses perched on his nose, something he didn't have before. Sunghoon doesn’t look quite the same as Beomgyu remembers.

“Beomgyu,” Sunghoon said with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How’ve you been, man?”

“Sunghoon,” Beomgyu responds, sitting up straighter in his chair. “What brings you here?” He gestures toward the seat across the desk, and Sunghoon takes it. The frown etched into his brow didn’t escape Beomgyu’s notice. “Is everything okay?”

Sunghoon exhales, leaning forward and clasping his hands together on his knees. “You know I’m close with Jay, right?”

Beomgyu narrows his eyes, unsure where this is heading, but he nods. “Yeah. And?”

“Well…” Sunghoon hesitates, the words seemingly heavy in his throat before he finally speaks. “I heard about Y/N. That she got into an accident recently.” The sound of your name halts Beomgyu.

“I couldn’t ignore it anymore,” Sunghoon continues, voice quieter. “I made promises to her, you know? But lately… I don’t know. It’s been eating me alive.”

Beomgyu runs his hand to his hair, "Sunghoon…”

"I didn’t think it was my place to say this," Sunghoon begins, "When I heard you two got married, I thought maybe she’d tell you. Maybe you already know. But I came here personally, just in case. Because you deserve to know. And if I don’t tell you now, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life."

He exhales deeply before continuing. “Do you remember how you used to talk about Ji-won? How you’d brag about her cooking for you, leaving little things for you, sweets, medicine, hot packs. Or the cold water she’d always leave at your bench during those grueling practices under the sun? Do you remember how she saved your ass that time you forgot your assignment, staying up late just to finish it for you? You told us all those things, over and over, like she a gem.” Beomgyu feels his chest tighten as Sunghoon meets his nervous gaze.

“All of that, Beomgyu… it wasn’t Ji-won,” Sunghoon says carefully, “It was Y/N. Every single one of those things. I know because… she asked me to help her sometimes. She didn’t want you to know. She didn’t do it for recognition or because she wanted anything back. She just cared about you. I even told her once, maybe she should tell you how she felt, and even if you didn’t feel the same, at least it’d help her move on. But she wouldn’t. She told me… her love for you wasn’t about getting something back. It wasn’t about her. It wasn’t selfish.”

Beomgyu’s hand trembles under the table, his knuckles white as he clenches his fists. His throat feels tight, each word hitting his ears.

“At first, I couldn’t understand her decision, I even judged her for it, thinking she was only making... things harder on herself,” Sunghoon admits, voice softening. “But over time, I realized—none of us have the right to judge someone else’s pain. You can’t measure someone else’s actions by your own standards. What might seem small or insignificant to one person could be earth-shattering to someone else.”

Beomgyu had been in love with the idea of Ji-won all along.

Those moments; the little gestures, the care, the comfort, they had become the foundation of his attachment to her. How he remembered her. They were the memories he clung to, the ones burned so deeply into his mind that letting her go had felt impossible. She was, in his mind, someone who cared for him. Someone who truly knew him.

But it wasn’t her. It was you. It had been you all along.

He thinks about Ji-won, the girl he once believed was willing to stand by him no matter what. She made him think about defying his parents, about running away from everything; his responsibilities, his future, his entire life. Ji-won was the one who fueled his anger, who stood beside him as he cursed the world and everyone in it.

And then there was you.

You, who never let him go too far. You didn’t encourage his anger—you challenged it. Even when it meant standing against him, because you wanted him to understand—not everything could be run from. It was you who reminded him that his obligations weren’t a prison but a part of him, something he couldn’t just abandon. It was you who helped him rebuild the bridge to his parents when he didn’t even realise it had been burned.

It’s suffocating now, the truth. To realise that the very actions that made him fall for Ji-won, the moments he thought defined her love for him, were never hers.

They were yours.

Ji-won had been nothing but a mirror to his rebellion. This truth, made him want to see you more.

“Pour me another,” Beomgyu muttered to the bartender he leaned heavily on his forearm. The man hesitated, his concern written all over his face. Beomgyu noticed but didn’t care. “I said, pour me another one.”

With a reluctant nod, the bartender slid another drink in front of him. Beomgyu downed it in one go, the burn in his throat doing nothing to drown out the ache in his chest. He fumbled for his phone, the screen glaring back at him as he typed out messages he knew you’d never read.

I miss you, baby. Can I see you? Let’s talk, please. Are you not going to see me? Forever? Ok. I understand. I don’t deserve forgiveness. No. Please. Give me a chance. Just one chance to see you. To talk to you, please. I can’t go on another day without you. Please Y/N.

The messages sat there, unanswered.

Stumbling out of the bar, his legs unsteady and his vision blurred, he barely noticed the bartender calling his driver. He collapsed onto the pavement outside, his head in his hands, phone still clutched in his trembling fingers.

As he opened it again, ready to type another desperate plea, his screen lit up with an incoming call. His heart skipped, hope flickering briefly before seeing another unfamiliar number.

