Moon

The first time you met Kenma, you couldn't help but notice how passionate he was about his games.

He was always hidden away in some quiet corner, completely immersed in whatever he happened to be playing.

Before long, you found yourself searching for him without meaning to, your eyes instinctively drifting toward him whenever he was nearby.

Months passed in the blink of an eye. The routine became familiar. You'd attend your classes, diligently take notes, and without fail, you'd catch sight of Kenma tucked behind a propped-up textbook, quietly playing on his switch while the lecture carried on around him.

Somewhere between the endless lectures and stolen glances, you realized you'd become captivated by the way he loved the things he cared about.

So imagine your surprise when, somehow, you ended up together.

It started when you began seeking him out. There was something about him that drew you in—something that made you want to hold on, even if only loosely.

You didn't care what form the connection took.

Friendship.

Romance.

Even a passing acquaintance.

As long as you were allowed a glimpse into the passion that burned so effortlessly within him, you were content.

But when school started demanding too much from you, you found yourself slowly pulling away from him. Not because you wanted to. There were simply too many deadlines to meet, too many assignments to complete, and not enough hours in the day to keep up with everything.

Of course, Kenma noticed. Just as you had spent months learning the rhythm of his habits, he had quietly learned yours.

The subtle habits that gave you away.

The way you absentmindedly rubbed your wrists after long study sessions. The way your eyes lingered on your planner a second too long. The way your smile seemed a little more strained whenever deadlines piled up.

The little habits that told him you were slowly being swallowed by the weight of it all.

So during one of his visits to your apartment, Kenma casually suggested that you take a break.

He'd been clicking away on his switch when he said it, his attention still fixed on the game in his hands as he clicked away on his switch.

The comment was made in passing—a harmless suggestion that should have rolled off your shoulders.

But when Kenma finally glanced up from his switch, he immediately noticed the subtle tremble in your shoulders. His fingers stilled.

A quiet concern settled over him as he rose from his seat and walked toward you.

He called your name softly as he placed a careful hand on your back. The touch was light. The kind that should have comforted you.

Instead, you flinched.

Before he could ask if you were okay, you slapped his hand away.

"Get away from me!" You hissed through your teeth.

Kenma recoiled, surprise flashing across his face as he instinctively drew his hand back. Slowly, he rubbed the spot where you'd struck it. Worry quickly replaced his shock.

He called your name again, quieter this time.

Still, you said nothing. The only response he received was the sound of your ragged breathing filling the room.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his hand hovering uncertainly over his chest.

Kenma's question hung heavily in the air, an unwelcome feeling settling in your chest as his words left a bitter taste on your tongue. Slowly, you turned to face him.

The moment your eyes met, Kenma froze. Fear flickered across his features.

Your brows were drawn tightly together, your eyes burning with unfamiliar anger as your eyelids trembled ever so slightly.

This was the first time Kenma had ever seen you truly angry.

And even if you were before, never once had that anger been directed at him. Not when he'd accidentally spilled water all over your notes. Not when he'd stayed up all night playing games, only to be met with a soft scolding and a fond smile the next morning.

Not even when he'd discovered the sketchbooks you'd spent years trying to hide from the rest of the world.

Yet now, all that anger was directed at him.

"What's wrong?" A hollow laugh escaped your lips. The sound was brittle, almost disbelieving, as though you couldn't fathom how he could ask such a question.

"I'll tell you what's wrong!" Your voice cracked as it rose. "You keep distracting me! Can't you see I'm trying to study?" Your palm struck the desk with a loud crack. Beside you, your ice coffee that had long since watered down wobbled violently, nearly toppling over.

A strained breath escaped Kenma's lips. For the briefest moment, hurt flashed across his face before he quickly masked it.

"What do you mean?" The confusion in his voice was unmistakable. "I just wanted you to rest. It's been hours since you've buried yourself with textbooks. It's about time you took a break."

"Wow…" You looked away from him before shortly snapping your gaze to him, a frown tugging at your lips. "You think I don't know that?!"

Kenma's brows furrowed slightly. He took a cautious step closer, his hands lingering awkwardly in the space between you as though he couldn't decide whether to reach for you or let them fall back to his sides.

He wanted to reach for you. To pull you into his arms an tell you everything would be okay. But he was terrified that touching you now would only push you further away.

So he let his arms fall back to his sides, shrinking into himself as the next words tumbled out in a quiet, shaky voice.

"O-Of course not—"

"—Then why do you keep pestering me?!"

Your words cut sharply through the air.

The accusation hit harder than Kenma had expected, his breath caught in his throat.

Normally, he'd know what to do. Every game had a strategy. Every obstacle had a solution. That was common gamer sense.

But as he stared at the anger burning in your eyes, he found himself completely lost.

"I know when to take breaks. I know when to put my textbooks down when I need to." Your voice cracked as your nerves frayed. "So why do you feel the need to constantly remind me over and over again?! You're just bothering me!" Tears burned at the corners of your eyes before you even noticed them. You clenched your jaw, fighting desperately to keep them from falling.

Across from you, Kenma looked stunned. The outburst had caught him off guard, but the anger wasn't what unsettled him.

It was the tears. The way they clung stubbornly to your lashes. The way your voice kept cracking despite your attempts to hold it together.

When his gaze fell to the tears collecting at the corners of your eyes, a lump formed quietly in his throat.

"…That's not what I intended to do."

"Then what?!" Your voice came out harsher than you intended.

Kenma opened his mouth. Closed it. Then opened it once more. For the first time in a long while, he found himself at a loss for words.

And for someone who had always preferred silence over conversation, that spoke volumes.

"...Nothing. Sorry." His gaze dropped briefly to the floor. "Just... please calm down."

Something inside you snapped.

"Calm down?" The phrase had stuck a nerve. They scraped against old wounds, dredging up years of frustration, grief, and helplessness that you'd spent so long trying to bury.

All at once, the emotions surged to the surface.

"Calm down?!" a laugh escaped you before you could stop it. It sounded wrong. Sharp. Broken.

Your lips stretched into a smile that didn't belong there. "I am calm." Another laugh followed. "I am the calmest I've ever been. You don't know what you're talking about!"

Kenma visibly flinched, as though each word was a knife driven straight through his heart. The hurt settled deep into his chest, sharp and aching. Tears stung the corner of his eyes as he struggled to find the right response.

"What…" he swallowed. "What else was I supposed to say?"

"Nothing!" Your hand swept across the cluttered desk, scattering papers across the floor. For a brief moment, you stared at the mess.

Then you looked at him again. Frustration flashed in your eyes, raw and unguarded. It was impossible for Kenma to miss. After all, he had spent months memorizing your habits, learning the subtle shifts in your expression long before you ever became his.

"You should've stayed quiet! Tucked behind your switch like you always are while I'm trying to study!"

You saw it immediately. The way Kenma's shoulder stiffened. The brief flicker of hurt that crossed his face before he looked away.

Yet, despite all the harsh words you had spouted out, he stayed.

"That's the thing," he said quietly. "It's been hours since you started." His eyes drifted toward the notes scattered across your desk, then to the dark circles beneath your eyes. "You need a break. Your notes won't suddenly grow legs and run away from you."

You hated how calm he sounded.

Hated how, even after everything you'd thrown at him, he still spoke to you with the same gentle patience. As if your words hadn't hurt him. As if the tears stinging his eyes weren't there.

