Bun Bangtan

6. A soul's composition.

Morgan's empty eyes.

Her slashed throat.

The noises—those gurgling sounds as she choked on her own blood.

The fire sucking the air out of the room.

The knock on the door forces me back to reality. I stare at myself in the mirror, hyperventilating, pupils blown wide, mouth dry.

My fingers hurt from gripping the counter. The bandages on my arms are stained with blood, and the veins climbing up my shoulders and neck are tainted black by the venom. I straighten my posture.

-Y/N?

Yoongi's voice calls softly from the hallway.

-One second!

I rush back to the bedroom and pull on a long-sleeved shirt before opening the door.

As per usual, he holds a tray with my dinner and some medicine in a small bowl on the side, a sympathetic smile on his face.

-Everything alright? Want some company this time?

I take the tray from his hands but hesitate for a moment. The sound of laughter and conversation from the first floor distracts me.

-Actually… could I have dinner with you tonight?

He blinks, clearly taken aback. He wasn't expecting me to accept the offer.

-Yes, of course. I'll grab myself a plate and come back.

-No, I mean… may I join you for dinner out there?

For the past three days, I've been avoiding everything. All these people. This reality. Anything that could force me to recognize Yoongi's stories as true. But I am not safe with myself anymore. Any moment of silence, every time I close my eyes, the poison whispers in my ears. My mind overflows with memories of that night. The nightmares creep up on me even when I'm awake.

His posture changes, as if he'd suddenly grown a few inches taller. A small smile threatens to rise on his lips.

-Yes, please. We'd be honored to have you.

As we make our way downstairs, I take notice of the people: small children, teenagers, adult men and women, all bearing the same embroidered 8-point star on the upper arms of their uniforms. They do not resemble one another physically, but they all share the same posture, the same precise rhythm to their steps, and the same attentive eyes.

On the first floor, they move with surprising efficiency, carrying plates, pots, and utensils, beelining for the glass doors that lead to the back garden, where long tables stretch all the way to the lake, illuminated by an enormous bonfire in the center of the snow-covered grass.

I freeze at the sight of it.

The flames climbing into the air, licking at the night sky. The roar of the wind. The smell of burning wood.

Something swells in my throat.

-Here, let's find seats by the lake.

Ever so gently, he nudges me forward with the tips of his fingers between my shoulder blades. We make our way toward the tables on the left, circling the bonfire until we reach those at the very back. As per my request, I sit in the corner, my back to the fire, facing the frozen lake ahead.

A particular voice cuts through the crowd, and I immediately snap to attention, searching until I find him.

Golden hair, honey skin, and that boxy smile.

Taehyung is standing a couple of tables ahead and to the right, deep in conversation with a group of women. They laugh loudly, and he doesn't notice me before walking back toward the house, disappearing from my line of sight.

I haven't seen him since the day I woke up.

-Kiddo, your food is getting cold. -Yoongi reminds me as he busies himself filling his own plate.

Slowly, every seat is occupied by the Faleyir children. They fill their plates with stew and game meat and bread and pies. Their cups overflow with wine, beer, and fresh juice. The conversation is endless and loud and so lively, so filled with love and happiness, that it is almost impossible to forget these people are, at all times, prepared for war.

At one point, people begin to surround us too. Our table fills with warriors wearing white skin-tight uniforms, a stark contrast to the black ones worn by everybody else. They address Yoongi with quiet respect, sitting upright by his side as they make friendly conversation.

-When will Lena visit? It's been a while! -A young man seated to my left asks. He has large brown eyes, and his right hand bears a thin, pale scar.

My cheeks burn as I recognize him as the man I assaulted with a syringe.

-I've been trying to get her to visit more often, but she says she'll go insane with the way I've been organizing the inventory and end up moving back.

-Sorry, who's Lena? -I lean forward, a mouthful of bread.

-She's my wife. -The pride in his voice doesn't go unnoticed. He briefly looks up from his food. -She was the Medical General before me, but when we got pregnant with our youngest, she decided to leave the den and move back to Caelorth until our oldest turns six. She wanted them to have a sense of normalcy before training starts.

-She's one hell of a captain -The woman on my left remarks and they all silently shake their heads in agreement.

-So you travel often to see them?

-As much as I can. I can take you next time I go, if we get clearance.

-It's beautiful this time of year. -The young man says, smiling, his eyes glowing. -You should definitely see the Winter Festival. It's quite the party.

I nod and offer him a shy smile, but Yoongi's choice of words echoes in my head.

Clearance.

So much for "you're not a prisoner here," huh?

My thoughts are interrupted by the rustle of people standing abruptly. It isn't exactly in unison, but it comes remarkably close to perfect synchronization. I'm left speechless, seated as everyone rises into an upright posture, right hands pressed over their chests in a claw-like gesture, all facing the château beyond the bonfire.

I turn in my seat and, sheepishly, stand as well, my hands hanging awkwardly at my sides.

-At ease. Sit down.

That grave, annoyed voice washes over the crowd and, as prompted, people take their seats and return to their conversations as though absolutely nothing happened.

I linger, trying to understand what to do with myself.

That's when I see him.

Our eyes meet as the flames part between us for a split second. His are as dark as the night itself.

I'm caught off guard by the weight of his presence; a dam of thoughts, lethality, and ferocity crashing against a controlled posture and a carefully studied expression.

I turn away and sink back into my seat, my chest heavy with a mixture of fear and anger.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch them move toward a larger table on the right. Taehyung walks at his side, looking solemn, a small delegation of what appear to be other generals following behind them. They sit in the center and serve themselves in silence.

Dinner stretches on, and for the remainder of it, I can't help stealing glances at them.

At one point, Taehyung and the intimidating man exchange a few words. Then Taehyung turns to an older man seated to his right. They share concerned looks before both standing abruptly.

They hurry inside.

People begin clearing the tables. They carry their plates back into the house, clean up after themselves, and, working together, move the heavy tables to the side of the château. The bonfire burns more quietly now, as though disappointed to be left unattended.

Yoongi and I head toward the porch. As we pass the man's table, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

Yoongi pauses to give a few instructions to passing medical lieutenants and, distracted, I find myself watching the fire dance until every conversation around me fades into white noise.

Y/N…

The winter whispers.

A soft, feminine cry in the distance.

Child…

Wake up…

The fire creates sigils.

I'm enchanted by the way they glow and die.

He… needs… you.

I take a few steps toward it.

She's… coming…

My heart gallops as something grabs my shoulder and I spin around so quickly I nearly lose my balance.

Yoongi's concerned eyes scan me from head to toe.

-Y/N? Are you okay?

I bite the inside of my cheek and blink several times before finding my voice.

-Yes. Yes, I'm good.

-Are you tired? Do you want to sleep?

Since I came back from the coma, Yoongi has spent every night in the chair by my study table, reading and taking notes until I can no longer fight sleep.

Whenever I wake in the middle of the night from a nightmare, gasping through a panic attack, he's always there. He offers me water and reminds me to breathe until I can rest again.

In the mornings, he's already gone.

I'd like to give him a break tonight.

Maybe if I tire myself out before bed…

-Can we take a walk around the lake? Maybe you can tell me more about Lena and your daughters… It seems we don't know much about each other.

-Of course, kiddo.

We walk carefully along the edge of the lake. Yoongi explains that, despite its calm surface, the water is actually quite dangerous. Creatures called Devosi, a type of water demon, build caves beneath it and create whirlpools powerful enough to drag people under. They've been trying to get rid of them for the past twenty years with no success.

With the forest guarding our backs, we settle onto the damp grass on the opposite shore. The château stands in the distance, imposing and bathed in warm light, like a beacon of hope in the darkness.

He lights a cigarette and, as promised, begins talking about Lena and their daughters, Erin and Lexie.

It's impressive to watch someone so quiet come alive this way.

-She's my Lunvayir.

-What language is that?

-It's called Eylic. It's an ancient Faleyir dialect. Not many people speak it nowadays. I myself don't know much of it apart from a few expressions. -He brings the cigarette to his lips. -Taehyung is fluent in it, if you ever get curious.

-What does it mean? Lunva…

-Lunvayir. "The one who answers the soul's call." -He blows out smoke and looks up at the stars. -The Faleyir believe that the soul is divided into four parts: Lun, Lunvayir, Lunaris, and Yir.

Lun is the part that belongs to you. It holds your dreams, your fears, who you are.

Lunvayir is who your heart loves. It is not a symbolic term, but a literal physical and emotional bond. It is somewhat rare to find your Lunvayir, as they do not choose them -it is something that simply happens, he explains. -But when they do find them, they mate for life, for being apart is simply unbearable.

-Wow, that's… that's so beautiful. How do you two manage? With the distance and all?

He chuckles.

-The issue isn't physical distance, but emotional distance. The soul only aches for what it cannot have. We are fine because I know she's mine, and I'm hers.

-What about the other two parts?

-Lunaris is also a form of soulbind, but it is born from a sacred oath only Alpha Stars can take. -His voice is hoarse from the smoke. He pauses, searching for the right words. -"Shall you never stand alone in darkness, for wherever your shadow goes, mine shall follow. May the wind carry your howls to me. May my breath impel you in battle. Your kin are my kin, my hunt your hunt. And when you tread your path to Soeyar, I shall plead for Zytarr's patience."

We sit in silence for a moment as I absorb the words.

-I butchered it, but you get the point, right? -He flicks the cigarette butt into the snow, where it dies with a sad sizzle.

"May Zytarr be patient."

A phrase I'd heard a couple of times echo through the château, spoken so casually that its meaning slipped past me.

Faleyir's children understood death as Soeyar and Zytarr's sentence: destiny and time, the only forces standing between life and death. Their fates were so inevitable that, in their humble prayers, they didn't ask for escape from death, only for the God of Time to stay his hand a little longer.

-So… you're saying they're… soulmates?

The word feels strange in my mouth, so I drag it out, hoping he'll complete the thought for me, but he doesn't, he simply watches me, curious to see where my mind will go.

-No, not like soulmates. More like kindred spirits. -He pauses. -Jungkook and Taehyung's souls are bound together by an oath to protect the den. A shared burden. A pledge to fight and lead and, if necessary, die together.