“When are you going to stop calling me, Ji-won?” he shouted into the phone, his voice hoarse with frustration and alcohol. “I’ve said it more than once, we don’t need to talk. Not ever again.”

“I just wanted to know how you’re—”

“Please!” he cut her off, his voice breaking as tears streamed freely down his face. He was shaking now, his words spilling out in a desperate sob. “Please, Ji-won… I know everything. I know what you did. You ruined the only good thing I ever had. You… you destroyed it.”

He pressed his palm against his mouth, trying to muffle the sound of his own cries. “Please,” he whispered, the word barely audible through his tears. “Just let me be.”

The line ends.

Ji-won freezes, her fingers trembling as the line goes dead. You ruined the only good thing I ever had. You… you destroyed it.

She exhales shakily, forcing air into her lungs that suddenly feel too tight. Her phone slips from her hand, landing softly on the bedspread. Hot tears well in her eyes, blurring the room around her. She had let herself believe—naively, foolishly—that Choi Beomgyu could still be hers.

Even after everything, she had convinced herself that there was still a piece of him that belonged to her. But now, hearing his words, she knew. She had already lost him.

The tears came harder as her mind betrayed her, pulling her back to the moment it all began. The moment her hatred for you took root.

“Beomgyu,” she had chirped, plopping down beside him on the couch. He had been immersed in a book, his brow furrowed in concentration, but she didn’t care. She wanted his attention, his reassurance. She always did. “There’s this talk going around about… Y/N,” she said, the name leaving a sour taste on her tongue. “People are saying she’s the prettiest girl on campus.” Her voice dropped, tinged with an edge of insecurity.

“But that’s not true, right? She’s not that… pretty.” She trailed off, squeezing his hand, her smile faltering as she waited for the words she longed to hear. She wanted him to say, there was no competition—that she was the most beautiful girl in his eyes.

Beomgyu was half hearing her words because he was engrossed in the book he was reading. So instead, he looked up, his eyes meeting hers with a hint of confusion. “What do you mean?” he asked simply, his tone matter-of-fact. “It's true. I think she’s beautiful.”

It was on that day Ji-won began to hate you with every fiber of her being.

The kind of hatred that wasn’t born overnight, but nurtured by her insecurities, fed by the way you walked through the world without a care—dragging every boy’s eyes in your wake as if it were effortless. And the worst part? You didn’t even seem to notice. You didn’t have to notice.

Jealousy festered in her chest, growing heavier each time she caught a glimpse of you. It didn’t help that you and Beomgyu—her Beomgyu—shared a world she could never truly enter. The Chois. The big families. A legacy. Something she wasn’t, something she could never be.

The announcement of your engagement felt like the final blow. She couldn’t understand how the universe could be so evil. You, the girl she couldn’t stand, were being handed the one thing she clung to the hardest. It wasn’t fair. And as jealousy morphed into bitterness, she let herself simmer in the injustice of it all, until it burned hot enough to ignite a plan.

Ji-won thought of everything. She knew Beomgyu would be there at the party, and she knew what she had to do. She chose the kind of dress he used to love. She styled her hair the way he used to run his fingers through, practised the words he used to adore hearing spill from her lips. She even reached for the used perfume he once said he liked.

It wasn’t an accident. None of it was. Ji-won walked into that room not as a guest, but as someone determined to remind him of what they once had. It didn’t matter that he was married.

You ruined the only good thing I ever had. You destroyed it. Please, just let me be.

She swallows hard, the lump in her throat refusing to go away. The realization settles over her like a heavy fog, a fog that turns clear—she is nothing more than a wall. A futile obstacle standing in the way of two souls who are meant to be together.

She opens her phone, booking a flight—any flight—to anywhere but here.

“It’s here,” Soobin says softly, his hand resting gently on your back as he guides you forward. His finger points to the glass grave in front of you.

Gone, but forever in our hearts. Moon.

Your Moon. The name you gave your baby—a name as delicate and luminous as the child who never got to see the world. You thought long and hard about it. It had to be beautiful, just like him. A name worthy of all the love you poured into his short, fleeting existence.

You pull out your handkerchief, wiping at the thin layer of dust that has settled on the outside of the glass. Your fingers tremble as you do, as though clearing the smudges could make it hurt less. But it doesn’t. It never does. Your brow furrows as you fight the ache swelling in your chest. He’s in there—inside that small, delicate bottle. And this is all you can do for him now.

“Hi, baby,” you whisper, your voice cracking as the words leave your lips. Soobin stands beside you, his smile soft but heavy with sadness. “Do you think I would’ve been a good uncle?” he asks, his voice barely louder than the wind.

You glance at him, your heart aching at the question. He kneels to place the small flowers you’d brought together, arranging them with the utmost care. There's an unfamiliar flower resting beside it. Someone must have wrongly placed it.

“Yes,” you manage to say, your throat tight with emotion. “I think the two of you would’ve been close.” You force a smile, though it wavers, your words choking you as they come out.