He should've been angry.

He should've yelled back.

He should've pushed you away the same way you'd pushed him.

Instead, he stood there and took it all, stubbornly trying to comfort you despite the way you kept pushing him away.

The realization only made something twist painfully in your chest.

A disbelieving laugh escaped you. "You even have the time to joke around?"

"I'm not!" The denial left him immediately. His voice had already begun to shake, though he didn't seem to notice.

He was too focused on you. On the tears threatening to spill over. On the way your fingers trembled against the edge of the desk. On the way you couldn't quite bring yourself to look at him.

Because Kenma knew you.

Kenma knew this wasn't really about him.

He knew it was the pressure of looming deadlines speaking through you. He knew it was the frustration you'd been bottling up for weeks, perhaps even months.

And he knew guilt had already begun to settle heavily in your chest. He could see it in the way your fingers twitched. In the way your gaze refused to meet his.

"But it sure as hell sounded like one." You scowled, your voice cracking over the edges. "And have you ever since me complain about your screen time? The hours you spend clicking away on that stupid switch of yours?!"

"Of course not!" Kenma cut you off.

"You never once did…" For a moment, his gaze fell to the sketchbook lying half-open on your desk. The pages were warped from tears. Graphite stains smudged the edges. Another lump formed in his throat.

"But I wasn't complaining." His voice softened. "Just... please." The desperation in it caught you off guard. "Let yourself rest." His eyes lingered on your trembling hands, the swollen joints from writing too much. "You've spent enough hours forcing yourself through this already."

"...You know I can't, Kenma."

"I know." His voice cracked. "I know." For a moment, he looked away. Then he swallowed and met your eyes again. "But I miss you." The confession hung heavily between you.

Kenma lowered his gaze. "I miss lying beside you. I miss watching you fall asleep." A weak laugh escaped him. "I miss getting kissed on the cheek for no reason."

His fingers curled against his palms.

"And I miss seeing you smile."

When he finally looked back up, there was nothing but honesty in his eyes. "So please." His voice nearly broke. "Just this once. Come lie down beside me like you always do." A shaky breath escaped him.

"Kiss me on the cheek and pretend everything's okay for a little while." The corners of his lips trembled. "Let me smile like an idiot because of you." His gaze dropped again to your trembling hands.

"Just for tonight. Let's forget about everything else." His voice softened. "Just sleep beside me like we always do."

"I already told you I can't, Kenma!" Your voice trembled. "You should know that by now."

You let out a shaky exhale, dragging a trembling hand through your hair. "I can't waste time sleeping when a few extra hours of rest won't magically pay the bills." The words tumbled out faster and faster.

"I can't waste time playing the perfect girlfriend when I have entire anatomy charts to memorize." Your chest tightened painfully. "And I most certainly don't have the luxury of lying beside you when every second we're spending arguing is another second I could've spent studying."

You took a shaky breath. "Memorizing chemical formulas." Another. "Learning muscle groups." Your voice cracked.

"Trying to build a future that won't fall apart." Your voice came out weak this time, the conviction from earlier draining away as the words tightened in your throat.

"So, please... just leave me alone."

Kenma's hand hovered helplessly between you, fingers twitching as though he wanted to reach for you. Your name left his lips in a shaky whisper.

The hurt in his voice nearly made you falter. Nearly.

"Out."

The word tore itself from your chest before you could stop it.

"But…"

"Out!"

Whatever Kenma had wanted to say died in his throat.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then, slowly, Kenma lowered his hand. The concern lingering in his eyes hurt far more than any anger could have.

In the end, all he offered was a small, weary smile.

"...I'll always be one call away if you need me."

The words were quiet. Gentle. Painfully so.

Yet, you stayed silent.

And with that, he left. The click of the door echoed throughout the apartment.

For the first time since you'd met him, neither of you reached across the distance that followed.

At first, you told yourself it was for the best. There were deadlines to meet, exams to prepare for, and a future waiting for you at the end of it all.

Kenma, true to his word, gave you space. No late-night visits. No reminders to take breaks. No messages asking whether you'd eaten yet.

Days turned into weeks.

You buried yourself beneath textbooks and deadlines.

Kenma buried himself in the glow of his screen, convincing himself that giving you space was what you wanted.

Somewhere along the way, the effortless rhythm you'd once shared began to unravel.

Neither of you spoke about it.

Neither of you knew how.

So the silence remained.

The distance between you grew so gradually that neither of you realized how wide it had become.

Until one day, when the weight of everything became too much to bear—

The sound of your cries echoed pathetically through the thin walls of your apartment, each sob deafening against the suffocating silence of your room.

Your sketchbook sat open on your desk, its pages littered with unfinished sketches and erased mistakes.

Tears spilled over your cheeks before you could stop them. You desperately tried wiping them off with the palm of your hands, only for the graphite dust coating your skin to smear across your face, leaving dark streaks in tis wake.

The tightness in your chest seemed to get worse at every hiccup that escaped your throat.

Blinking your eyes open, you looked down on the unfinished strokes in the paper. You had spent hours tirelessly working through the guidelines you had carefully drawn for yourself, and yet the lines never came out right.

They trembled. Warped. Bent beneath the pressure of a hand that refused to steady.

A frustrated sob tore from your throat as tears splattered onto the page, darkening the lines etched across the paper.

Slowly, you brought your pencil back to the paper. The line lasted barely an inch before it wavered. Your grip tightened.

You tried again.

And again.

And again.

The ache in your wrist had long since settled into something familiar—a dull, relentless throb that crawled up your arm and settled deep within your joints.

Each stroke came out uneven, trembling where it should have been smooth. You bit down on your lips and forced your hand to continue. Yet, no matter how much you sketched, it never felt enough.

The emotions trapped in your chest refused to translate onto paper.

Your wrist jerked. The pencil slipped. The line curved where it wasn't supposed to. And before you knew it, another tear had fallen onto the drawing you'd spent hours trying to perfect.

A shaky breath left your lungs.

No. You could fix it.

You had to.

Another hours passed in a blur of erased lines and aching fingers, yet the drawing remained unfinished.

Your wrist twitched again and pain shot through your muscles, the pencil slipping from your grasp entirely. The sound it made against the wooden floor was embarrassingly small.

Yet, somehow, it was enough to break everything in you.

A sob escaped your throat as more tears spilled onto the page.

No matter how hard you tried, your body refused to keep up with the artist your mind wanted you to be.

…Why did you even bother?

The question echoed endlessly in your mind as another sob slipped past your lips.

You folded in on yourself over the cluttered desk, shoulders trembling as a shaky breath escaped through gritted teeth.

Your chest rose and fell unevenly as your gaze unfocused, a dull static settling over your thoughts. The textbooks piled in the corner of your room blurred into view. And just like that, your mind drifted back to earlier that day.

You had only just returned home from school, exhaustion weighing heavily on your limbs. With a weary sigh, you tossed your bag carelessly onto the floor before collapsing onto your mattress.

The bed dipped beneath your weight.

For a moment, all you could do was stare at the ceiling, the weight of looming deadlines settling deep in your chest like a physical wound. The thought alone was enough to make your head throb.

You were about to pull out your phone and message Kenma when your thumb hesitated over the screen. The memory of the last thing you'd said to him crept back into your mind uninvited.