-It's all so… so profound.

-Well, kiddo, we are talking about souls after all. They are complex things.

-What about Yir?

-Yir means "the star." It's our duty, our purpose. Faleyir created us with the intent of fighting the dark forces of the abyss. He made us warriors and gave us the star as a reminder of why we are here: to break through the dark.

It is beautiful. Every part of it is beautiful and ancient and larger than life. And so utterly unrelatable that it hurts.

I wish I could understand it. I wish this was normal, familiar even, but instead it only reminds me how much of an alien I am in this place. How little I belong in this world.

My lower lip trembles as I force the words out.

-Yoongi… I'm sorry, but… when can I go home?

He falls into a dreadful silence, his lips pressed into a thin line and he doesn't look up.

Each passing second destroys something inside me.

And then it dawns on me.

I stand abruptly, shaking my head.

He rises too.

-I'm sorry, Y/N… I truly am. You can't.

-No.

-I'm sorry, kiddo.

-Don't call me that.

-I wish there were another way, Y/N, but there isn't. If you go back, not only will you die, every mundane you know will be at risk too.

-You are lying. You—

My chest tightens.

The world spins.

All I can see is Morgan.

Morgan's eyes. Morgan's smile. Morgan's blood on my hands.

-There's a thing we call the Veil. It's the membrane that separates this world from the Underworld. The Veil is what allows humans to live unaware of us. It masks their perception, shapes their visions into something they can comprehend. That's why they don't see sorcery or demons.

-Stop. -I'm lightheaded. My heart is pounding. -Just stop.

-Once someone breaks through the Veil, it can never be restored. They will always be able to access the Underworld, and the Underworld will always be able to access them. Our presence, your presence, would weaken the barrier between dimensions, making it possible for those aberrations, those demons, to cross into the human world.

She died because of me.

If I hadn't been there, she'd be safe.

She'd be alive.

My legs fail me and I stumble forward. My stomach twists at the memory of him.

I almost called him that night.

Jin.

He could have died too and it would have been my fault.

I curl up, hiding my face, covering my ears.

-I can never see him again?

My voice is nothing more than a weak, pathetic whine between sobs.

Yoongi kneels beside me and rubs a hand across my back.

-I'm sorry, Y/N. I truly am… but that's the only way they can be safe.

-That's… they must be— He must be looking for me!

-Their minds will be clouded for a couple of weeks, but the Veil will alter their memories. They won't remember you as you are. They'll remember a different person, with another face, another name. The Veil will slowly fill in the gaps and, eventually, the person you are will be erased from their minds.

I'm shaking uncontrollably.

This feeling is indescribable.

There were times in my life when I wished for death. But in this moment, I feel truly dead. Worse than dead.

I feel erased.

My past, my present, my future, scratched from the books.

I can never go back to the way things were. There's nothing to go back to, there never was. I can never be just a girl again, I can never go to college, I can never dream of getting a degree, I can never have the privilege of worrying about trivial, mundane things.

I can never see Jin again.

One moment we're talking about souls, the next, it feels like mine has been ripped out of me.

-I'm sorry. -He whispers.

-Get off. -I pant, beating a fist against my chest, trying to steady my breathing.

When he reaches for me, I shove him away and struggle to my feet on trembling legs.

-GET OFF OF ME!

I want to destroy something. I want to see the consequences of my anger. I want to feel my own existence. I need this pain to go somewhere.

I turn and drag myself toward the château.

Eyes follow me as I sprint through the living room and climb the stairs. With every hallway I turn down, my steps grow heavier, until I reach the corridor leading to my bedroom and stop dead in my tracks.

He's there.

That man.

Standing a few steps away from my door, hands buried in his pockets. He raises his head the moment I stop.

Expressionless, eyes as dark and indecipherable as ever.

My heart roars at the memory of how he stood over my suffering.

"She'll do without it, or she's not worth saving in the first place."

-You.

My own voice sounds foreign to my ears, so filled with rage. My tears are gone, replaced by something cruel and ugly.

-Why didn't you do it? Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance?

I'm walking as fast as my blood is pumping. He doesn't move, doesn't blink, his eyes remain locked on mine.

I collide with him, shoving at his chest with all my strength, but he doesn't even lose his balance. He doesn't even take his fucking hands out of his pockets.

That only feeds my anger.

-Why drag this shit out? Why save me if I was going to lose everything anyway?

I punch his chest.

His stomach.

I shove him again and again.

-Why do you enjoy watching me go through hell? Why? Do you think I chose this? Do you think I asked to be saved?

The door to my left swings open.

Through blurred vision, I see Taehyung.

His mouth hangs open in shock, his hair messy from lying down.

In that brief moment of distraction, Jungkook grabs my upper arms so tightly I can't move and pulls me against him.

So close that all I can see are his eyes hovering above me.

I'm hyperaware of his breathing, the way he clenches his jaw, the way his palms burn even through my clothes. The silence feels dangerous, impossibly heavy.

-Compose yourself, soldier.

No screaming, no anger, just coldness. His stern words cut straight through me. My stomach drops, fresh tears burn behind my eyes. After another long pause, he looks up at Taehyung and slowly releases me. -Are my orders no longer a priority to you, brother?

The hurt in Taehyung's eyes is so palpable you'd think Jungkook had struck him across the face.

-I… I'm sorry, brother.

His arms immediately wrap around me, turning me away from Jungkook. I bury my face in his shirt, a fresh wave of sobs tearing through me. He holds me as if he can glue all the broken pieces back together.

As if he can shield me from myself.

-Go.

He commands and Taehyung nods, his chin brushes the top of my head.

He pulls me inside, closes the door, and presses me gently against it, his arms still around me, grounding me.

I hear footsteps fading into the distance as my cries fill the room. My face trembles against Taehyung's chest as he speaks softly.

5. Gods and The Creation of Realms

Questions are bubbling inside my chest like a shaken can of soda; it would take just a moment’s distraction for me to explode again.

As if he could sense that, Tae sat at the foot of my bed, hands still pressed on my shoulders, keeping me in place.

-Y/N, I want you to take a deep breath, can you do that for me? -The corner of his lips tugs into a smile that does not reach his eyes. He’s looking around a lot, a nervous twitch of his eyebrows letting me in on the fact that he’s worried about something else entirely.

I take a deep breath and bite the inside of my cheek.

It doesn’t escape me that the audience of nurses from seconds ago has delved back into routine with scary efficiency. It’s as if nothing happened—no sharp objects were pointed, no one screamed at them like misbehaving children, and there was no discussion of sedating an unstable patient. Their movements aren’t anxious or unsure now. They’re moving quickly, following procedure, cutting and measuring, writing and talking. They’re working like a well-oiled machine—no bugs, no gags, no mistakes.

He also takes a deep breath.

-Where—

-I have to go! -He cuts me off, almost afraid I’m going to start spilling words uncontrollably and he’ll be stuck with me and my erratic vocabulary—and he’s right to be afraid. -Something came up, something serious. I promise I’m not going to be long. I’m sure you’re very confused, and you deserve to know what’s going on, but I have to go...

He’s no longer trying to mask his distraction. Every single noise in the room seems to pique his interest. He’s jumping at every shout and command, the sounds of doors opening make his head turn faster than a gunshot. His emotions are everywhere—scattered on the bed between us, on the floor, on the walls. I can tell something is eating away at his heart. Worry is making his hands shake against my shoulders. I almost feel like consoling him—hadn’t I been the one who woke up in a strange place with no sense of time or reality?

-Where the fuck am I?- This is the most pressing issue, the one I can’t keep contained in my chest even though he’s already halfway standing to leave. -You can’t just run off when I—

-I’m here! I’m here, I’m sorry, brother...

A man approaches my bedside, panting as if he ran his way here. Black straight hair at shoulder length is tucked behind his ear, displaying his ghostly pale face. He’s shorter than Tae, his shoulders tucked in, his hands delicate and long.

While Tae reminds me of a cat, this man makes me think of a rabbit—alert senses and smart eyes.

Brown-eyes, Tae, is standing now, looking at the man as if he just saved him from a mortal sentence.

-This is Yoongi! -He partially hugs the man, partially hides behind him, as if he’s offering Yoongi as a sacrifice. -He can answer any questions in my absence. He’ll make you feel right at home!

-What? No! Where. The. Fuck. Am. I? -My voice is a lot steadier than I would’ve expected. I hope he doesn’t notice I’m also surprised by my tone.

They exchange nervous glances. Tae closes his eyes for a second, then looks at me in the most apologetic way I’ve ever seen a man look.

-I’m sorry, Y/N, I’m sorry! -Then he turns around and sprints out of the room, dodging nurses and gurneys with a cat’s grace.

My eyes shift to the man he left behind—Yoongi. We stare at each other in awkward silence, both a little startled, as if daring the other to make the first move. He clears his throat, his eyebrows relax slightly, compassion filling the tense spots in his expression. He looks like he spends a lot of time under lamplight, frowning.

He definitely has children, because his choice of approach is to go: “Hey, kiddo.”

-I know you must be freaking out...

That does it. Before I know it, I’m spilling questions everywhere.

-Where am I? How long have I been out? What happened to me? Why are the nurses like... soldiers? What the fuck is going on? Who is that motherfucker from before? What—

He raises his hands in defense, shifting his weight on his legs.

-Whoa, whoa, okay, hold on, hold on! -Once I quiet down, he approaches very slowly, looking around as if scanning the air for words. -Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? I’m Yoongi. I’m the head of the medical sector. I’m kind of like a doctor—but not exactly. We’ll get to that eventually. What’s your name?-

I open and close my mouth a couple of times, an internal battle raging—do I have it in me to go through introductions before losing my mind completely?

-I did get your first name, but as my great-grandfather taught me, one should always introduce themselves. Otherwise, others will only know them by association.

God, this is the strangest day of my life. What the fuck?

-I’m... Y/N... L/N...

He nods, mumbles my name under his breath for a bit, then reaches inside his pockets. I notice he’s also wearing the skin-tight white clothes all the nurses are wearing under his brown jacket. There are snowflakes stuck in his hair.

-Nice to meet ya, Y/N. -Then he goes silent, waiting for me to say the same.