He reaches up and smooths your hair, a comforting gesture that almost makes you break. “He’s up there,” Soobin murmurs, his eyes lifting to the sky. “With no pain. Watching over you.”

You nod, swallowing hard, willing your tears to stay back. You can’t cry. Not here. Not now. If you cry, your baby might worry. You’ve convinced yourself of that, even if it doesn’t make sense.

The week after your discharge was unbearable.

You clung to Soobin like a lifeline, your hands gripping his. Your parents moved you back into their house without question, simply knowing you needed them.

Your mother, the strongest woman you’d ever known, the one who never faltered, cried with you when you broke the news. She held you in her arms like you were a child again, her tears falling silently against your hair as you sobbed into her chest. Your father walked with you every day, leading you to the garden where you could sit in the sunlight, as if the warmth could somehow seep into the cracks inside you. They cooked your meals, cleaned your space, and did everything you couldn’t bring yourself to do.

Tonight, you find yourself staring blankly at the walls of your old room.

The quiet feels suffocating, pressing against your chest. Sleep won’t come, and before you even realise it, tears are slipping down your cheeks. You didn’t even notice you were crying until the dampness touches your skin. You sit up abruptly, your chest heaving as if the air refuses to fill your lungs. The stillness of the bed feels unbearable, so you push yourself off it, your feet meeting the cool floor.

Pacing back and forth, you feel the tears come harder now, unchecked and unexplainable. You don’t even know why you’re crying. It’s just there—this ache, this heaviness. You were about to go out, to get Soobin or your parents.

But then your eyes caught the window.

It glows. The moon.

It’s full tonight, impossibly bright, casting a soft, silvery glow across the room. It feels like it’s staring back at you. You stand there, frozen, the phone slipping from your hand. The moon’s reflection shimmers faintly in your tear-filled eyes, and for a moment, you forget the heaviness pressing against your chest. It’s as if the moon is speaking to you, telling you to breathe, to let go, to just be.

Your breathing steadies. You stand there, bathed in its light, feeling the faintest glimmer of peace. And the storm inside you begins to calm.

It’s been six months since you woke up.

Six months since you returned to your parents’ house, where the familiar walls offered some sense of safety. Ryu-jin and Yeonjun visit almost every weekend, their presence a small comfort. Soobin stays, too, refusing to leave your side.

It’s been almost seven months since you last saw Choi Beomgyu.

Seven months since everything fell apart.

Choi Beomgyu, who, for six months now, has spent every single day driving two hours to your parents’ house. He shows up like clockwork, no matter the weather, no matter the time. After work, he makes the trip, arriving at the big gated doors with a bouquet of white roses in his hands.

Every single day.

He doesn’t make a scene or beg to be let in. He just waits, bouquet in hand, a fragile hope flickering in his eyes. White roses. Always white roses. They used to be your favourite.

His parents send gifts, too. Packages and handwritten letters arrive, carefully chosen and delicately worded, but you can’t bring yourself to open them.

And every day, you hear the knock at the gate. Every day, you peek from the upstairs window, watching him wait, white roses clutched in his hands like a lifeline. And every day, you stay hidden behind the curtains, your feet stay rooted to the floor, your heart too bruised to carry you to him.

But today is different.

Today, it has to be.

The papers are in your hands. Unsigned divorce papers. You tell yourself it’s just paper, just ink, but the trembling in your hands betrays the truth.

You walk to the building you once called home, each step echoing in your chest. The elevator hums softly as you press the button, your reflection in the mirrored doors a stranger to you. When it finally dings open, you step out into the hallway that once smelled of comfort and familiarity. Now it feels like a mausoleum.

Your hand hovers over the doorbell of your home—no, his home. The space you used to share feels distant. The ring in your other hand feels impossibly heavy, its cool metal biting into your palm.

You’ve tried to get rid of it before. Once, you even threw it in the trash, convincing yourself it was the right thing to do. But then came the panic. You tore through the garbage, hands shaking, the stench clinging to you as you clawed through. It didn’t matter that you ruined your clothes or that your mom’s voice cracked as she begged you to stop.

You just couldn’t let it go. Maybe, you should return it properly.

You take a breath and press the button. And then you wait.

When the door swung open, Beomgyu’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, everything froze. His eyes widened in shock, his lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came out. You felt your chest tighten painfully, the sight of him unravelling something inside you. He looked… so different. His hair, longer now, fell to his shoulders in messy waves, unkempt like he hadn’t bothered to comb it. His skin was pale, almost sickly, and his eyes were rimmed with red, like he’d been crying, or hadn’t slept in days.

“Y/N,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand gripped the edge of the door like he needed something to steady him, his heart hammering so loudly he swore you could hear it. Was this real? Were you really standing there? He let his gaze trail over you, taking in your thinner frame, the hollow tiredness etched into your face. He wanted to say something, to invite you in, but the words caught in his throat.