'Oh. Right.'

The familiar ache in your chest lingered for a moment before reality demanded your attention elsewhere.

Your gaze drifted toward the scattered contents of your bag.

One of the textbooks had fallen open during your earlier outburst, exposing page after page of highlighted notes.

The sea of yellow and pink made your stomach sink. But you had no choice but to continue.

Eventually, you forced yourself off the mattress and crossed the room. The textbook felt heavier than it should have as you picked it up from the floor and carried it back to your desk.

Before long, you were seated at your desk once more, forcing yourself through assignment after assignment. Yet every few minutes, your gaze would drift toward the sketchbook sitting at the edge of your desk, as though it were quietly calling your name.

Soon enough, you gave in.

'It'll only be a few minutes. Nothing more.'

The lie lasted longer than you expected.

One sketch became two.

Two became five.

And before you knew it, hours had passed.

Your wrist throbbed. Your muscles spasmed. Tears blurred the unfinished sketches scattered across your desk.

You had to stop.

You should stop.

But art was all you knew.

It had been there when life was easy, when you'd eagerly run to show your father your latest drawing.

It had been there when life began to fall apart, when you'd lose yourself in the waxy shades of your crayons while your parents' shouts ricocheted through the walls.

It had been there when you moved out from your childhood home.

It had been there through the years, quietly accompanying you as you poured yourself into sketch after sketch, stroke after stroke.

How were you supposed to let it go now?

The answer arrived on an ordinary afternoon. Cruel in its simplicity.

The doctor's voice became a blur, every explanation dissolving into meaningless noise as two words lodged themselves deep in your chest.

Rheumatoid arthritis.

The very disease that had plagued every artists' nightmares had became a reality for you.

You stared blankly at the pristine white tiles of the clinic, your vision unfocused. The light in your eyes dimmed ever so slightly as the diagnosis settled heavily in your chest.

Your thoughts dissolved into nothingness.

You let your mother lead you back to the car without resistance, your feet moving mechanically beneath you.

You felt hollow. Like the diagnosis had carved something out of you and left only an empty shell behind.

A husk of your former self.

Ever since then, you'd buried yourself in chemical formulas and anatomy textbooks. You settled for the second-best thing you could find—science. Medicine, to be more specific.

Nursing abroad paid well. Everyone knew that. And with your current circumstances, there was no room for dreams.

It was the only choice.

You had no room to be picky of your future.

You never had enough to begin with. You never did.

Not enough money to chase your dreams. Not enough certainty to choose passion over practicality. Not enough time to indulge in the luxury of asking yourself what could have been.

Because art wouldn't pay the bills.

You knew that.

You knew how difficult life would become if you listened to your heart. You knew you wouldn't survive the regret that came with chasing endless what-ifs. You knew that no amount of shading could soften the rough edges of reality.

And you knew the piles of smudged sketches stacked in the corner of your room would never be enough to build the life you wanted.

Because what was passion but a luxury you couldn't afford?

What was passion when your skills couldn't keep up? What was passion when your hands trembled before every stroke? What was passion when every sketch ended with an aching wrist and swollen joints? What was passion when your own body refused to cooperate?

What was passion if it couldn't cure your disease?

…And yet.

Every time.

Every fucking time.

You'd still find yourself reaching for your sketchbook whenever life became too heavy to bear.

It was like a splinter buried deep beneath your skin. No matter how many distractions you surrounded yourself with, the thought never truly went away.

It lingered back to the sketches. Back to the pages. Back to the life you'd convinced yourself to leave behind.

Like a drug coursing through your veins, art remained woven into every part of you—something you kept returning to despite knowing better.

But you knew, passion won't fill your stomach.

And it'll never be the cure.

A broken laugh escaped your lips.

Because that was the funny thing, wasn't it?

Kenma had never once asked you to choose art.

He had never asked you to abandon nursing. Never asked you to throw your future away for the sake of a dream.

All he had asked was for you to rest. To eat with him. To sleep beside him. To let him shoulder a fraction of the weight crushing your chest.

And somehow, that terrified you more than any diagnosis ever could.

But deep down, you knew the truth.

Kenma was never the problem.

And neither was art.

Darkness stretched in every direction, thick and unbroken, swallowing whatever little light should have been there. The trees stood tall and unmoving, their silhouettes jagged against the night, their branches reaching outward like they had no end.

No matter where you looked, it was the same—trunks, shadows, and more shadows layered behind them, as if the forest went on forever. It wasn’t just large. It felt endless. Like there was no edge to it, no path out, no clear beginning or end.

The forest was quiet. Too quiet. Not the kind that felt calm, nor peaceful. The silence was thick, suffocating; it settled into your ears until it almost rang.

There was no one else. No sound of passing cars, no distant voices, nothing familiar to anchor yourself to. Just the forest. Just you.

The sheer vastness pressed in on you, heavy and suffocating, settling deep in your chest until it became hard to breathe. It made you feel small in a way you’d never felt before, like you didn’t belong here, like you weren’t meant to be here at all.

Your eyes darted around, quick and restless, trying to catch sight of something—or someone before they caught sight of you. But everything looked the same. There was no one around.

Just you.

Just. You.

Your breathing came out shallow and uneven, each inhale barely enough, each exhale trembling as it left you. Your thoughts refused to settle, scattering faster than you could grasp them, slipping through your fingers before they could even form properly.

Without realizing it, your hand had tightened around the small charm resting in your palm.

Mama…

Tears prickled at your eyes as your gaze dropped, your thoughts drifting back to something familiar.

Mama, are you safe?

The rough bark pressed hard against your back but you barely registered it. All you could think about was your mom.

The silence pressed in on you, heavy and unrelenting, leaving no space for anything else.

Your thoughts should have stayed on where you were, on what you were supposed to do—but they didn’t. They slipped, drifting somewhere where they shouldn’t have.

Ma’s probably waiting.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head as if that would push the thought away. No, you’d only been gone for a few minutes. At most.

She wouldn’t be worried yet.

…Right?

The question lingered longer than it should’ve.

Would she check your room? Call your name from downstairs, expecting you to answer like you always did? Would she wait by the table, thinking you were just late again?

Your chest tightened, something sharp pressing down until it became hard to breathe. Your fingers curled tighter around the charm in your palm, gripping it like it could somehow keep everything from falling apart.

A breath hitched painfully in your throat, uneven and shaky, your lips pressing together as you tried to force it back down.

Calm down.

You needed to calm down.

Crying wouldn’t help. Panicking wouldn’t magically get you home. You knew that much. But the more you tried to steady yourself, the more it feel like your chest was caving in. You drew in a slow breath, only for it to catch halfway. Your lungs felt tight, every inhale shallow and uneven no matter how hard you tried to steady it.

The silence surrounding you only made it worse. There was no familiar hum of the air conditioner. No distant sounds from outside your room. No soft clatter from downstairs telling you your mom was still awake.

It was too much.

The darkness. The cold. The horrible uncertainty pressing down on you from every direction.

Your nails dug harshly into your palm, the tiny sting grounding you for all of two seconds before your thoughts spiraled again.

…Ma’s probably looking for you now.

The thought hit harder than it should have. You could almost picture it vividly. The way she’d probably call your name from downstairs first, expecting you to answer like always. Maybe she’d complain about you ignoring her before checking your room herself.