I’m convinced it’s virtually impossible to make this interaction any more awkward.

-Are you going to answer my questions now? -I’m shy to ask; some of my confidence from seconds ago has melted into this puddle of weirdness we’re both drowning in.

He measures me for a moment with black, studious eyes, lips curving down.

-Yeah, I’ll get to all your questions, kiddo, don’t worry. -He pulls a metal chair from the wall, turns it backward, and sits in it, legs spread wide. A cigarette pack sticks out of his front pocket. -But first, you look like you’re about to pass out.- He pulls something from his jacket and tosses it onto my lap. It lands against my knee.

I reach for it, flipping it around to read the label.

It’s a protein bar... a protein bar the size of my forearm.

-I’m not hungry.  The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. I’m lightheaded at the thought of food. I hadn’t realized I was starving until this moment.

-Yeah, sure you’re not. -He holds back a smile, taps his foot. -Eat, young lady. For each bite, I’ll answer a question. How ’bout that?

-You said you’d answer all my questions anyway, -I accuse, frowning. -And I’m not a kid.

-Yeah, yeah. It’s just harder to think on an empty stomach, isn’t it? What if you forget your questions? I’m just trying to help you.

Why am I resisting? What difference does it make? God, it is hard to think on an empty stomach. I rip it open, taking a bite that is far from shy. The taste of chocolate and almonds invades me and I have to hold back tears for a second. The sound that leaves me is criminal, and I almost forget about the questions.

-So, the first question—where the fuck are you, ain’t that right? -He raises an eyebrow. -Right now we are in a military base north of the Ebon Forest, which is a day’s trip from Ancalen, where Taehyung rescued you.

I try to picture a map in my head. The Ebon Forest is one of the largest wild forests north of the continent. If we are north of the Ebon Forest, we must be by the border of Astren with Oplyea.

-This is... posh for a military base. I say it without thinking, taking another bite of the protein bar while inspecting the large arches of the windows and the figures carved on what seems like marble. This looks like a church.

Oh my God—am I trapped in a cult?

Yoongi’s quiet laugh must be somewhat rare, because people turn their heads at it. It’s the first time some of the nurses pay attention to us since I calmed down, sparing us a glance or two before hurrying back to their tasks.

-Yeah, it is kind of posh, kiddo. You’ll love the tour later with Tae. But fact is It wasn’t always a military base—this used to be a chateau not many years ago. Though I didn’t think you’d be an architecture critic.

My cheeks burn a little.

-Even now, this is no regular military base anyway. -He brushes invisible dirt off his knee, slurring his words as if he’s not sure how to approach the topic. -What happened to you... 

His eyes meet mine. I think I look insane, because he quickly diverts his gaze back to the ground. 

-It didn’t feel real, right? Felt like a nightmare, something that wasn’t—couldn’t be—reality, am I right?

I’m choking on my food, shaking my head so viciously my neck might snap. I’m gripping the sheets, leaning forward. I want to swallow his words, digest them, shower in the understanding of his eyes. He knows what it was. He’s going to explain it to me. He’s going to give reason to the inexplicable events of that night.

Surely he’s gonna say I hallucinated. He’s gonna say I’m mentally ill, and it’s not gonna be new information. He’s gonna say I created all of that in my tormented head and I no longer need to worry, because the meds are gonna help. They always say it’s going to help.

I’m so torn with this thought, because on one hand, it means Morgan is fine. She’s alive and well and probably scared shitless from what must have been the worst mental breakdown of my life. And on the other... well, it means I’ve officially lost it.

-All of it was real. -He forces himself to hold eye contact because he needs to study my reaction. I know this because he has stopped tapping his feet, his hands firmly at his sides for quick action if necessary.

I offer him none. His certainty hit me like a ton of bricks and I’m so surprised I can’t even react. Like tasting something sour when you expected sweet, you just sit there, taking it all in.

His words ring in my head, but I’m not making sense of them—because they’re ridiculous.

-What you’ve experienced was your first contact with the supernatural. The creature that attacked you and your roommate belonged to a dimension called the Abyss. It was... to lack a better comparison, what the mundanes would call a demon.

Yoongi is only speaking to fill the silence, creating a little tale to entertain me so I won’t expect it when they drag me into a madhouse and lock me away forever, I’m sure of this.

-To survive an encounter with an abyssal is already a grand deed. To survive an encounter with an abyssal, get stung by its venom, and live to tell the story? Unheard of. -There’s a sort of scientific curiosity in his tone now. I can tell that, when he looks at me, he sees research and studies and labs. -The venom of this creature was specifically created to target our kind. It creates mind-shattering nightmares, and it…

He stops himself, eyes unfocused on the back of the room, where gurneys are shielded by curtains. He catches himself quickly, recapturing my attention.

-Anyways… This must mean you have a damn strong mind, Y/N. Something about it is different, special—precisely the way our kind is special in many ways. -He gestures vaguely, but my eyes don’t follow because they’re glued to his face.

I can’t move an inch. I don’t dare blink, afraid I might lose any crucial information. But, as attentive as I am right now, I can’t organize my thoughts in a pattern that makes sense. It’s all mixed up into an abstract painting of little red shapes with horns and arrow tails, dancing in hell and laughing diabolically.

That’s what I thought demons were—not... not that thing.

If my mind isn’t shattered right now, I must have woken up in a different body.

-You see, all your life, you’ve battled visions and hallucinations, correct? -He isn’t expecting a response. -That is because your mind, your entire existence, belongs to a separate dimension called the Underworld—one that partially shares time and space with the mundane dimension.

I shake my head, but he doesn’t stop.

-Because you belong to another dimension, you’re able to transit between the overlaps in the Underworld and the mundane world—even without realizing what you were doing. That’s how you were able to see monsters, people, voices, visions that others couldn’t. It would only be natural to assume they were hallucinations, but that is not the case.

He gestures, ever so slightly, to the carved figures in the walls—the way a teacher would.

-All that you saw, all the inexplicable creatures, all the events that seemed unreal, even the fiction you might’ve learned about, was no work of fiction at all, but the reality of the Underworld dimension reaching to you. Invisible to any mundane, but as real as it comes to you.

He catches his breath, thinking of what to say next. My lips have parted at some point, and the faint chocolate taste in the back of my throat is quickly turning sour. I think my face has lost connection to my brain.

-And that can only mean that you are not human, but something else—something... more. -He shrugs off his jacket to reveal six stars embroidered into the short sleeve of his white uniform. The one at the center is a larger eight-point star, and the other five are smaller five-point stars creating a half-moon to the right of the centerpiece. -This military base is known as The Starsworn Den, a sanctuary to shapeshifting creatures—those able to tap into arcane energy to mold their own forms, to become something not human.

My voice cracks when I try to speak.

-Shapeshifters?

-You have heard about us. In fact, you’ve seen us with your own eyes. From what Taehyung told us, that night you were saved by a white creature, one that resembled a wolf, correct? That creature was Taehyung—only transmogrified into an animalistic form.

I want him to stop speaking. I want him to sit in that chair and stare at me in silence. I want to go back to that blissful stage where neither of us knew what to say and quietness was inevitable.

-This Den is specifically Lycan. The Starsworn are known to be Faleyr’s children, the god of diligence who takes the form of a hybrid creature between man and wolf. But there are others—other shapeshifters—channeling their powers to summon different animalistic forms. And you, Y/N, are one of them.

He finally stops talking, raising an eyebrow at me, confused.

Someone is speaking—I think it’s me, but I’m not sure.

-Did... did you just say that you are a werewolf?

We are both living in this space where nothing else exists but this conversation. It’s as if my madness has created a body only to handshake Yoongi’s madness. I feel like Alice falling into the rabbit hole—only the rabbit and Alice are on acid and they do not speak the same language, yet are deep in conversation as they fall.

-I suppose you can say that. I believe that’s the popular name among mundanes, yeah. -He gives in, brows furrowed even further, eyes serious, his discreet smile gone as he awaits my reaction.

I’m speechless, as one would be when met with a stranger claiming to be a fucking werewolf.

Then something uncontrollable takes over. The bubbling in the pit of my stomach takes form and my body shakes violently with laughter. I’m laughing so loud that my voice ricochets off the church-like ceiling and creates its own orchestra. I’m laughing so much that I lose feeling in my hands and drop the damn protein bar on the white bed. I’m laughing so much that it gets hard to breathe and I feel like I’m going to die in between chuckles.

And Yoongi dares to look at me as if I’m the insane one, which only makes me laugh harder.

God, what has my life become?

***

The Starsworn Den proved to be far larger—and far more real—than I could have ever imagined.

As Yoongi explained between my fits of laughter and sheer terror, the Starsworn are a society bound by blood to Faleyr, the god of diligence and duty, who granted them the gift of shapeshifting. They serve as the first line of defense against the Dresvae—demonic creatures that crawl out of the Abyss to corrupt what they call the mundane world.

From childhood, every Starsworn is trained in combat and in the art of shifting. Yet only some dedicate themselves fully to the military. Those few swear lifelong service and take residence here, in the Starsworn Den—a fortified chateau turned sanctuary and command post—where they train, strategize, and march as the vanguard against the Abyss.

The majority, however, live beyond these walls in Caelorth, an Underworld city half a day’s trip from the chateau. Still, Yoongi made it clear: whether soldier or citizen, every Starsworn is a warrior at heart. When the call comes, they are all trained, all capable, and all willing to fight the demons that stalk the world.

He kept insisting I wasn’t a prisoner, though the warning that it was inadvisable to leave didn’t exactly help his case.

He figured that, after a week confined to a bed, what I really needed was a warm shower, clean clothes, and a proper meal before he resumed his little lecture.

So, after guiding me to my room—arranged beside Taehyung’s at Yoongi’s request—and handing me a few essentials, he left me alone to spiral for a few hours.

By dinner time, he knocked on my door again, and together we made our way to the most breathtaking library I had ever set foot in. It wasn’t enormous—just one of many rooms in the chateau—but every inch of it was alive. Towering shelves crammed with hardbound books stretched to the ceiling, while statues and art pieces gave it a magical touch. Musical instruments rested here and there, and giant arched windows, heavy with velvet curtains, poured the room in dusky light. Cozy reading nooks packed with pillows and covers in every corner invited us to spend the day in this room.