You didn’t say a word. Instead, you stepped past him, the sharp click of your heels against the floor filling the suffocating silence. Each step echoed like a countdown, louder in his ears than it should have been. Beomgyu turned to watch you, his hand hovering uselessly at his side, aching to reach out but too afraid to try.

He closed the door softly behind you.

Your eyes scan the room, and it hits you all at once—everything’s a mess. Clothes are strewn carelessly over the couch, an empty chip bag crumpled on the kitchen counter, dishes piling up in the sink. The air feels heavy, stagnant, like the windows haven’t been opened in weeks.

And then your gaze shifts, to the open door on the right. Your room.

Your breath catches as you take it in. The bed is unmade, the sheets tangled in a way that’s unmistakable.

He’s been sleeping there. Beomgyu. In your room. In your bed.

"Uh," Beomgyu starts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry, it's… kind of a mess."

You nod stiffly, not meeting his eyes. "It's okay."

The sound of your voice makes him halt. It’s been so long since he’s heard it, too long. His chest tightens, but before he can savor it, your next words come like a knife to his heart. "I'm not going to be here for long anyway."

His brows furrow, panic flashing across his face. "Wh-why?" he stammers, his voice breaking. "I mean—"

You cut him off, extending the envelope toward him with trembling hands. "Let’s…" You swallow hard, forcing the words out despite the lump in your throat. "Let’s get a divorce."

Beomgyu stares at you, his mind reeling. The hope that had bloomed in his chest when he saw you standing at his door clashes violently with the reality of your words. His lips part, but no sound comes at first. Finally, he whispers, "Why?"

He can’t stop himself. The panic is overwhelming. "I went to your house every day," he says, his voice breaking. "Every single day, Y/N. I wanted to make this work. I—I sent you messages, I tried everything. Do you…" He swallows hard, his throat tight. "Do you not love me anymore?" He knows he sounds pathetic, but he doesn’t care. The speeches he’d rehearsed in his head dissolve into nothing, overtaken by the fright clawing at him.

Your breath hitches, and when you speak, your voice is cold, trembling with barely contained emotion. "I don’t care if I love you, Beomgyu. I don’t care if it feels like my heart is being ripped out of my chest, or if it feels like I’m dying inside." You take a shaky breath, your grip tightening on the envelope. "I want a divorce. And when it’s done, you’ll never see me again."

Beomgyu flinches like you’ve struck him, his knees nearly buckling. He shifts uncomfortably, his hands shaking at his sides. "Is this still about Ji-won?" he asks hesitantly, and the way you flinch answers him before your words can.

He swallows hard, his voice growing more frantic. "It’s true, Y/N. It’s true, that I cheated. I kissed her, but as soon as it happened, I pushed her away." He presses a trembling hand to his chest. "It didn’t mean anything—it was a mistake, a horrible mistake, and I hate myself for it every single day. But please…" His voice cracks, tears spilling down his cheeks. "Please, give me a chance."

You shake your head, a sob breaking free despite how hard you’re trying to hold it together. "It’s too late, Beomgyu," you whisper, your voice trembling as your hands shake. You open your hands, and try to give the ring back. "Too much has happened. We can’t go back."

Beomgyu doesn’t take it. He just stands there, staring at the ring in your palm, tears streaming down his face. He knows. If he takes it, it’s over. If he takes it, you’ll be gone for good, out of his life forever.

"I can’t," he whispers, his voice broken. "I can’t take it."

He won’t take the ring, so he takes your hand and pulled you to him, kissing your lips fervently and enduring the slam of your fists against his body and chest. It was all him; it was all his fault. He is an emotional wreck who doesn’t know what to do and how to contain his feelings.

“Beomgyu—” you gasped, your voice breaking as you pushed at his chest. He didn’t let go, his hands cupping your face, fingers brushing against your jaw like you were something fragile and sacred. His touch was shaky, his breathing uneven as his hands slid to the back of your neck, pulling you impossibly closer.

His movements were hurried, frantic, as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he let go. In one swift motion, he lifted you, his steps unsteady as he carried you to the bedroom. Your bedroom. The air felt heavy as he laid you down on the mattress—his mattress now, the one that carried his scent.

“Wait—,” you said weakly, your hands clutching at his shirt, your voice trembling as much as your resolve. But even as you pushed against him, your lips didn’t stop moving from kissing him back. His hands moved to your shoulders, then slid down to your waist, pulling you to him. You never knew that lips could talk without uttering a word until he declared his love for you through kisses. You let yourself melt under his touch.

Your hands, which had been pushing him away moments before, now found his shoulders for balance as he pressed you back into the bed. The mattress creaked beneath you, and you hated how your body still remembered him, how it responded to him like no time had passed at all.

His breaths were ragged, syncing with your every moan as his tongue tangled with yours, hungry and desperate. You had missed him, every part of him. That truth burned inside you as your fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer, urging him on. His body pressed against yours, grinding to yours, while his hands roamed over your skin, igniting every nerve he touched. His lips trailed downward, leaving soft kisses that melted into your flesh, a path leading straight to your core.