And when she realizes you’re not there—

Your breath broke unevenly.

No.

No, no, no.

You squeezed your eyes shut harder, shaking your head as though that alone could stop the thoughts from coming.

Maybe you’d wake up soon. Maybe this was some stupid nightmare. Maybe if you just stayed still long enough, you’d open your eyes and find yourself back in your room with your phone still clutched in your hand.

But the rough bark digging painfully against your back felt too real. The damp earth beneath you felt too real. Even the cold air biting at your skin felt horribly real.

The more you thought about it, the more unsteady your breathing became. You pressed a hand against your mouth quickly, trying to stop the pathetic sound threatening to escape you. Yet, a broken sob slipped through your fingers anyway.

Your shoulders trembled violently as tears spilled faster than you could wipe them away, your vision blurring so badly the forest around you melted into shapeless darkness. You tried breathing properly. Tried forcing yourself to calm down. But every shaky inhale only made your throat ache more.

The silence around you swallowed everything whole, leaving nothing but your uneven breathing and muffled sobs echoing pathetically through the forest.

You hated it. Hated how small you sounded. Hated how helpless you felt.

Your grip on the charm tightened again until the edges dug painfully into your skin, but even then, the horrible tightness in your chest refused to ease.

Your shoulders trembled violently despite your attempts to steady them, biting your lips red in a desperate attempt to muffle the sounds threatening to spill out. But it only made the crying harder to suppress.

Your breaths came out uneven and shaky, breaking apart between quiet sobs as tears continued slipping down your face no matter how harshly you wiped at them.

Another sound echoed through the air—it wasn’t your raging thoughts, nor was it your cries. It was something faint, subtle enough that you almost missed it.

A soft crunch.

Your crying faltered immediately. The sound was subtle, barely louder than the rustling leaves overhead, but against the suffocating silence of the forest, it felt deafening.

You froze. For a brief moment, everything else faded into the background as your ears strained desperately against the quiet.

Then it came again. Closer this time. Another careful crunch of leaves and fallen twigs beneath something heavy enough to carry weight.

Your breath caught painfully in your throat. Every muscle in your body locked up at once. You didn’t move. Didn’t even dare breathe properly, terrified that the slightest sound would draw attention to where you were hidden.

The forest suddenly felt much smaller than before. Like the darkness itself was closing in around you. Another step echoed somewhere nearby. Your grip tightened painfully around the charm in your hand.

You weren’t alone.

The thought settled slowly at first, your panicked mind refusing to fully process it before crashing into you all at once. Your hand clamped over your mouth tightly, desperately trying to muffle the shaky sounds threatening to spill past your lips.

Your chest still trembled violently with every uneven breath, your attempts to quiet yourself only making the panic clawing up your throat feel worse.

The footsteps continued. Your heartbeat pounded so violently against your ribs it almost hurt, each thud loud enough that you were certain whoever—or whatever—was out there could hear it too.

Your eyes darted frantically through the darkness, desperately trying to find where the sound was coming from. Then the bush beside you suddenly jerked violently, leaves parting in one swift motion.

You looked up so quickly your neck hurt. Your breathing still came unevenly as your gaze landed on a man standing just beside the bush.

His dark blue hair was tied neatly into a bun, though a few loose strands had fallen free on one side of his face. His eyes remained closed, yet somehow, it still didn’t hide the concern clearly written across his expression.

The two of you stared at each other in silence for a moment, your own breathing embarrassingly loud in comparison. Then, after a brief hesitation, he finally spoke. "Are you okay?"

Your brows furrowed in confusion. You understood enough to know he was talking to you. I mean… who else could he possibly be talking to in this dark, lonely forest? Aside from whatever was hiding in the trees, anyway.

You set your hand to the side, the other firm around your necklace.

But it wasn’t the fact that he spoke to you that perplexed you, but rather the words he spoke were unfamiliar, spoken in a language you didn’t recognize.

Or maybe you did. Either way, the point still stood. He was speaking a language you didn’t understand. And you didn’t know whether to cry harder over that fact, or the thought that the person in front of you could either save you… or kill you.

A few moments of silence passed before the man shifted awkwardly on his feet, seemingly unsettled by your blank stare. His gaze darted away for a brief moment before returning to you again.

He looked oddly conflicted, like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with you. Eventually, he seemed to come to a decision. Straightening slightly, he gave a small cough as though trying to steady himself.

"Ehem."

You snapped out of your daze.

Oh.

You forgot to answer him.

After taking a deep breath, he tried once more. "Are you okay?"

Again. He’s speaking in that language. But after hearing him the second time, his words seemed to stir something in you. Your brain whirred to remember what it was that seemed familiar to you, when you came to a realization that he was speaking in Chinese. And it appears that he was asking if you were okay.

You hummed to yourself at that revelation. Well looks like you were wrong, as it was a language that you did know how to speak. Thank god you learned Chinese when you could. Though, regretfully, you only knew basic Chinese.

You searched your mind for the Chinese word for yes, squeezing your eyes shut in concentration. The moment you finally remembered it, you looked back up as you tried to answer.

Keyword: tried.

Because the second you spoke, nothing came out. Except for a rough, hoarse breath that barely resembled a word.

Heat rushed to your face almost immediately. You quickly looked down, your ears flushed as your hand instinctively reached for your throat. Your crying earlier must’ve taken a toll on it.

You tried clearing your throat, but it only made the dryness worse. Your throat felt tight and scratchy, and you questioned yourself on why you even tried to clear it when there was nothing to clear in the first place.

In your embarrassment, you almost forgot there was another person standing in front of you. A small cough pulled you out of it.

You glanced up, only to find the man looking just as awkward as you felt. Your gaze darted away again almost immediately as you hurriedly wiped at the stray tears clinging to your face.

This is awkward.

He didn’t move any closer at first, his gaze lingering on you. "…You shouldn't be here," he finally said, his voice quiet.

You bit your inner cheeks, trying to make sense of the Chinese words he’d spoken. But to no avail, you couldn’t understand them fully. You could only make out a few things.

You.

Not.

Here.

Was he trying to say you weren’t from here? Or that you shouldn’t be here? Honestly, the more you thought about it, the more the second one sounded right.

You just hoped you weren’t wrong. Because if you were right, then that only raised even more questions. Where exactly were you? How did you even get here?

Your chest tightened at the thought. You looked back at him, blinking as your brows knitted together slightly.

You knew you shouldn’t be here.

But you didn’t even know how you got here in the first place. One moment, you were sprawled across your bed, reading to your heart’s content in the comfort of your room. Then suddenly, you were here.

In a forest that felt far too vast. Far too wrong.

You wished you could explain it to him, somehow. But the words wouldn’t come out. Not that it mattered. You wouldn’t be able to communicate properly anyway. So you just looked at him, eyes still damp, your expression giving you away more than you wanted it to.

His brows furrowed slightly, like he was trying to decide something once again.

The silence stretched, giving you time to really look at him. He looked to be around the same age as you. Even like this, you could already tell he’d tower over you if you stood. There was something steady about the way he held himself, something that didn’t quite match the quiet tension in the air.

There were faint scars along his face—not too deep, but enough to notice. Bruises, too, scattered along his arms like they hadn't fully healed.