Jin would have loved it.

Now we stand before a statue nearly nine feet tall: the head of a black wolf, its snout twisted in wrath. Yoongi’s voice carries beside me as he reads from an ancient text, “Gods and the Creation of Realms”.

There was once a time when all that existed were Gods ruling this deserted world. At that time, Gods could feel.

Until Dazdes, named God of Light, was born at the first morning.

Dezdes convinced his brothers and sisters, but two, that the face of the earth was unworthy of the presence of Gods and, together, they should ascend into the heavens where the sun would forever touch their holiness.

By doing so, in centuries time, the gods were blinded by their own greatness.

They allowed love and hate to burn within them, they became receptacles of the void.

Bored, corrupted, forgetful of their mission, they walked aimlessly. They were, themselves, the tyrants of their power and the eternal servants of perfection.

How silent this world was: how empty and immaculate. They rejected the beauty of balance and flirted with creating the forbidden. After all, what value did power have if there was no one to whom it could be submitted?

They committed the first and gravest sin. In collusion, they stained the world with their creation: their children. Crafted in their image, as beautiful and powerful, as complex and sagacious as they once were when they inhabited this world.

And the gods found love once more, for their sin.

For the first time, they had something in the void, something to protect and care for.

But Soeyar, Goddess of Destiny, one of the unconvinced goddesses, watched them.

She and her brother, Zytarr, God of Time, had not left this world to join the Light Gods foreseeing the doom that awaited the god's departure.

They were offended by the transgression and cursed this abominable creation with their maximum justice: death.

The Light Gods would give them all their gifts - the ability to think, love, hate, destroy and create - but they could not give them the ultimate blessing of immortality.

Thus, fated to encounter the curse of destiny and time, they could not ascend to the heavens and were finally separated, creators and children. The immortals in the sun realm and the mortals in the world taited by sin.

Gods and Mundanes.

Under Soeyar and Zytarr's careful watch, the mundanes grew.

Evolved, bloomed like flowers in the fields of paradise, occupied the vast lands of the world.

But, like flowers, they also withered and died.

Individually they had little time in this world before death found them in its endless hunt, but they were so diligent, so virtuous and perceptive.

The legacy they were able to build together lasted for centuries, surpassing the impositions of destiny and the limits of time.

Empires rose and fell and the Mundane never stopped creating, not even for a day. Pride.

The gods felt pride again, a feeling that had long been forgotten, they saw the greatness of their children, the feats they built in their names: the temples, churches, castles and fortresses.

But time passed not only in the world of sins, but in the kingdom of heaven as well: new gods were born and they had no relation with humans, they did not understand the emptiness that led the gods to create them in the first place, they did not understand the need to protect or love them, they had no temples or churches in their name, they were not served.

And vanity is a poison that runs beneath the skin.

In their understanding, it was the God's job to maintain balance, the scales of the universe depended on their strength, their perfection and grace and the Mundanes were nothing more than an act of impulsiveness, an error in the calculations of the universe. With their wars, their small feelings, their anger, their love, they offered nothing but inconvenience to the balance.

They saw the Mundanes as a shame, a reminder of God's neglect to their duty.

They were crafted in the image of the gods and were, still, unable to ascend to heaven. How could their creation be so flawed and inferior? Fragile creatures doomed to die could not dare compare themselves to those who created them.

It was time to put an end to it, to restore the emptiness of the world before the beloved Mundanes.

Vaenar, named The Last Goddess, was the first to revolt.

Seeing the love of the gods for their children, the Goddess was overcome with vanity. She desired to destroy them, she wanted to see them fall, she wanted them to see their creation crushed and swept away from this world to make way for her own children: stronger, more resistant, more powerful than Soeyar and Zytarr and the Light Gods.

The Goddess grew in her womb the first child of chaos and it answered to her call, fulfilled its role.

The creature brought hell with it. The demon roared beneath the wastelands of the world, destroyed and burned and killed, soaked the ground with blood and ash until life could no longer spring up wherever it went. Like a plague, it was not blessed and resourceful like the Mundanes, all it knew was voracity and thirst.

The gods rediscovered another feeling, previously cauterized by the light but now pulsating like an open wound: anger.

The Goddess, who could not be killed, was punished by her equal,

In an attempt to cease her hunger for power, they took away the common source of their powers: Light.

They exiled her, banished from the Light Realm, never to see the holy bless again.

It was a mistake.

The Goddess was wrathful beyond repair, she fed on the blood spilled by her child, she learned to thrive without light and much like her brother Dezdes, she forged her Realm.

On pillars of hatred and resentment, she crowned herself Mother of Darkness.

More of the rebellious gods joined her, more of their children were sent into the mortal world to wreak havoc, hateful and bestial demons, and her fortress of chaos extended, downward, away from the Light Realm.

In the Abyss.

Until Faleyr decided to put an end to it all.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

“What I had left here, I just held it tight So someone with your eyes Might come in time to hold me like water Or Christ, hold me like a knife” -Who we are, by Hozier.

It was always like that when it came to her.

He knew it was dangerous. It was too much and too little, and it would hurt—God, he knew it would tear him apart—but still, there was no other option but to let her chew his heart out.

Since the day he laid eyes on her… like a moth to a flame.

Something changed within his brain chemistry that night.

She walked into the awards afterparty as if she owned the place—and, partially, she did. Her group, SUNNYZ, had debuted a year ago, and they were still sweeping awards left and right; every new drop was met with a roar of popularity the likes of which he hadn’t seen in all his years of experience. They were unmatched, and it was well deserved.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t checked out their work carefully, from dance practices to the long list of producers, mixers, and composers. Her name popped up everywhere—there wasn’t a part of their production untouched by her.

She was every agency’s dream: a decent rapper, a good dancer, an excellent singer, a brilliant songwriter, astonishingly beautiful, and with the kind of character that had granted her the position of leader in a way that felt natural. She balanced the world on her shoulders and made it look weightless. He saw something in her.

He saw himself.

The other three girls in SUNNYZ strolled in, laughing, bouncing with childlike excitement as they greeted their friends and fellow artists. But she carried a different energy—dominant, enticing, as if saying “yes, we are all that.” Her eyes cut through the crowd, her smile could melt the ice sculptures. She was the person to see and to be seen with—and she knew it.

They surrounded her like flies: photographers, interviewers, social media managers, other artists. Everyone wanted a piece, and she had plenty to give. He remembered that feeling—being on top of the world, living your dream with ruthless confidence.

His legs were moving before he could stop them. It felt like a transgression to approach another idol like that—worse still, a female idol and a hoobae. His PR lessons and experience told him better. But he just had to see it for himself.

And it was worth every second.

The crowd opened up around him, parting like the Red Sea, surprised glances following every step he took toward her. It was a sight to see, for sure.

Namjoon—or RM, as the world knew him—the leader of the biggest K-pop sensation worldwide, making his way toward Y/N, the leader of the hottest newcomers in K-pop history. Photographers could cream their pants just thinking about it. They had been dying to capture interactions between the two groups, manipulating rumors and spreading lies for a year now. This was what they had been waiting for.

In a normal scenario, he would never give them that satisfaction. But it was her, so the scenario wasn’t normal in the slightest.

Her eyes gleamed the moment she saw him, and something inside him came alive. Her knowing smile reminded him of a cat watching a squirming rat under its paw—something beautifully cruel that whispered, “I knew you’d come to me.”

-Hello, Y/N. -Thankfully, his voice didn’t betray him. He prayed his posture didn’t look as tense as it felt. -Congratulations on the awards and the performance tonight. You guys did a great job.

The world became a blur once she targeted him with her smile, but her voice was still quiet, private, almost like a cheeky secret meant only for him.

-Thank you so much, Sunbaenim, you’ve just made the night all the more special. -She gave him a polite bow, and he almost tripped in his rush to mimic it.

And just like that, he knew he was at her mercy.

Have you ever met someone who truly lives in the moment? Someone whose aura is so present that it pulls you in? She had that magnetism. She made eye contact as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. She carried the conversation wherever she wanted it to go, always with the perfect thing to say at the perfect time. Her witty comebacks had him by the throat for hours. He could never guess what she would say next, and it left him eager for it—hungry, even.

The next thing he knew, Seokjin and Jimin were rescuing him from a couch in one of the far corners, hurrying him to wrap up the conversation and reminding him of the flight they had to catch first thing in the morning. She apologized for monopolizing their leader, teased them about doing their skincare once they got home, and wished them a safe flight. Then she stood, thanked him for the conversation, and walked away—leaving him with dazed eyes, watching her swaying hips carry her out of his reach.

Once they were in the van, a heavy, uncomfortable silence sat in their laps. The members eyed each other uneasily, unsure of who should speak first.

-So... Hyung met one of the girls from SUNNYZ... -Jungkook took the lead with his gentle nature, trying his best to mask his anxiety with curiosity. -Was she nice?

It felt wrong to hear her referred to as “one of.” She was one of nothing. She was… everything. But how could he even point that out so blatantly?

-I’m sorry, guys, I forgot where I was for a moment. -He found it hard to make eye contact. Usually, he was on the other end of this, so it felt wrong—like a parent caught by their child doing something they weren’t supposed to.

-Yeah, we could tell, -mumbled Hoseok from the back, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Taehyung and Jimin whispered jokes and slapped each other beside him, their faces contorting with silent laughter.

-Just... it’s good that you had some fun, -Said Yoongi, looking at nothing in particular. -At least it looked like you were having fun.

-Yeah, she’s... she’s interesting.

-Just interesting, huh? -said Taehyung, unable to contain his comment. He laughed harder, Jimin shoving him and telling him to shut up.

-Seriously? -said Seokjin, shooting them a stern look from the front row. When he turned to Namjoon, though, his tone softened. -It’s okay, really, it’s not the end of the world. Just... you know the kind of headache that comes from these things.

-I know, Hyung.

But all the warnings in the world couldn’t stop him. He would’ve made the same mistakes, taken the same steps, even if he’d been given the chance to turn back time.