He stripped you of every barrier, leaving you bare under his gaze. His eyes shimmered with something between adoration and hunger as they traced your body. You hadn’t realized how powerless you were against him until your legs parted, welcoming him. He looked at you like you were sacred, like you were his entire world.

“Don’t leave me…” he whispered between kisses, his voice breaking in a way that made your heart ache. Tears pricked your eyes because you wanted to believe him. You needed to believe him. His hands explored further, his fingers reaching for your clit, pinching softly then roughly, coaxing sounds from your lips that you didn’t know you were capable of. You trembled beneath him, gasping and crying out as he whispered confessions into your skin.

His mouth was poetry, speaking without syllables. His kisses, his touch—every movement of his lips and tongue—proclaimed what he hadn’t said out loud. Your body gave in, melting under the weight of his devotion, your mind consumed by him.

“Don’t leave me again, please,” he murmured as he positioned himself, slowly sliding into you. A low, guttural sound escaped him as he felt you, tight and warm, pulling him deeper. He missed you so much that he's sure he'll come right there and then. His face buried itself in the curve of your neck, and his words spilled out—apologies, regrets.

"Please," His touch was gentle, even as his thrusts inside you grew more desperate. He cradled your head, kissed away your tears, and pressed his lips to your cheek. “I’m in love with you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It’s always been you.”

“I love you…” he murmured, capturing your lips in a desperate kiss as you both unravelled together, bodies trembling in unison. Your thighs clenched tightly around his waist, and he repeated the words softly into your ear, like a prayer he needed you to hear.

"Beomgyu," You whispered his name and it made tears well up in his eyes. His hand gently pushed the damp strands of hair from your face, and he pressed tender kisses along your cheeks, your temple, and your jaw. When he noticed your tears, he wiped them away without hesitation, his touch careful and soothing.

“Shh, angel,” he whispered, pulling you against his chest, holding you like he was afraid you’d slip away. His lips brushed the crown of your head, and his hand moved in calming strokes up and down your back. “I’m sorry… for everything.”

You had come here to end it. To finally say the words that would close this chapter for good. You’d rehearsed it in your mind, telling yourself you’d leave with your head held high.

But all of that clarity blurred with every kiss he gave you, every whisper of your name that fell from his lips. Every I love you, over and over again, spoken like a spell meant to undo you. And it did. The walls you had worked so hard to build these past seven months—brick by painstaking brick—began to crack and crumble.

And when he pulled you closer, his arms tightening around you like he couldn’t bear to let go, you felt yourself falter completely. Because no matter how much resolve you thought you had, it was never enough when it came to him.

Two fractured bodies came together, love-making to each other to chase away all the scars and time passed.

The papers meant to sever, to declare the ending—lay discarded on the floor, forgotten.

The brightness of the room stings your eyes as they flutter open. You blink, disoriented, your chest tightening with a familiar weight. Panic creeps up, sharp and unforgiving. He must have left. He must have slipped out of bed again, leaving you to wake up alone.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Beomgyu’s voice is soft, tinged with concern as he gently cradles your face in his hands. He had woken up before you, the morning light spilling across the room, but leaving the bed felt impossible. Not when you were curled so closely against him, your bodies still tangled under the warmth of the sheets.

He stayed, wrapping himself around you, his chest pressed to your back, his arms holding you. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling the faint scent that now feels like home. It was quiet—so quiet—until he felt the faint tremble on your body. His grip tightened instinctively, his voice barely above a whisper as he called out to you again. “Y/N,"

You blinked, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. Turning your head, your eyes met his—heavy-lidded and soft with sleep. His arms tightened around your waist. A shaky breath escaped your lips, your chest tight as tears welled in your eyes. You tried to hold them back, but they came anyway.

Beomgyu’s thumb brushed against your cheek, catching the first tear as it slipped down. He didn’t miss a thing. His gaze traced every flicker of emotion on your face. He opened his mouth, ready to ask what was wrong again, but you spoke first,

“You finally stayed.”

Your words made him froze. Guilt settled heavy in his chest, as he pulled you impossibly closer. His forehead pressed against yours, lips hovered so close to yours.

“I won’t ever leave. Every day, you’ll wake up, and I’ll be here. Right by your side.”

Beomgyu was different, so different it made your heart ache in the best way.

He was there, every single step, helping you out of bed like it was second nature. You had to practically fight for the simple dignity of showering alone, and even then, he lingered just outside the door, making sure you were okay.

And when it was his turn to ask for something, “Please cook for me again,” he’d said, his voice begging.

So you did. You made the soup, the very first one you’d ever cooked for him back in college. As the soup simmered, Beomgyu started to talk. He told you about Ji-won, about his unexpected interaction with Sunghoon, and how he’d rejected Ji-won long before he even knew the full truth. He spoke with an honesty that left no room for doubt, his words meant only for you.