Your gaze stayed on his arm. There, just below his sleeve, was a bruise darker than the rest, the skin around it slightly swollen. It looked recent.

He shifted slightly, and for a moment, there was a stiffness to it. Subtle, but there. You only noticed it now, despite how often he’d been shifting earlier. At first, you thought it was just awkwardness from finding a crying stranger in the middle of the forest.

But now that you were actually looking, the carefulness in his movements felt intentional. Like he was trying not to aggravate something.

Your fingers twitched slightly.

You shouldn’t. You didn’t even know him. But it didn’t feel right to leave it alone…

Without really thinking, your hand lifted slightly, hovering uncertainly before gesturing toward it. You tilted your head a little, silently asking the question for him. You didn’t trust your throat enough to make an actual sound.

He perked up at your action, following its direction to find a bruise on his arm. He looked back at you, as if asking why. The attention made you tense. You weren’t even sure why you’d done that. It just felt… wrong to ignore it.

So you pushed yourself up slowly, pocketing your phone with careful steps as you moved toward him. He stepped back. The movement made you stop just as quickly, your breath catching as you froze in place.

Right. Of course. You were the strange one in this situation.

You slightly lift your hands with your palms open, an awkward, instinctive attempt to show you meant no harm. His eyes explored you, while yours flickered between his face and the bruise, unsure where to settle.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, his gaze followed yours again, down to the bruise. Something in his posture shifted. Not relaxed… but less guarded.

You swallowed. Then, slower this time, you took another step. He didn’t move away. You closed the distance carefully, stopping just within arm’s reach. You were close enough to see it properly now—the uneven discoloration, the faint swelling beneath the skin. It looked worse up close. And you had an inkling that it was a hematoma rather than a bruise.

Your hand lifted again, but this time it lingered in the space between you, your fingers hovering hesitatingly near his arm.

Then you glanced up at him, watching for anything that might tell you to stop. A flinch. A shift. Anything. But he didn’t pull away. If anything, he just… stared at you.

You exhaled softly, almost without realizing it. Carefully, you reached out. Your touch was light at first, barely there as your fingers brushed against his arm before pressing just slightly over the bruise. The warmth of his skin seeped through, tense beneath your touch.

You watched closely, your brows knitting as you adjusted your pressure, just enough to gauge it without making it worse.

You were right. It was a hematoma. It may not be anything medically serious, but it can still cause a lot of pain. You wish you could properly tell him on how to treat it, but alas, you sucked at Chinese. And you can't even utter a single word—kudos to your fucked up throat ig.

You pulled your hand back after a moment, your lips pressing together as you thought about how to communicate, your gaze lingering on the hematoma a second longer. Then you tried gesturing it.

Your hands moved in small, uncertain gestures—pointing to the bruise before shaking your head slightly. You mimicked the motion of pressing too hard, then winced faintly, pulling your hand back as if to show it shouldn’t be done.

Not good. Needs care.

You weren’t sure if it made sense. You weren’t even sure if he was following, but you tried anyway.

He watched you the entire time. He didn’t interrupt, nor try to pull away. He was just watching.

His gaze lingered on your hands for a moment longer, like he was trying to piece together what you meant, before it lifted back to your face. Something settled there, something you couldn’t quite read. The forest seemed to press in around you, the silence unbearably loud.

"…Come."

You blinked. The word meant nothing to you—though, honestly, you were too dazed to really process it in the first place. But the gesture that followed needed no translation.

He stepped to the side, creating space between you. His hand lifted slightly, motioning somewhere behind him.

You hesitated. Your grip tightened unconsciously around the small charm in your hand, the edges pressing faintly into your palm. Your gaze flickered past him, into the darkness of the forest. The trees stretched endlessly, the shadows darker than you remembered. It feels colder now.

You glanced back at him. He was still there, his gaze fixed on you.

You could barely understand him. You didn’t know where you were, nor how you got here. But… He hadn’t hurt you. He easily could have.

You swallowed, your chest tightening as the thought settled heavier than you expected. Slowly, you gave a small, hesitant nod.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, like he was making sure before he turned around, stepping past you. He didn’t look back immediately. Like he was giving you the choice.

You hesitated for only a second before following after him.

The silence that followed stretched awkwardly as you trailed after him, your fingers still curled tightly around the charm in your hand.

At some point during the walk, the man suddenly slowed. You nearly walked into him. Confused, you looked up only to find him holding something out toward you. A handkerchief.

You blinked stupidly at it for a moment before realizing why. Your lips still stung faintly from how hard you’d bitten them earlier, and judging from the subtle way his gaze flickered toward your face before quickly away again, you probably looked worse than you thought.

"…Ah." Heat rushed to your face almost immediately. You hesitated before carefully taking the handkerchief from his hands.

"Th…ank you," you mumbled weakly, the words awkward and horribly accented.

Yun Jong's brows furrowed faintly, like he’d noticed something strange, but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he simply gave a small nod before turning away once more.

And just like that, the two of you continued walking.

You stayed a step behind him, your footsteps quieter than expected against the forest floor. The silence between you was broken only by the faint rustle of leaves overhead and the steady rhythm of his steps ahead.

In every direction you looked, more trees filled the landscape without end. It should’ve made you feel more lost than ever.

But strangely enough, after calming down a bit, it didn’t. If anything, there was something oddly familiar about all of this. Like if you kept walking long enough, you’d eventually end up somewhere you recognized.

The thought made something sharp prickle against your palm. You flinched slightly, your fingers tightening around the charm as your brows furrowed.

After a while, the trees slowly began to thin out, the suffocating darkness easing just enough for dim light to slip through the gaps ahead. The first thing that drew your attention upon stepping past the treeline was the massive gates standing at the entrance.

They towered over you, tall enough to make you instinctively tilt your head upward just to see the top. The wood was dark and worn with age, thick panels reinforced by iron that had long since dulled over time. Faint cracks lined parts of the surface, weathered by years of rain and harsh winds, yet despite that, the gates still stood firm.

Beyond the gates, you could make out the outline of a few buildings scattered across the mountainside. Old wooden halls sat nestled against the terrain, connected by stone paths that curved through the sect grounds. The moonlight only reached parts of the sect, faintly illuminating sections of the old buildings before darkness consumed the rest.

The place was far larger than you expected.

Yet despite its size, there was a visible wear to everything around you. The wood looked aged, parts of the walls uneven and weathered like they’d endured years of neglect. Even from where you stood, you could spot sections that looked hastily repaired.

This place was far too large for the state it was in. Building something like this had to cost a fortune, and maintaining it probably cost even more.

So why did it look like it was one strong wind away from collapsing? You couldn’t help but frown slightly. You could only assume they lacked the funds to properly maintain it.

Though, honestly, you weren’t exactly in any position to judge.

Your thoughts paused when you glanced back toward the man, only to realize you’d somehow walked ahead of him. 'I must've walked ahead without realizing. Woops. It's that forest.' Slowing your pace, you quietly stepped back beside him again as your eyes flickered to the dark forest before looking ahead shortly.

Eventually, he stopped in front of a large wooden gate. Taking a small breath, he reached forward and knocked firmly against its surface. The sound echoed louder than expected through the quiet night. For a few moments, nothing happened. Then the gates creaked open.