The month that followed was chaotic, of course. Edits of the two of them were everywhere—ships, hate comments, speculation—all born from a single conversation that had stretched too long to be considered innocent.

He knew how quickly these things spread, and the way he kept asking around, obsessing over trying to get her contact, felt like pouring gasoline on a wildfire. But what was he supposed to do?

She was the single most interesting person he had ever met in this industry. He would have given an arm and a leg just to stay in her orbit a little longer.

Then, one random Thursday, while he was getting his makeup done for a variety show, his phone lit up with an unknown number.

“So, you never got to finish that story about your first dance practice together.”

They talked as if they had known each other for years—or perhaps in another life. No topic was too trivial, no silence awkward, no self-doubt lingering between them.

Texts turned into late-night calls, which turned into passing glances at venues, hurried conversations backstage, private meetups at his studio, and eventually full-on secret dates.

He had never pictured himself dating another celebrity; all his previous lovers had been out of the public eye. But for months, he could have sworn he saw red strings binding the two of them together.

The first time he touched her, it felt right. Not just good—right. As if nothing else ever could be right again. When she lay on his chest, naked, sweaty, messy, he felt like he’d come home after a long tour.

They had eight months of pure bliss—followed by a lifetime of heartache he wasn’t prepared for.

He wanted to be with her. Not like this—not hurried, secretive, messy. Properly. He wanted to hold her hand, stand proudly at her side, show the world the unstoppable force they could be together. He was so proud of her.

So many nights they’d spent dreaming about what it would be like to be something real. He was beginning to believe those dreams shouldn’t stay as dreams.

Bringing it up to her was his first of many mistakes.

He watched her eyes fill with terror, her head shaking before he even finished.

-Joon... no. No, we can’t. What are you talking about?

The indignation in her voice cut clean through him, like he was insane for even suggesting.

How could she not want this? Could she not see how painful it was to be a secret? Was she embarrassed by him? Was he the only one in love? The inadequacy ate away at his soul.

-No, Joon, I’m sorry, we can’t. I can’t... -She sat up in bed, scrambling to collect her clothes from the floor. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Minutes ago everything had been perfect—she had been lying in his bed, beautiful, relaxed, happy.

And now she was running away, the way a wild animal runs from the idea of captivity.

So he pulled back. He promised himself he would never bring it up again. Because any amount of her was better than none. All he had to do was control his heart, not want more than he deserved. He told himself he could endure it—that the secret was enough, that hiding was okay, that saying goodbye to his dreams of normalcy was acceptable.

Nobody lied to him like he lied to himself. But it became unbearable.

She had a flirtatious personality, a charming way. Yes, it hurt to see it directed elsewhere. But what gutted him was the way she shrugged every time she was asked about BTS, about Namjoon, about the rumors surrounding them.

“We’re just friends,” she’d say.

And he would rather be dead than just a friend.

It all came tumbling down. The delicate restraint he had practiced, the thin balance of their dynamic being almost something, the lies he told himself drowned them in hour-long discussions and fights that would leave him feeling like a trainwreck.

Months of this, months on this tug-of-war, 1 step forward and 3 steps back, this rollercoaster that would take him higher than he had ever imagined and lower than he had ever been. Months of covering eyebags, swallowing back tears when he had other obligations, months of lying to his bandmates, saying everything was fine, months of telling the world he was just “tired”, he faked his smile so often now he had forgotten how to smile genuinely.

And she wasn’t unfazed. At times, he felt she was better at hiding, but you can’t fake a sparkle in your eyes; she had lost hers too.

It drained them for all their worth. They were trying to stick together at all costs, covering deep cuts with band-aids, living off crumbles of each other, neither fully satisfied, both too hungry to let go.

It had to stop. He had to do end it or it would end him.

Breaking up with her—if he even could call it a breakup, since they were never officially together—was the hardest thing he ever had to do. Walking away from the person he most wanted in the entire world ripped his soul in half; it felt so sick and twisted he had to cancel plans for an entire month due to the random anxiety attacks that would overcome him at random moments of the day.

He blocked her on everything; otherwise, he’d fall right back into her arms. He forced distance when he wanted nothing more than proximity; he spent nights cursing his stubborn heart for longing for comfort from the one who hurt him.

That was not right; she didn’t hurt him; they hurt each other.

-

Four months went by. He learned to take deep breaths. He learned not to tear up at the mention of her name. He figured out how to think about her without it ripping his heart out.

For the first time, he was starting to believe there could be a life without her—just like there had been a life before her.

But then the scandal broke: her face stamped in every news magazine, every sasaeng profile, all over social media. “In recently leaked video, leader of SUNNYZ, Y/N, appears to be drunk during a discussion with her manager.”

He tried to avoid it, but he couldn’t avoid the other members talking about it. Finally, he gave in and watched.

She was crying, clearly slurring her words, using strong language to insist she was not ready for another comeback as the manager pressed her. The angle of the video was terrible, as if filmed from a phone peeking out of someone’s pocket. He couldn’t stop the wave of rage that washed over him as he watched, because he knew—he knew—it probably came from someone she trusted, someone she saw as a friend. She was too smart to be vulnerable like that in front of strangers.

All of this exposure, for a little bit of cash.

He was reminded of one of their many late-night conversations.

“You don’t understand, Joon. These people… they would eat me alive if they had the chance. Yes, they love me today, but tomorrow they might hate me with the same passion.”

He used to resent her in those moments. Who did she think she was to tell him that? He’d been in the industry since 2013. He was no newbie. She had no right to lecture him about a game he’d been playing—and dominating—for years.

But seeing the comments, he understood what she meant. She hadn’t meant it as a celebrity. She meant it as a woman.

All this time, he had acted like they were playing on even ground—but they weren’t. Deep down, he knew the world would never have been that cruel, that quick, had it been a male idol. Suddenly, he realized how much people prayed for her downfall—and how aware of it she had always been.

He spent all day wondering if he should message her, apologize, comfort her. He wondered if he owed her that, if she would have done the same for him, or if he should just let the wound heal.

But when he got home and his doorman warned him that a “friend” had gone up to his apartment, his heart dropped to his toes. He was not prepared to see her again.

He paced the hallway, stared at his door, swore under his breath, feeling like the world would stop turning the moment he turned the knob.

Finally, he punched in the code and walked into his lit living room, his eyes finding hers immediately.

She sat curled up on his couch, knees tucked to her chest, an oversized hoodie partially hiding her tear-stained face. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes puffy and red, her lips raw from nervous biting. It took everything in him not to run to her, not to pull her into his lap and hide her from the world with his arms.

-I’m sorry. -She breathed it out, her voice so heavy, so choked with feelings she could barely speak. -I’m sorry, Joon, I— I didn’t know where else to go.

Then he noticed the half-empty bottle on the coffee table, the smell of cigarettes on her clothes, the haze in her eyes.

-Y/N... -He took a step closer, closing the door behind him. -I— I was wondering if I should contact you again... wondering if I even had the right to.

She kept rubbing her eyes, trying to stop the tears that wouldn’t stop coming. She stood, still avoiding his gaze.

-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come. I know you needed space, I get why you broke it off, I get it. I get that I’m no good for you, and it’s really selfish of me to invade your space like this, I just— -She sobbed, her voice wobbling, running through every emotion at once. -This is too much, Joon. It’s so hard. I didn’t know it would be this hard.

He broke.

Before he knew it, her head was against his chest, his chin resting on her hair, his arms wrapped around her. Her hands tugged at the back of his shirt. Their racing hearts fell into sync like they had every night before. His whisper felt foreign in his own ears.

-My sweet girl, I know. I know, baby, it’s okay. -His fingers threaded through her hair, massaging the back of her head in the same motion he once used to put her to sleep. -I got you now.

She gripped him harder, shaking uncontrollably.

It took twenty minutes for her to calm down. When she finally did, she sat on the couch again, putting as much distance between them as possible, sipping water. She’d apologized a million times. He busied himself with ordering dinner, afraid that if he said anything, she’d spiral back into tears.

-I was so stupid, -she said at last, shaking her head, staring at her feet. -Joon, I know I was wrong in the way I handled things. I know you deserved so much more than I could give you, but... do you see what I meant now? -The eye contact was earth-shattering; his whole body tingled. -I know you must hate me now. I know you must think I deserved this. But do you at least see this is what I was trying to spare you from? The backlash?

He had so much to say he didn’t even know where to start. Emotions bubbled up so fast he thought he might explode.

-Y/N, how could you— -His eyes were wild, his hands opening and closing as if grasping for words. -I’ve spent the last year trying not to love you, and I failed. How could you think that I hate you?

Her lower lip trembled. He sucked in a sharp breath. Her eyes—God, her eyes—were going to undo him completely.

-I don’t hate you, okay? -His tone softened, but his words stayed firm. He held her gaze. -I always understood your concern, Y/N. I knew you were scared of the backlash. I just never understood why you thought you’d face it alone—like I wouldn’t be there to support you.

-I know you’d be there, I know... but you’d be throwing your career away, Joon!

-And I would have done it! -His voice cracked like thunder, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. He was shaking. -I would have done it, I would have thrown it all away—for you, for us—because I thought it was worth it! You were all I ever wanted, and if that was the price, I would have paid it!

She was hyperventilating, a storm raging between them.

-But that’s the issue, Joon! That’s exactly the problem! There’s this power imbalance that allows you to pay that price when I can’t! -Her eyes were wide, pleading, frustration rising in her voice. -You’ve got it all! Every award, every opportunity, you’ve been everywhere. You’re established. If your career ended tomorrow, the next four generations of your family would still be okay. But what do I have?

She stood, running her hands through her hair. The words tumbled out in a rush, but he could tell she’d thought about this a thousand times. He could see the overworked gears of her mind turning.

-If we went public, I would lose everything—money, fame, reputation. People would say I only succeeded because of you. They’d terminate my contract. They’d blame me for your downfall. They’d treat me like the new Yoko Ono. And the girls... my God, the girls. I could never do that to them! -She covered her mouth, her eyes darting as if she could already see it playing out. -Hana trained for eight years before she debuted. Aiko left her whole life behind to live in Korea. How could I steal that from them?