When your mind wandered, when your eyes drifted away, Beomgyu noticed. He always noticed. His fingers would gently close around yours, pulling you back to him. He’d press soft kisses to your palms, his touch saying more than words ever could: Stay with me. I’m here.

“This is too good,” Beomgyu groaned after his first sip of the soup, you know see his face lighting up like what Sunghoon told you about. His hands cradled the bowl, and you couldn’t help but notice the glint of his ring, the one he refused to take off. It made you looked down at your own hand, there it was—your ring, the one Beomgyu fought for last night.

You took a small sip, letting the warmth spread through you. But it did little to settle the weight in your stomach. There was still something left unsaid, something you hadn’t found the courage to tell him yet. “Beomgyu,”

He squeezes your hand—the one he hasn’t let go of, even while eating. His arm stretches across the table to hold yours, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hmm?” he hums.

“Back in the hospital…” you begin, your voice trembling with of what you’re about to say. You feel his gaze shift to you, “I had a… I had a miscarriage.” You swallow hard, forcing yourself to continue. “I lost our child.”

The silence that follows is unbearable. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, your eyes fixed on the half-eaten soup in front of you. The warmth in his hand disappears, and your heart sinks. When you hear the sound of his chair scraping against the floor, dread floods your chest. He’s walking away.

But then he’s there, beside you. He pulls out the chair next to yours and sits down. When he leans forward to pull you into his arms, it’s like the air returns to your lungs. He guides your face to rest against his shoulder. His arms come around you, holding you close.

“I know,” he whispers, “Soobin told me.”

Your breath catches, and your chest feels both heavy and light at the same time. “I went to him every day, you know,” he continues, his hand running soothing circles on your back. “It’s hard not to. I couldn’t stay away. He… he got me.”

You exhale shakily, your body relaxing into his. The faint memory of flowers on your baby's grave—ones you couldn’t remember bringing yourselfl floats to the surface. It all makes sense now. Beomgyu had been there, mourning as you did.

Your hand never leaves Beomgyu’s as he drives.

The road feels both too short and too long, leading you to the place you’ve come to know too well. It’s green here, peaceful and impossibly beautiful in a way that feels both comforting and heartbreaking. He parks the car, steps out, and circles around to open your door. His hand finds yours again as you step out, and together, you walk the path you’ve walked before.

In your other hand, you hold the small bouquet—a gift for the little one who rests here now, your little angel. You kneel gently, placing the flowers at the grave. Beomgyu crouches beside you, his gaze fixed on the name etched into the stone.

Beomgyu’s voice breaks the silence, trembling as he whispers, “Daddy’s here with Mommy now, just like I promised you.” His words catch in his throat, and he pauses, his head bowing slightly as he tries to gather himself. “I told you I could do it,” he continues, his voice shaking, raw with emotion. “Daddy’s so sorry for everything. I promise I’ll take care of your Mommy. I’ll take care of her, I swear. You just play up there, okay? Don’t worry about us. Mommy and Daddy love you more than anything.”

Your heart aches at his words, and you press closer to his side. His arm finds its way around your shoulders, holding you tight. You cling to him just as fiercely, your bodies leaning into one another, trying not to fall apart in front of the greatest what-if of your lives.

I can’t wait to see you, wife. Almost there. I love you.

The corners of your lips tugged into a smile as you read your husband’s text. It had been a week since you decided to reconcile. And in those seven days, he had kept every promise, showing you with quiet consistency that he meant every word.

Reaching for your perfume, you lightly spritzed it onto your pulse points. You glanced at yourself in the mirror, smoothing the fabric of your dress, a small flutter of nerves in your chest.

The past still lingered, it wasn’t something that could just disappear. There were nights you woke up gasping, caught in the grip of nightmares. But the smoke always seemed to lift the moment you heard his voice, the way he whispered comfort like he could chase away the darkness with nothing but his presence. It was a start.

You spent the weekend at your parents’ house. When you told them you were giving your marriage another chance, their eyes had softened, and they gave you their support. And now, here you were, waiting for him—your husband—who was on his way to take you on your first date.

Married for almost three years, and are going out for your first date. The date he’d practically begged for, pouting for hours until you finally agreed, because he said he wanted it.

A beginning.

You make your way down the stairs. When you reach the bottom, your eyes land on Yeonjun, lounging on the couch, his fingers absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. He doesn’t notice you at first, but the moment he does, he sets it down without hesitation.

Walking over to him, you don’t give him a chance to say anything. Your hands gently cup his face, and before he can react, you press a quick kiss to his forehead. “Yeonjun,” you say softly, standing in front of him now, your gaze grateful. “Thank you. For everything.”

Your words seem to light him up. A smile spreads across his face, and he attempts one of his signature winks, a clumsy one at that. It’s so bad it makes you both break into laughter, the sound echoing warmly in the room. “Anything for you, Y/N,” he replies, he stands up and asks for another hug from you.

"Take care, always, okay?" You nod to his shoulders. Grateful to this man who did things for you, without asking anything back.