A broad, bearded man stood on the other side. The moment his eyes landed on the man beside you, his expression shifted instantly into alarm. "Yun Jong! What took you so long?" The bearded man hurried forward immediately, his attention fully fixed on Yun Jong before finally noticing you standing nearby.

Something he said sounded familiar, but you pushed it on the back of your mind.

"Oh?" His brows lifted slightly as he stepped back to properly look at you. "Who is this child?"

"Sasuk…"

Beside you, Yun Jong shifted faintly. When you glanced at him, you found his gaze already resting on you, something unreadable flickering briefly across his expression.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking, looking oddly uncertain beneath his composed exterior. "I found her in the forest while I was out by the lake," he explained quietly. His brows furrowed slightly. "She was crying."

The bearded man’s expression softened almost immediately. Yun Jong lowered his gaze before continuing, "She appeared lost, so… I brought her here for the night." A brief pause followed before he added in a quieter voice, "I could not leave her there alone."

Silence settled between them for a moment. Then the bearded man let out a small sigh, the sternness on his face easing considerably. "You returned far later than expected," the bearded man sighed softly. "We were beginning to worry."

"My apologies, Sasuk." Yun Jong bowed his head slightly.

The bearded man waved him off lightly. "There is no need for apologies. It is enough that you returned unharmed." His gaze drifted back toward you afterward, more careful this time. "Poor child…" he murmured softly. "You must have been frightened."

The man seemed to notice your unease almost immediately, his expression softening further. He said something else afterward—slower this time—but the words still slipped past your understanding no matter how hard you tried to piece them together.

Your lips parted slightly. Then closed again. You looked down instead, heat creeping onto your face as embarrassment settled heavily in your chest.

The silence that followed only made everything feel more awkward.

"…She does not understand?" The bearded man’s brows slowly furrowed as his gaze shifted between you and Yun Jong.

He hesitated briefly before shaking his head. "I do not believe she is from here," he answered honestly.

Not.

From here.

You blinked at the familiar words.

The bearded man looked surprised for only a moment before his expression turned thoughtful instead. His eyes drifted toward your clothes briefly—the oversized hoodie hanging loosely off your frame, the unfamiliar stitching, the strange fabric unlike anything around him.

You probably looked weird to them too. The thought made your face burn even hotter.

A quiet sigh escaped the older man soon after. "Regardless," he murmured, voice gentler now, "we cannot leave a child outside at this hour." He stepped aside, opening the gates wider for you. "Come. The Sect Leader should be informed first."

Sect Leader.

The familiar title settled strangely in your chest. You hesitated only briefly before following after them once more, stepping past the towering gates and deeper into the sect grounds.

Pale moonlight filtered through the mountainside, casting faint light over the worn stone paths as the three of you walked in silence. A few disciples passed by along the way, their curious gazes lingering on you openly before quickly looking away.

You tried your best not to stare back. But the more you looked around, the stranger the feeling in your chest became.

The plum blossom trees scattered throughout the grounds. The gate you passed by just moments ago. Even the robes they wore felt oddly familiar somehow. Like you had seen all of this before.

Your steps slowed slightly.

…No way.

Your gaze flickered between them, lingering on Yun Jong a little longer than the others.

The thought surfaced abruptly enough to make your breath catch. But before you could think deeper into it, the two men stopped in front of another large building.

The bearded man stepped forward first, knocking gently toward the closed doors. "Sect Leader," he called quietly. "This disciple has returned with Yun Jong."

…Did you just get isekai'ed?!

[ m.list]

The moment Kenma knew he'd won the love gacha wasn't when his volleyball team congratulated him for finally being taken.

It wasn't when strangers complimented you and told him he was lucky to have landed such a catch.

It wasn't when you'd absentmindedly asked whether there was a couple's discount.

And it most certainly wasn't when Kuroo wouldn't shut up about how disgustingly domestic the two of you looked.

No.

It was when he could feel the weight of you against his chest as he breathed carefully, mindful not to wake you with the steady thrum of his heart.

It was when nights started feeling a little too warm—not because of the weather, but because you'd always steal one last kiss before sleep.

With your legs tangled beneath the blankets and your hand resting lazily against his chest, you'd pull him in for one final kiss. And every time, he'd always find himself leaning in just a little deeper, a stupid smile lingering on his lips long after you'd pulled away.

It was in these quiet moments that nobody else saw.

The moments that made him realize he'd somehow gotten impossibly lucky.

However, there were times when he'd take these moments for granted.

Times when he mistakenly believed that, because he'd already won the love gacha, there was no longer any need to keep farming for your affection.

You see, the thing about comfort was that it often came hand in hand with complacency.

And tonight, complacency wore the glow of a computer monitor.

"Kenma…" you called groggily from the bed, blinking away the remnants of sleep as the glow of his monitor cast light across his disheveled figure. Your brows drew together when you saw the state he was in.

His eyes were glued to the screen, wide and focused, leaning far too close for comfort. With his shoulders hunched and spine curved, he looked more shrimp than human.

A wave of concern washed over you at the sight. Slowly, you pushed yourself out of bed, bare feet meeting the cool wooden floor.

You padded across the room toward him, a quiet sigh leaving your lips as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders from behind.

"Ken..." you pouted at the heavy bags under his eyes, "when are you coming to bed?"

For a moment, he remained silent, too immersed in the world of his game to register your question. The screen flashed with the familiar icon of a headshot before he finally responded.

"In a bit."

You frowned.

"You've been saying that for the past few games," you complained, tightening your hold around him. "Just when is this 'bit' you're talking about?"

He shifted slightly in his seat, leaning his head back against your chest.

"Sorry. This is my last game, I promise."

The moment he snuggled closer like that, you already knew you'd lost.

With a reluctant huff, you leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek before finally straightening up and stepping away. "Mm. I'll be waiting, okay?"

He nodded silently, his attention still fixed on the virtual battlefield unfolding across the screen.

Honestly, you couldn't bring yourself to blame him.

Kenma had known video games long before he'd known you. And as someone who'd gotten a taste of the thrill they brought, you understood him more than most.

You sank into the plush mattress, resting your chin in your pillow as a pout tugged at your lips.

Still, there were moments like this when you wished he'd turn away from the glow of his monitor and reach for you instead.

Not because you wanted him to stop playing.

Just because you missed him.

Before long, the hours had passed, and despite your promise to wait up for him, sleep had claimed you, leaving you curled beneath the sheets and surrounded by the faint scent of his cologne.

The glow from his monitor had long since faded, and with it, the frantic clicking of his keyboard. In the quiet that followed, only the soft sound of your breathing remained.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Kenma's lips.

Even through the haze of exhaustion, his gaze softened as it settled on your sleeping figure, affection shining plainly in his golden eyes.

His brain felt fried after hours of staring at a screen, every ounce of focus poured into countless matches. Yet none of it seemed to matter the moment he slipped beneath the covers beside you.

This was where he belonged.

And still, despite the warmth that settled in his chest, he couldn't ignore the guilt quietly gnawing at him as he looked at your lone figure curled around his hoodie.

Waiting for him.

Even in your sleep.

As Kenma carefully shifted beneath the blankets and settled into your arms with a quiet sigh, you suddenly stirred in your sleep.

His breath hitched when your eyes slowly fluttered open, clouded with sleep as they searched the darkness before finding him.

"Ken...?" you murmured, voice thick with sleep. "Is that you?"