He stood too, rage burning in his chest. Because he knew she was right. He knew it was too much to give up. He saw firsthand how unfair it was. And yet he couldn’t accept it. Because what was the alternative? To deny the only love they’d ever known? To pretend their souls weren’t bound together?

He wished the world would be kinder to her—to them. But he knew the only way out was through.

-Why are you so set on living for everybody else, Y/N? Can’t you consider that there might be another way? That we could work together to ease the idea in with the audience, get them acclimated to it—that not everything has to crash and burn? -He takes a brave step closer. She doesn’t move forward, but she doesn’t retreat either. -Yes, some people might hate you. Some people might hate me. If that’s in their nature, so be it. But there are millions who want to see you happy. Millions who would understand that you make me happy—and I make you happy.

Something softens in her eyes, something that almost looks like hope.

-I tried to have half of you. I tried to stay away. But I can’t do it, Y/N. I need you—I need you like I need water, like I need air. I am willing to fight the world to have you, but I cannot fight you anymore. -Another step. His heart pounds so hard it echoes in his ears. -Please… please let me in. I can’t take this any longer.

A second passes. Then another. The clock ticks in the distance, and the silence bleeds him dry.

Then she crosses the distance between them, and he’s set on fire the moment their lips connect. Her hands are everywhere, his hair, his face, his neck, his hands hold onto her as if she could slip away through the cracks of his fingers, her legs hook around his waist, he blindly finds a wall to press her against. The kiss is rough, desperate, edged with so much need it almost hurts

He kisses her like he’s trying to memorize the shape of her lips, holding her as if that alone could heal the emptiness of not having her. Even when they run out of breath, they can’t stand to be apart for more than a heartbeat. A leg presses between her thighs, and the moan that slips from her lips makes him feel alive again. He drinks it in like a parched man, her nails sinking into his shoulders.

Her hoodie falls to the ground in one messy motion. His palms slide beneath her tank top, splaying across her back, her ribs, her breasts.

-Joon—the couch, -she pleads, breathless. He obeys as though it’s gospel.

He lays her down gently, but his lips follow in hunger. Kneeling in front of her, he kisses every inch of newly revealed skin as he pulls her pants down her thighs. She says something he can’t quite catch as he sinks lower, tugging the black lace aside, every barrier shredding his patience.

His lips find her folds, and he groans at the taste of her, shoulders relaxing, eyes shutting. He devours her like a starving man, kissing her most sensitive spot until every sinful moan rips through him. The friction makes her roll her eyes back, her thighs trembling. He grips them harder, hooking his arms beneath to lock her against his mouth, feasting on what he’s craved for months.

“Namjoon!” The way his name spills from her lips is addictive. He focuses on her clit, sucking with just enough pressure to make her twitch under his hold. One hand slides up to press against her lower stomach while the other brings two fingers to her mouth.

She understands immediately. Shamelessly, she curls up to take them in, sucking until his knuckles brush her lips. She holds his gaze as if to say “this is a taste of what comes next.” The thought alone makes him twitch in his pants.

Once her mouth has coated them, he slides his fingers into her, curling them at the tip just the way she loves. A long, low moan escapes her as he glances up, desperate to engrave the sight into memory forever—her sprawled across his couch, one hand around his wrist, the other tangled in her own hair, eyes shut, brows furrowed, mouth slack in pleasure. For a moment he wonders how he ever had the courage to walk away from this. Had he been mad?

He builds a rhythm, fingers pumping as his lips work her clit, until she’s seeing stars. She grips his hair, desperate, and that’s all the cue he needs, voice thick with lust as he guides her through it.

-That’s it, baby. Relax for me.

And she does—pulsing around his fingers, thighs trembling as he holds them open, forcing her to let him watch her come undone.

-Look at you, -he breathes, awestruck. -You’re the most beautiful thing in the world.

She tries to fix her hair, smiling through her panting. He gives in to impulse and kisses her, just to show her how incredible she tastes on his tongue.

The strain in his jeans is unbearable, pressing into him painfully. She notices, sitting up immediately, still dizzy from the high but eager to return the favor.

As soon as he rises and she slips her fingers under his belt, he scoops her up against his hip with practiced ease. She giggles as he carries her to the bedroom, kissing her temple. If this is a dream, he never wants to wake up.

He shrugs off his jacket. She kneels on the bed, kissing his neck as she tugs his shirt over his head. Her hands trace his torso, fingers hooking into his waistband. He exhales sharply when she undoes his belt. As he pushes off his pants, she whispers in his ear, tightening something deep in his chest.

-I missed you so much, Joon. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. -She kisses him again and again, her palm finding the bulge in his boxers. He sucks in a breath. -I need you so bad.

She kisses down his jaw, his neck, his chest. His stomach tightens as she pulls his boxers down and, without warning, swirls her tongue over the tip of his cock—slow, warm, devastating. Instinctively, his fingers thread through her hair, gripping firmly at the back of her head as she takes him deeper.

Now he’s seeing stars. It takes everything not to lose it immediately. Her lips wrap tight around him, her tongue tracing patterns—wet, messy, perfect in the way she knows drives him insane. The sound of her gagging, his ragged moans, fill the room. She wraps one hand around his base and arches her ass high on the bed, offering herself shamelessly. He can’t resist, leaning forward to grip the flesh so hard it makes her jump. The vibrations of her muffled gasp send shivers tearing through him.

-Fuck yes, just like that, baby. Look at what you do to me.

He watches in mesmerized awe as she leans back, a string of saliva still connecting them. Her hand tightens around him, stroking up and down. Those fucked-out eyes and swollen lips drag him closer to the edge, but he can’t give in yet. Not before he fucks her brains out.

His hand wraps around her throat—firm, not cruel—enough to earn a startled grin. She clasps both hands around his wrist. With a tug, he pulls her up only to push her back down. She lands in the middle of the bed, and he’s on her in seconds, grabbing behind her knees to drag her to the edge.

-I need to be inside you. Right now. -His voice is a demand, and she agrees without hesitation, hips lifting to meet him. He guides the tip to her entrance. They both hold their breath as he sinks in, inch by torturous inch, until he’s buried inside her—sweat slicked, trembling, completely connected. He moans against her ear as she clings to his shoulders.

-Fuck… you were made for me.

Her answer is wordless at first, tears springing to her eyes with the stretch.

-Say it, -He growls. -I want to hear you.

-I was made for you! -She gasps, voice breaking, squirming beneath him to urge his hips into motion. He catches on instantly, their rhythm locking together like puzzle pieces clicking into place. The pleasure is so consuming that their foreheads press together, mouths open, sharing moans and breath.

He could never get enough of this. Of her. Of them.

His thrusts turn rougher, deeper. Her legs lock around him. Skin slaps against skin, the obscene soundtrack he craves. He grips her ass, hauling her tighter as he drives into her, heavy body pressing her down until she’s lightheaded.

-Fuck, I’m all yours, Joon. I belong to you! -she cries—his sweet girl, his cock-drunk girl.

-Yeah, you are. This pussy was made for me. -His hand circles her throat again, thumb pressing lightly as her brows knit in that desperate, vulnerable expression that shreds his chest. -I wish you could see yourself. You’re so beautiful.

-Just like that—I’m close! -She warns, one hand slipping between them. He almost loses it when she rubs her clit, tightening hard around him like a vine. His thrusts falter, erratic, while he struggles to keep his eyes on hers.

Her moans climb higher, his grip on her throat tightens until her cheeks flush and her vision blurs. The knot inside her snaps. She cums hard, clenching around him, body convulsing as white heat floods her veins. She shakes violently, trembling beneath him.

He releases her throat, steadying her hips as she rides out the orgasm. He slows his pace, savoring the way she pulses and trembles around him. But she’s relentless, milking him until he’s dangerously close.

Her legs attempt to close, but he catches her calves and lifts them over his shoulders. Caging her beneath him, he folds her into a stretch that lets him slam deeper than ever. She gasps, eyes rolling back.

-I’m going to cum, -he groans against her ear. Her face tells him she’s overstimulated, but her voice is broken, begging.

-Yes! Yes, Joon, please—cum inside me. I want to feel you.

One hand digs into her shoulder, the other braced against the mattress as he pounds into her with final, brutal thrusts.

-I love you, Joon—I love you! -She cries, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling hard. That’s what does it. He unravels, spilling hot inside her, groaning her name into her skin.

It takes a long, shaking moment for him to steady enough to roll to the side. He gathers her against his chest, kissing the top of her head over and over as if to prove to himself she’s real, that nothing could take her away again.

-I love you too, Y/N, -He whispers once her breathing softens, heavy with exhaustion. -You know I mean it, right? We’ll work things out. Just trust me—

-I know. -Her hand cups his face, thumb brushing his lower lip. He kisses it without thought. -I mean it too, Joon. I can face anything, as long as I’m with you.

4. Sunlit Past

It has been four days since I was last fully conscious.

There’s no way of telling if it has actually been four days—my math may be off. My sense of time was erased long ago, but there are these brief moments of semi-clarity that give me an idea of how much time has passed.

In those moments, when the pain gives way to a numbing sensation and my mind grows relatively quiet, I feel alive again. And every time it happens, he is by my side.

Brown eyes, growing increasingly tired, darker, hopeless. He speaks to me whenever I seem conscious, and I wish I could thank him for it. Sometimes his voice feels like ointment on an open wound, like a caress. Other times, all I hear is a low mumble—but even then, I close my eyes and try to synchronize my breathing with his incoherent words, my blood flowing to the music of his voice, the world falling into place when our fingers brush.

I thought the pain would be the death of me, but perhaps it will be the nightmares. I’ve always been mentally unstable, plagued by hallucinations all my life—hearing and seeing what was not there, could not be there. Medication proved useless, and with no family history to guide a diagnosis, therapy could only do so much.

I always thought I’d grow used to it at some point. After twenty years of this, I thought I actually had.

It never occurred to me that, after all the trials, my mind might break before my body does.

Tae is telling me a story. His voice is an anchor I cling to as the current of insanity pulls me in the opposite direction. I hold onto it for dear life.

“You’re doing good,” he says when my eyelids flutter as I try—unsuccessfully—to open my eyes. “No one has made it this far before, so don’t give up now, okay?”