After saying your goodbyes to Yeonjun, you step outside, your eyes sweeping across the open space in front of the large doors.

Beomgyu leans casually against his sleek black velvet car, the deep color almost absorbing the light, while Soobin stands beside him, mid-conversation. There’s a quiet ease between them, the kind that makes you pause. When they notice you approaching, Soobin pats Beomgyu’s back, their exchange winding down as they mutter their farewells.

They look like... brothers.

The sight tugs at your heart. When you told Soobin about Beomgyu’s promises, you weren’t sure how he’d react, but it felt like he already knew. “He’s the only one who doesn’t realise how much he loves you,” Soobin had said, his voice certain. “I saw it, starting back at the hospital. It was all over his face.”

Now, as you reach him, you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug that speaks more than words ever could. “I love you, Soobin.” you say, the words soft but full of conviction.

Soobin holds you for a beat longer than usual, his hand resting lightly on your back. He feels nothing but peace in his chest.

Maybe now, he can start chasing his own happiness too.

Beomgyu watches silently as you pull away from Soobin, his gaze never leaving you. When your eyes meet his and a soft smile spreads across your lips, his chest tightens. You’re beautiful. So achingly beautiful that it feels like his heart might splinter under your stare.

When you reach him, he leans down without a word, brushing a quick kiss against your lips. He knows he needs this. He knows he needs you.

Because without you, there’s no him.

The day felt like stepping back in time, a snapshot of a younger, simpler you.

It started with the movies, where Beomgyu would lean in for quick, stolen kisses during the darker scenes, his grin impossible to resist. Then came the arcade; a chaotic mix of flashing lights and laughter. He was relentless in his mission to win you a comically oversized teddy bear, to the point of nearly bribing the poor guy running the booth. When he finally succeeded, he held it up like a trophy, his smile as wide as the bear itself. For a moment, it felt like you were back in college, like this could’ve been one of your carefree dates from those days.

Now, you’re crammed into a photo booth together, squishing shoulder to shoulder as the timer counts down. Two grown, married adults pulling silly faces at the camera like teenagers. The faint hum of the machine is drowned out by your shared giggles, and you can feel the curious stares of actual teenagers nearby. They’re probably imagining your life is perfect, the kind of love they dream about. If only they knew how far from perfect it’s been... how much work it’s taken to get here.

When the photo strip finally slides out, Beomgyu grabs it first, holding it up with a burst of laughter. “Look at you, sweetheart,” he says, pointing to one particularly goofy expression you made. His laughter is infectious, and soon you’re both doubled over, bumping to each other as you cackle uncontrollably.

Beomgyu—who always seems so composed, so maddeningly serious, looks nothing like that version of himself when he laughs. He’s wide-eyed and carefree, his joy as pure as a child’s, and it’s beautiful. It heals you. Every day with him feels like this, a discovery, a new layer to peel back, something new to fall in love with.

“God, I love you,” he says suddenly, making your heart flutter.

“I love you too,” you whisper, the smile on your face softening as he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek. The squeals from the teenagers outside are instant, and you roll your eyes, laughing as you glance at them—your accidental audience, swooning over the two of you like you’re straight out of a rom-com, like they’ve just witnessed something magical.

And maybe they have.

It doesn’t matter if it’s slow, or if it took longer than it should have. Life isn’t perfect, and neither are people. Everyone deserves a second chance, just like the one you gave your marriage. Just like the one it deserved. It may have started off messy in ways you couldn’t imagine fixing, but that didn’t mean it had to end the same way.

The road ahead still feels long, but you’re learning to let go. Of the doubt that whispered you’d never make it. Of the pain. Of the mistakes and the past that clings to you. Even the scars, the ones you thought would never fade. Letting them go is the only way forward, the only way to move on.

Only then can you begin again.

You glance at Beomgyu, his fingers laced with yours, his grip gentle as he leads you out of this place. His head tilts slightly as he looks back at you, and there it is—that boyish, cheeky smile that has the power to make your heart skip.

All you have to do is surrender.

This surrender is not in defeat, but in trust. Trust in him. Trust with his promises. Trust in the hope of something better.

Trust in yourself.

You’ll be okay.

Since childhood, you’ve heard the stories. The way people speak in hushed voices, weaving fate into riddles, how somewhere out there, it's waiting—a single red string, unseen until the exact moment it’s meant to appear.

The rules are simple: the second your eyes meet theirs, a delicate crimson thread will wrap and tug around your ring finger, stretching across, tied to the one who is destined to love you.

You watched it happen to everyone else. From playground giggles in elementary school to whispered confessions in high school hallways, to late-night talks in college dorm rooms. You listened as your friends spoke about finding their own soulmates, the feeling, the pull, the process. It's everywhere. In the way, your parents fit together like pages of the same story. On the way your younger sister, still so new to the world found her match.

When you’re told your whole life that destiny is waiting for you, how could you not ache for it?

The universe doesn’t make mistakes. And yet, your hands remained... stringless.