For a moment, Kenma wasn't sure how to respond.

Then he looked at your sleep-heavy eyes, the faint pout on your lips, and the unruly bedhead framing your face—and found that the words came easily.

"Yeah," he murmured softly. "It's me."

You smiled at his response, your fingers brushing the messy strands away from his face with sleepy affection. The gesture was simple, yet it unraveled something inside him.

Because despite the late nights. Despite the waiting. Despite all the moments he'd taken for granted.

You still reached for him first.

The realization settled heavily in his chest.

Before he knew it, he was leaning closer, burying his face against you and holding on as though you might disappear.

"...Are you not getting tired of me?" he asked quietly. The words came out muffled against your hoodie, small enough that he almost hoped you wouldn't hear them.

Your hand lingered in his hair, stilling for a brief moment before you let out a soft laugh.

The sound alone was enough to make his chest flutter.

"Of course not."

Silence settled between the two of you once more.

Outside, the world continued on as it always had. Cars passed. Streetlights flickered. Somewhere, a clock ticked away another second. But here, wrapped in your arms, everything felt still.

"Are you sure?" he asked again.

The question was foolish. He knew it was.

Yet it slipped out anyway.

Your fingers threaded through the tangled strands of his hair, smoothing them back with practiced ease. Kenma closed his eyes at the familiar scent of apples that lingered on your skin, committing it to memory the same way he always did.

For a brief moment, you said nothing.

And in that brief moment, every ugly doubt he'd ever carried threatened to crawl its way back into his chest—then, suddenly, your voice cut through the noise in his head.

"I will always come home to you."

The words were simple. But the certainty in your voice was enough to catch his breath.

Kenma felt something loosen inside him—a knot he hadn't realized he'd been carrying at this moment. Slowly, he tightened his grip around your waist and buried himself closer.

Home.

Maybe it had never been a place. Maybe it had always been you. And as your hand continued its gentle path through his hair, Kenma found himself smiling.

For once, he didn't need to worry about tomorrow.

ᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛꜱ:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

ao3 link

The streetlights were already flickering on when you started walking home, a cloud of mist escaping your lips as you thought about the day you had. The streets were dark and quiet, as the sky simply seemed to lose interest in the day faster than you did.

You kept your headphones in, though nothing was really playing. It was more of a habit than anything else. A way to make the world feel slightly farther away than it already was.

People passed by in blurred shapes—students laughing too loudly, a couple arguing under their breath, someone rushing past like they were late for something important whilst fumbling for something in their bag.

As your eyes darted around, your fingers found the cool metal by your collarbone without thinking. A simple clover necklace, worn smooth at the edges. Your thumb rubbed over it once, like checking if something real was still there.

The rest of the walk passed quietly, your attention lingering on small, unimportant details. Strands of your hair brushed against your face as the wind stirred softly, the gentle rustle of leaves blending with the steady rhythm of your steps.

Soon after, you were greeted with the sight of your home. You smiled to yourself as you reached for your keys, 'Finally, I'm home.' Taking off your headphones, you called out to your mom as you stepped in, "Ma, I'm home!" You dropped your bag by the door, the sterile scent of antiseptics still clinging to your clothes.

The air carried the smell of something savory, warm and familiar in a way that made your shoulders relax. You head to the kitchen and your gaze falls upon your mom's back, her hands busy with chopping the needed ingredients for whatever she was cooking.

"Hey, ma. What are you cooking?" You peered over her shoulder and your eyes instantly lit up. It was your favorite. A sudden pressure pressed against your cheek, your eye squeezing shut as a giggle slipped out. "Maaa, stop it." Your voice came out muffled as she smothered you with kisses.

"Welcome home, little clover." She placed one final kiss on your cheek before returning to her cooking, the air warm with something—whether it was the heat or the quiet affection she filled the house with, you couldn't really tell. "You're home late," your mom said, "Did something happen?" You almost found yourself deflating at her question, prompting to sit by the kitchen counter as you leaned to your hand.

"Oh it's nothing much, ma. I was just catching up with an old friend of mine. It was tiring though, her energy was too much for me." She looked back at where you sat, a smile blooming on her lips.

"That's good to know. Now, get your ass off that chair. You're stinking up the room, dear." A hand covered the lower part of her face, playfully scrunching her nose at you. But you can see the slight twitch on her lips as she furrowed her brows.

"Oh please you're probably smelling yourself, ma." You laughed out, already standing up since you were planning on washing up anyway.

"Excuse you!" Her hand now on her chest in mock offense, "How can you speak that way to me when I was the one who changed your diapers, young lady? Oh what a disaster I gave birth to!"

"Okay ma, you're not in some soap opera." You huffed softly as you waved her off, trying (and failing) to sound annoyed as you made your way to the bathroom. "I'll wash up now, geez."

"You better!"

"Yeah, yeah."

You washed up quickly and changed into your pajamas. It was night anyway, and it's not like you were going out at this time. As you stepped out of the bathroom, you ran a towel through your damp hair, eyes closing briefly in satisfaction.

Your phone chimed, drawing your attention. You picked it up and saw that your favorite manhwa, Return of the Blossoming Blade, had uploaded a new chapter. 'Oh... right. It's April 14. That means the new season is out!' You tapped the notification, and your phone opened straight to the Webtoon app, a panel of the manhwa already on your screen.

You paused for a moment, letting yourself get pulled in. The expressions of the protagonist and his fellow disciples drew a laugh from you, especially the side characters after witnessing Cheongmyeong’s aggressiveness.

However, disappointment quickly settled in as you frowned at the cliffhanger ending. But before you could dwell on it any longer, your mom’s voice echoed through the house, "Dinner’s ready!"

You perked up, quickly getting to your feet, excitement bubbling up again. "Coming!"

By the time you arrived at the dinner table, your mom was already seated, steam still rising from the dishes. You took the seat across from her, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Dinner looks good, ma."

She chuckled at your compliment, expressing a humble sight on her face. "You always say that."

You met her gaze, expression soft. "Because it's true." You replied honestly, already reaching for your favorite.

She watched you for a moment, a quiet fondness setting in her eyes. "...At least let it cool first," she added, nudging the plate toward you. You hummed in response, but your hand was already moving.

You didn't wait any longer, taking a bite as soon as you could. A delighted squeal left your mouth, pointing your spoon at her as you mumbled, "See?" as if proving a point. She shook her head, though the small smile on her face didn't fade.

"Eat slowly."

"Mhmf, gotchu, ma,"

You scooped up another spoonful and pushed it into your already full mouth, only for a grain of rice to go down the wrong way. A cough forced its way out of you, your fist meeting your chest as you tried to clear it.

Your mom was at your side in an instant, her hand firm but gentle as she rubbed small circles on your back. "I told you to slow down, didn’t I?" she scolded, though her voice was softer this time, laced more with worry than scolding.

You cracked an eye open, already ready to argue. "I am slow," you insisted between coughs.

She huffed quietly, but there was no real bite to it. "Yeah, I can see that." A glass of water was pressed into your hand before you could say anything else.

You took it without hesitation, drinking quickly until the tightness in your throat eased. After a moment, your breathing steadied, and you let out a small exhale. "Okay," you chuckled, glancing at her, a hint of a grin returning. "Now you’re the one sassing."