Wherever the line to “giving up” is, I want to cross it. I want to end this. I want to surrender to this invisible enemy. I want to admit defeat in a battle I never intended to fight.

But I don’t know how. There’s no red button I can press, no plug I can pull, no string I can cut, no jump, no light at the end of the tunnel. It’s awfully inconvenient to be fighting when there’s nothing to fight.

I’ve wished for a light at the end of the tunnel so many times that it feels like betrayal to his trust in me.

I don’t want to let him down—not when he’s poured so much effort into saving me, so much passion into keeping me alive.

But if letting him down was the price to set myself free, I would pay it.

Not that it’s up to me anyway.

And so, the nightmares go on.

***

Everything is so bright all of a sudden, as if the world has decided to increase the saturation—become more alive, more colorful, more beautiful.

The sun feels so good on my skin, kissing every inch of my body, filling me with a comfortable warmth.

Blinking repeatedly, I raise my right hand over my head to block the light from my eyes. They adjust to reveal the most beautiful sky stretching above me, big silky clouds surfing across the infinite blue canvas, carried away by the breeze without a care in the world—not a single rebellious gray drop in sight.

Half a dozen birds fly south, their silhouettes just tiny black dots in the distance. I wish I were one of them. I wish for wings that could lift me into true freedom.

I can feel the grass on the nape of my neck. I’ve always despised lying in it—the itchy needles against my skin, the dirt. Never once had I considered it could feel this soft, this soothing. I could lie here for years. I could grow roots of my own, let the vegetation engulf me.

Turning my head to the right, I’m met with tall trees, their impossibly green leaves swaying in rhythm with the gentle breeze, trunks carved by time, by children, by couples proclaiming their undying love.

It smells of summer—sun, grass, sugar, and warm bread.

I know exactly where I am. My heart swells in my chest, so heavy, so overcome with love.

Someone shuffles to my left, lively music playing softly from a pair of headphones. I don’t need to move to know who it is, but I do—because there’s nothing I want more in this world than to see him right now, even if my mind is playing tricks on me.

Jin hums along to the melody. Lying on the grass next to me, so close, so close, so close, I don’t even need to reach all the way to touch him. An open book rests on his face to shade it from the sun, one of his legs bent at the knee, his foot tapping against the grass.

So many mornings were spent like this. There was a time I considered it normal—boring, even. I can’t believe how stupid I was not to make the most of moments like this. I should have sat closer. I should have relished his laughter more. I should have told him. I should have told him. I should have told him.

Back then, when things were normal—when life was delightfully boring and good—we would meet here. He’d help me study, lecture me on the same math problem over and over, patiently doodle in his notes while waiting for me to figure it out on my own. He’d smile when pointing out another mistake, and celebrate my successes with a roll of his eyes, saying it only took “a million tries.”

His favorite spot was near the pretzel and cotton candy stands, where we’d have a full view of the park. From there he could point to people and say, “What do you think?” and we’d create endless fake stories for them.

The old man feeding the pigeons? He committed a perfect murder thirty years ago. Though he was a suspect, they never found the weapon, and so he walked free.

That woman with the puppy? Her boyfriend abandoned her at the altar, so she stole his dog, moved states, and started a fitness journey to get the best revenge body ever. But if he called, she’d go right back.

That couple laughing under a tree? It’s their first date. They don’t know it yet, but two years from now they’ll have a baby on the way—and argue endlessly over the name. He’ll want Riley, she’ll want Caitlin.

His stories were always full of drama and dad jokes. You’d think the man was addicted to telenovelas.

Even after graduation, we’d still come here every couple of weeks, just to enjoy each other’s silence, presence, company.

I sit and stare at him, unable to believe my mind could be so cruel as to try to steal, alter, ruin this memory.

He takes the book off his face, confusion flickering in those gentle almond eyes.

I love him so much that at this moment my heart threatens to beat out of my chest, fluttering as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.

-You good? You look pale.

I take in every detail—his lips, his cheeks, his hair, the fountain glinting in the distance, dogs running, kids laughing, umbrellas shading the candy stands, the leaves falling—where’s the problem?

There has to be an inconsistency, a flaw, a chip in the memory, something to tell it apart from reality.

But it’s perfect. Everything is perfect. Normal. Just as it should be. Just as it used to be.

I can’t bear it. I stretch out and grab his hands—and I feel him. I feel him. His fingers, his warm palms. My eyes brim with tears in an instant. I can’t believe he’s here.

-Is everything okay? Y/N, what’s wrong? -His concerned voice melts my heart. I feel like I’ve come home. I want to crawl into his lap and cry for days, forget the world, and just tell him—again and again—how much I missed him, how I prayed to see him again.

-I… I had this awful dream that… I— I thought something happened at the convent… -I stumble over the words, unsure where to start. I’ve lost my alphabet, my vocabulary reduced to A’s and M’s. Was it really just a dream? Had I been hallucinating this whole time? Have I finally gone mad?

-Something did happen there. -My eyes widen, my heart leaping into my throat.

-You. You happened there. Place hasn’t known a moment of peace since.

He exhales through his nose, stupidly laughing at his own joke as he lets go of my hands to adjust the book holder and sit upright.

God, I want to kiss him right now.

I keep glancing around, waiting for something to go wrong, waiting for the world to collapse beneath me again. But time stretches. Jin talks about the latest gossip at work, how his car broke down yesterday, how the barista got his order wrong this morning so he tried an apple cinnamon latte for the first time. The day drifts by as usual. My shoulders relax. My head spins. I lie back down.

I bite the inside of my cheek.

-You know, I was thinking -He turns to me, dropping his book on the grass between us. I smile immediately, a reflex, autopilot

.

-Don’t do it too suddenly, your head might explode from the news.

I bite back a laugh. He rolls his eyes and flips me off.

-Idiot. I was gonna ask if you got that place after all.

That’s right. Before everything—before my world fell apart—I was looking at tiny apartments, a place of my own. Feels like a million years ago, when my biggest worry was leaving the convent.

I shake my head bitterly. Another no.

I try to recall the last place I saw, but I can’t. All I remember is that it had no windows, and it smelled like a prison.

The convent was an orphanage for me. It raised me—poorly, if I may say so—but it did. I always knew I’d have to leave eventually, find somewhere else, and build a life. For twenty years that was all I wanted: independence, to stand on my own feet.

Turns out it’s hard to stand on your own two feet when they’re shackled by debt, no credit line, and no savings for a deposit.

-Bummer. -He sighs, then pauses, thinking. -You know, since I got that new job, traffic’s been a nightmare. I think I’d like to be closer to the city. Rent would be higher, I’d need a roommate, of course…

He doesn’t finish the thought, just waits for my reaction. My smile breaks out impulsively, I blink, stunned.

-Are you serious? I thought you loved your place!

Since high school, Jin had lived in a tiny studio near campus. I helped him move in, with the little furniture his parents bought him. Over four years, he’d made it cozy and nerdy, just the way he likes it—posters, action figures, computer setup, game station, everything.

We loved spending time there together, but it was always clear it was his safe place. I never stayed the night. I never went when he wasn’t home.

-I do love it. But I don’t see a point anymore. I graduated, so no need to be close to campus. Plus, I’d like more space, maybe get a puppy. -He runs his fingers through his hair. -I definitely can’t afford a two-bedroom by myself, so… if you want it, having you as my roommate would be perfect.

Perfect. He thinks living with me would be perfect.

For a moment he looks almost shy, but then his lips curl into a smile and I wonder if I imagined the blush on his cheeks. I must have.

Why is my heart so loud? Shut up!

-I thought you hated roommates…

-Well, yeah. But keep in mind I lived with stinky, spoiled dudes for ten years. -He rolls his eyes, hairs rising at the memory. -You’re not a dude. You’re usually not stinky. You’re not spoiled. You’re responsible. You’re my best friend. You even know how to do laundry—when I’d probably flood the apartment. And I can cook, I’m pretty neat myself…

He keeps listing reasons as if he needs to convince me.

-One of the places I’m looking at is near the Institute of Music, you know? -His voice softens.

Jin’s eyes hold so much expectation. Whenever he talks about college, he does it in that careful tone, like approaching a wild animal.

He knows higher education has always been my dream. But I can’t afford it. I have no scholarship prospects. And the time to study is a luxury someone living paycheck to paycheck doesn’t have. I’d love nothing more than to become a musician, like he believes I could. But passion doesn’t pay tuition. Neither does my part-time job at the convenience store.

I smile anyway, because I know it comes from a good place.

What would he do—what would he do if he knew my heart races whenever he talks to me like this? If he knew the places my mind goes at the thought of us living together? Would he still offer if he knew how I really feel?

No. He wouldn’t. He’d be disappointed. He’d think I ruined everything. He would lose his best friend, but I’d be losing the love of my life.

I can’t let that happen. He can’t know. I can’t tell him. I can’t just agree and say I’d love to move in with him. I can’t admit I’m thrilled by the idea of sharing a home, a life.

So I stay quiet. And he doesn’t press, just goes back to reading in comfortable silence while I simmer in my feelings.

-Jin, do you think… Do you ever wonder what your life will look like in ten years? -I ask, staring at the sky, realizing I don’t have a clue about mine. I know what I want it to be, but I can’t see how it could actually happen.

He chuckles.

-The future? I had a future. Then look at what you did to me! You stole it from me!

A shiver runs down my spine as shock floods me. The hatred in his voice—Jin, my Jin, my best friend, who was never cruel, not even in our worst fights. He would never say something like that.

I turn to him, my stomach knotted.

But it isn’t Jin staring back at me.

It’s Morgan’s pale face, her dead eyes bulging. Her blonde hair matted with blood. Her neck twisted at that impossible angle I saw in our bedroom. Her guts spill across the grass. Severed limbs gush blood.

My insides turn inside out. I want to gouge my eyes out. I knew it was coming—another nightmare, another nightmare, another nightmare.

Her voice echoes, though her mouth doesn’t move.

-I’m dead because of you. This is all your fault!

***

The next time I "wake up", Tae isn't there.

This would be the perfect time to die.

Except for this time I'm actually awake, I'm awake, I'm moving—at a great effort, of course, but still—I'm not chained to that weird limbo or looking through blurred lines, I'm breathing, conscious, I'm truly here for the first since I got wherever "here" is.