And now you wonder if it did, with you.

"One, two, three, smile!" You press the shutter, capturing the way they look at each other. You lower the camera, but they don’t even notice. They’re too caught up in their own little world, whispering sentences only they’ll ever understand. They laugh, eyes soft, bodies leaning in just a little closer.

How does love do that? How does it make someone shine like they’re carrying sunlight beneath their skin? Like just standing beside the right person is enough to set them alight?

And why, no matter how long you wait, does that light never seem to find you?

There are days you curse it—this cruel design, this aching uncertain certainty. You tell yourself it would be easier not to know, to live without the quiet hope that somewhere, someone is meant to find you, or that fate had already written your name beside someone else’s.

And then there are days you fear it.

What if they don’t want to find you? What if that’s why you’re still alone? What if they got it wrong, skipped over your name, and he simply… doesn’t exist?

You're an anomaly. A glitch in the well-made script.

You lost count of how many times you wished it was never made this way. That love shouldn’t be a promise. Yet in the deepest hours of the night, you found yourself; gasping, trembling, and sobbing to your palms. The feeling of—

How can you miss someone you've never met?

You want to reach for a hand you’ve never held. You long for a voice you’ve never heard, a scent you’ve never breathed, a shadow you’ve never chased. And more than anything, you wish you had a name to whisper, to give you hope.

You swallow, forcing a smile as you turn back to the couple. "Congratulations," you say, "It’s a beautiful wedding."

"Thank you, Y/N!" Ha-rin squeals, practically glowing as she steps forward to hug you. "And thank you for being our photographer. I know you must be busy."

"You’re welcome," you reply, adjusting your camera strap. "It’s what I do, after all."

Ju-won steps in then, reaching for Ha-rin’s hand like he can’t stand even a moment of space between them. "Thank you, Y/N," he says, his eyes never straying far from his wife.

They were your high school classmates. You remember the day they met; first year, first morning, when their eyes met across the classroom, and just like that, the red string appeared. They grew together, from awkward introductions to effortless friendship, and now, here they were, husband and wife.

A picture of everything the universe had promised them.

Ju-won leans in, pressing a kiss to Ha-rin’s cheek like it’s the first time, like they haven’t spent years by each other’s side. The look in their eyes is so easy, so full of love, that you have to look away.

You can't look.

"Uh, I’ll get some drinks," you say, forcing a smile that feels as out of place as you do. You don’t wait for a response. You just turn, your heels clicking against the polished floor, head spinning as you try to count how many weddings you’ve attended this year.

Or no. You’ve lost count.

Everyone you grew up with; your friends, your classmates have already found their soulmates. Most are married now, some already raising children.

Your heels dig into your feet with each hurried step, but you don’t slow down. You just keep moving, past everyone. You know exactly where you’ll end up. The same place you always do.

Alone at the sidelines.

You grab a drink, bringing it to your lips a little too quickly, hoping the cool burn will settle the unease twisting in your stomach.

"Hey! It’s been a while!" A voice cuts calls out, familiar but not familiar enough. You turn to see a girl skidding towards you, her face vaguely recognizable. A former classmate? A clubmate? Someone who once sat next to you in a lecture hall?

"How have you been?" she asks, taking a drink for herself.

"I’m fine, thanks," you reply, forcing an easy nod before taking another sip.

A second passes, and then another girl joins the conversation, breathless with laughter. "Beom-seok finally let me go," she teases, tilting her head toward the man across the room, her soulmate. "The guy’s obsessed."

"Of course he is," the first girl grins. "He’s your soulmate." She swirls her drink before adding, "Mine just got back from overseas. He’ll see me tomorrow once he’s in the city." And there it is again, circling back to the same topic, the one you can never take part in. You nod, offering a small smile, pretending to listen.

Because what is there to say when everyone else has something you don’t?

"Y/N?" Your name pulls you out of your thoughts.

"Huh?"

"Did you meet yours yet?" The question hits like a slow, squeezing ache in your chest.

"No," you say, reaching for another drink. It's embarrassing that everyone knows you're empty. "I haven't."

"That's… weird, right?" The first girl tilts her head, genuinely puzzled. "I mean, we sat through those lectures together. Didn’t the studies say most people find their soulmate before twenty-five? That’s what the records say."

There’s no malice in her voice, just matter-of-fact. Like she’s pointing out a statistic, saying out what’s already been made painfully clear to you. It’s the same tired reminder, the same unspoken question: what’s wrong with you?

You’re used to it by now.

"Yeah," you say, unwilling to argue. What’s the point? Your mind slips back to those reckless high school days; the days when older girls, too cool and too cruel, mocked you for not having a soulmate. You remember snapping back, pretending their words didn’t sting.

Later, the tears came on the bus ride home, carving rivers down your cheeks as you sob. Strangers offered tissues, soft words, awkward kindness, but none of it could stitch you back together. You remember your mother's words after seeing her home. To stop them from hurting you, you have to accept all of yourself.