She only gave you a look, one that didn’t quite hide the relief in her eyes before lightly tapping your head. "Just eat properly," she murmured, returning to her seat like nothing had happened.

"Well, how are your grades?" Your mom asked, remembering the times you'd pestered her with questions like, "Ma, would you still love me if I fail the exams?" or "Ma, would you care if I don't make it into the honor roll?"

Truth be told, she never really cared about the numbers, nor titles. As long as you passed, that was enough. And even if you didn't, it wouldn't change anything.

You were still her daughter.

You looked up from your plate, cheeks puffed from the food you'd stuffed in. After swallowing, you replied, "It was good, I think."

"Define good."

"...Top of my batch."

She paused mid-motion, spoon hovering in the air as she slowly looked up at you, eyes narrowing. "...You don't even study."

"I mean..." You shrugged lightly, reaching for another bite. "Yeah? It worked out though." You continued eating like you had no care in the world, unfazed by her stare.

Your mom shook her head, letting out a small breath of disbelief. "You spend most of your time gaming and reading, even during exams."

She leaned back slightly, as if trying to process it all. "I even saw you in your room once, gaming, reading, and watching something at the same time!"

You smirked at that, clearly pleased with yourself. "That's just my aura doing the work, ma."

"Oh, quit with your words, sweetie." She waved you off, though there was a faint smile tugging at her lips. "How do you even pass?"

You paused mid-bite, thinking about it for a bit before glancing at her like she'd just asked you something normal. "Uh... I don't know."

She stared at you for a second longer before letting out another sigh, this one heavier than the last. This wasn't new.

She’d seen this play out more times than she could count—since you were younger, even. You’d never studied the way other kids did, never sat still long enough to ‘focus’ the way teachers wanted. And yet, somehow, you always managed.

"But I do study, ma," you added, as if that cleared everything up.

"When?"

"During activities or quizzes."

The silence that followed was immediate. She let out yet another sigh. You grinned at her, clearly enjoying her reaction. "It's easier when it's in front of you, you know?" you continued, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"That still doesn't count as studying."

"But it worked, didn't it?"

She pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly. "You're unbelievable."

"I ask my friends if I get stuck," you added casually, reaching for more food and pulling the plate closer. "Then I just figure the rest out."

"...So you don't listen."

You tilted your head, thinking about it for a second. "I mean... I hear things."

"That is not the same thing."

You only laughed, waving her off lightly. "Hey, as long as I pass."

Your mom sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that night. "You barely even try and you’re still top of your batch."

You only hummed in response, completely unbothered.

"…Didn’t you have that health immersion thing today?" she asked after a moment.

"Mhm. Just assisted at the clinic," you shrugged. "One of the patients kept pulling out his IV."

"You handled it?"

"Kinda. I just held his hand and distracted him," you tilted your head slightly, "he kept asking for his mom though." Your mom paused briefly at that.

"And?"

You shrugged again, reaching for another bite. "I stayed." A small silence settled between you—not heavy, just quiet.

"You’re good with people." She said softly.

"…I guess."

And just like that, the conversation melted back into easy chatter and quiet laughter, the kind that didn’t need much effort to fill the room.

⬩➤ـــــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ⸝⸝

There was a sense of anticipation as you entered your room, your eyes instantly locking onto your phone. Sure, you were giddy when you read the newly released episode earlier, but you’d already gone through it in the novel.

And many people in the fandom had been saying the same thing, that the worst had yet to come, and that it would start around chapter 900. That's why you plan to catch up on the novel tonight since you were nearing that number.

With that in mind, you made a beeline for your bed, unlocking your phone as you went. You sank into the plush mattress with a soft exhale, the familiar comfort immediately wrapping around you as you nestled your head into your pillows. You shifted slightly, letting yourself sink deeper into the mattress, completely at ease.

Scrolling through your files for the PDF, you rolled onto your stomach, giggling and kicking your feet at the prospect of reading. You clicked on the novel the moment you found it, your excitement barely contained as the screen loaded.

The low hum of the air conditioner settled into the room like a familiar presence blending so naturally into the background that you barely noticed it anymore. It filled the silence just enough, turning the quiet into something comfortable rather than empty.

The air was warm in that gentle, controlled way—cool enough to relax you, but still carrying the lingering warmth of home.

There was a faint scent you’d long grown used to, something clean and soft with a hint of detergent and fabric softener clinging to your sheets and pillows.

You shifted slightly, sinking deeper into the plush mattress beneath you, the softness molding around you like it always did. Your pillow cradled your head just right, your blanket loosely draped over your legs, and for a moment, you let yourself simply exist there.

Your phone rested in your hands, the glow of the screen illuminating your face as the story pulled you in. Words of wonder, adventure, and comedy unfolded one after another, each line slipping seamlessly into the next, drawing quiet laughs and small reactions out of you.

You kicked your feet absentmindedly behind you, the rest of the world fading into something distant and unimportant.

At some point, the hum of the air conditioner shifted. It didn’t stop. It didn’t get louder. It just felt farther away.

Your brows knit slightly at that, though your eyes remained glued to the screen. You adjusted your position without thinking, pressing your cheek deeper into the pillow, but the softness didn’t feel quite the same.

The warmth, too, began to change. The air brushed against your skin with a faint chill, creeping in where there had once only been comfort. You barely registered it at first, too focused on the story, too used to the familiar setting of your room to question it.

The scent followed. That clean, comforting smell you’d always associated with home thinned out, replaced by something heavier. Earthier. Damp.

You frowned. The next line on your screen blurred slightly then shifted. The text flickered once, barely noticeable. Then again, sharper this time, the words rearranging themselves into something you didn’t remember reading.

"...What?" Your grip on your phone tightened as you tried to focus, but something kept pressing uncomfortably against your stomach.

The surface beneath you wasn’t right.

It wasn’t your bed.

The realization didn’t fully form before everything snapped.

The warmth vanished. The softness disappeared. The quiet hum of the air conditioner cut out completely.

Rough ground dug into your skin, uneven and unwelcoming, bits of something hard pressing into your stomach. The damp scent you’d barely noticed before now filled your lungs, thick and unmistakable. Dirt clung to your thighs when you moved, the texture gritty and wrong against your skin.

You froze. Slowly, like your body had forgotten how to move properly, you struggled to sit up.

Darkness stretched around you. Not the dim, familiar darkness of your room, but something deeper. The walls of your room were gone, replaced by towering trees and endless stretches of forest.

Your thoughts lagged behind, struggling to catch up to what your eyes were seeing, to what your body was feeling.

This didn’t make sense.

It didn’t.

It didn’t—

A sharp crack split through the air. You flinched hard, your entire body going rigid.

The sound came again, quieter this time, but closer. The faint rustle of leaves. The shift of something moving where nothing should be moving. Your heart hammered violently against your chest. Something was there. Or someone.

You didn’t think. You couldn’t. Your body moved before your mind could catch up, scrambling back and pressing yourself behind the nearest tree, your breath shallow as you tried to make yourself smaller, like if you stayed still enough, you’d disappear.

Your fingers tightened around your phone, your other hand on the clover charm by your collarbone, the only familiar things left in your grasp.

The screen had stopped flickering. Only white stillness in its place. And in that blank canvas, a single line remained,

[ The outsider has arrived. ]

And then it vanished.

As if it had been erased.

[m.list]