I don't recognize the room. There are multiple hospital beds positioned next to me, some concealed by thick white curtains, there are metal trays, and nurses wandering everywhere, a cacophony of voices that overlap my grunts as I struggle to sit up.

As similar as it is to a regular hospital, I've been to more hospitals than I can count, many psychiatric wards, enough to recognize the patterns, the clipboards, the medications, the straps on the sides of the beds. This room is not like that, it is grand, tall as a church, with windows in glorious arches, statues of angels, demons, and warriors decorating the columns and ceiling, shiny stones and vials of colored liquid filling the tables, there are plenty of sharp objects on sight so I know I was not admitted into another psych ward.

Even the nurses aren't ordinary. They are bigger and more athletic than any doctor I've ever seen, damn, any person I've ever seen. They are not wearing gloves or masks, their uniforms are light and skintight, equipped with backpacks, and they have stars embroidered on the short sleeves of their uniforms as the military would.

I'm overruled by the desire to escape, to sneak out and hide, to protect myself from them, the same feeling I've had with every hospital I've ever been to, at least that's the same.

My head is pounding, my muscles are stiff, I feel rusty, like a machine left in the backyard, trying to start again.

Strangers come to my aid, nurses approaching rapidly with surprise written all over their faces as they see me trying to get up. A tall black man with thick dreads supports the nape of my neck so I can actually sit up straight while a woman with a square jaw and big brown eyes cleans my face with a damp cloth. My hair is everywhere, I'm sure, a big bush of curls and knots, I'm wearing a simple white cotton dress that's at least 3 times my size, my arms are wrapped in gauze from my wrists to my shoulders, the tips of my fingers and my nails are black.

My lower lip trembles, I'm so confused, so scared, so tired, I'm so afraid I'll fall asleep again, I'm mumbling, I'm begging them to keep me awake, keep me here. Tears are streaming down my face, I hadn't even noticed.

They are all talking at the same time, they are running in various directions, gathering around me, stepping away from me, I'm too overwhelmed to make out the words at first until I actually try to listen to it.

"She's a liability, Taehyung has to know that."

"Someone already sent for Jk"

"We should bind her until Yoongi gets here"

"Give her a small dose, that should keep her calm..."

They want to drug me, they want to contain me, they want to put me to sleep again. I won't allow it, I will not sleep again, I will not sleep again, I will not sleep again, I will not sleep again, I will not sleep again, I will not sleep again, I will not sleep again.

I push their hands away from my face, I swing my arms to get them away from me and when square-jaw woman jumps back as if my touch is poisonous, she gives me the breach I need.

I throw myself forward, hissing in pain at the movement at the same time as my fingers wrap around my intended target. A large metal syringe with a sharp cannula on a metal table close to my bed.

I raise it in front of me, swinging wildly at the nurses in violent arcs so they keep their distance. I am sure I look deranged, I'm bearing my teeth at them, my eyes move at light speed to capture every single movement around me, they are telling me to be calm, they are telling me to drop it, they are telling me they don't want to hurt me and I want to tell them to go to hell.

The room has exploded into chaos, naturally. More of the strange nurses are pouring through the front doors, more are gathering around me, some are getting courageous and taking unsure steps in my direction, and the yelling is driving me crazy.

-Stay the fuck away from me! -I scream back and it's no request, I ruthlessly scrape a man's hand when he tries to step forward, blood immediately drips from the laceration.

The crowd opens before me to reveal a man, the voices die in an instant, as if someone upplugged a speaker, and a mortal silence falls upon us.

His arms are crossed in front of his chest.

I gulp.

For a moment, nothing is as real as his eyes on me, the curve of his neck to his shoulders, the ink running down his arms. He is big: large shoulders, a broad chest and a face that seems sculpted in stone. Thick black hair, curling slightly at his ears, sharp eyebrows framing slit black eyes, as dark as a starless night, his face is nothing but angles and cruelty.

His beauty is a tyranny in itself.

What am I doing? What is happening to me?

If he noticed my distraction, he didn't show it. He takes confident steps in my direction, I swing the syringe in warning, and something that looks awfully like fun dances in his eyes. He doesn't slow down nor seems to mind my threats and, one moment he's standing right there and the other he has my right arm twisted behind me, one large hand sprawled on my back, forcing me down on the bed, the other holding my wrist at such an agonizing angle my hand is forced open.

My weapon slips from me, falls to the bed, one of the nurses is quick to retrieve it.

-A house filled with warriors, and yet you are trembling at the sight of a skimpy mundane. -His voice, that voice, the one that makes my hair stand in fear cuts the air, he practically spits that word, mundane. -You all disappoint me terribly.

I grunt and I try to fight his hold on me but it's useless, he doesn't move an inch, it's like being squashed by a rock. I'm panting, saliva dripping from my exposed teeth into the bed as I viciously try to shake him off, I manage to peek at the nurses and they look terrified, frozen in place with pale faces.

-Let go of me!

-Brother! -Tae breaks the crowd, the man that was holding me lets go as he reaches us, Tae’s hands on my shoulders, my neck, moving my unruly hair out of my face to find my eyes. -How is that... You are awake!

I try to catch my breath, my cheeks are burning, my right arm hurts from being twisted.-Pull your shits together! -The man addresses the crowd, raw frustration dripping from his tone, he steps out and in front of us, his back is to me and I'm shooting daggers at it with my eyes. -And keep sharp objects out of reach... before she overrules this place with a scalpel.

He scoffs and people practically jump out of his way as he walks away from the commotion in long, confident strides, not sparring me a second look.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

3. Fortified in Pain

At first, I was falling.

Dropping endlessly into darkness, my stomach turning, my hands cold with fear.

Then I fell long enough to lose my sense of gravity, to grow used to the fall, to forget if I was falling or rising.

It doesn’t feel like it will ever stop.

Then I’m pinned in space, floating.

And in comes the pain. It sometimes goes away, retreating like a wave, only to crash through me stronger each time. it starts at my heart and crawls under my skin to my hands and feet, as if my blood has turned into thick goo, scalding my veins, draining my forces.

At times I feel nothing at all, and the quietness scares me. 

It's useless to try to move. My head is disconnected from my limbs, they no longer belong to me but to this strange space I am trapped in.

But out of all the things—the movement, the stillness, the pain, and the quiet—the worst were the nightmares.

So real, so palpable, so true to my memory I question if I've turned back time.

***

My small feet crush the dirty snow on the pavement, these boots are too old, too worn to keep me warm, it doesn't help that my right hand is wrapped in gauze into a ball that doesn't fit a glove, my fingertips are freezing.

I keep a steady pace, avoiding eye contact with the adults rushing to work, the mothers with children in carriages, workers unloading trucks and opening shops, getting ready for the day.

I'm 10 years old, seeing the world from a shorter point of view again.

There was an incident at the convent last night—another crisis—with powerful hallucinations. My burned hand still hurts. As easily as I can slip into everyday life outside, I’m not as lucky inside the convent. The nuns and the girls kept staring at me as if I were carrying a deadly contagious disease, and who am I to judge them? It is, after all, not normal for a child to bury their hand in fresh ashes because the fireplace “called” to them.

But judgment aside, I was eager to get away this morning.

The public library is not far, just 4 blocks ahead.

It's winter break so the city dances to a relaxing tune of children spending their afternoons in snow-covered playgrounds, public servants hanging Christmas decorations in squares, and religious youth groups on door duty collecting donations.

This is a mainly residential area, with only a couple of coffee shops and convenience stores to keep the streets busy. The next block holds a private all-boys boarding school, a giant red bricks building with a large lawn around it, delimited by a short metal fence separating the grass from the sidewalk.

I usually take a longer route so I don't have to pass it on my way to the library, but at this time of year the students have gone home for holidays and it's mostly empty.

I make the first turn around the building before I notice there are some boys grouped close to the side of the school, they are wearing heavy navy blue winter clothes, the institution's insignia sewn in their chests.

Guess I spoke too soon.

Some are pushing each other and laughing, tossing a ball around. Others—a little older, taller—sit on a bench beneath a bare tree a few steps ahead, smoking and wearing that lazy posture only a teenager can have, the kind that comes from believing they’re far cooler than the rest of the world for breaking the rules.

I lower my gaze as much as possible, focusing on my hurried steps on the wet pavement.

-Yeah I’ve seen her before… Hey you!

A shiver runs down my spine, freezing me in place, I don't raise my head, I hold my breath for a quick second.

-Yeah, you, come here! -I make the mistake of looking, one of the boys on the bench, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips, he's tall and scrawny, face red and sprinkled with puberty signs, he stares right at me, a lazy smile growing on his expression as he senses my anxiety. -Where you going?

Shark sensing blood.

I don't reply, I just tighten my grip on my backpack's strap.

He leans forward, kicking his long legs in front of him to get up, throwing the cigarette butt out on the snow, the fire dies with a tiny hiss.

The rest of the kids stop playing, heads turning with curious eyes. He seems like the leader of the pack.

-I said come here, are you deaf or sum’? -He's approaching slowly, the other boys on the bench let out unsure laughs, clearly desperate for his approval but scared to miss the timing, they don't want to get on his bad side. -You are one of the convent girls right?

He doesn't sound entertained anymore, he's impatient, annoyed, mean, mean in a way only rejected, insecure boys are. Like a scared dog, barking and biting at everything, desperate to be seen as though. Malice is oozing off his pores. He can’t be older than 15, but again, I’m 10.

-I... I just...

-"I, I, J-Just" -He mocks, reaches the fence that separates us, the others are approaching to watch this shitshow. -You are one of them! I didn't think they let livestock wander around on weekends.

Shame rushes blood to my face, my wounded hand trembles so I hide it behind my back.

-What do you want? -I muster the courage, his eyebrows shoot up, the boys exchange a nervous look among themselves.

Hold your tongue Y/N, hold your tongue.

-Oh so you do know how to talk! I was beginning to think you were retarded or something. -His laugh encourages the others to join, belittling me into a ball of nausea. -So? Where are you going?

The minions get a little bold, chiming in with "Yeah freak, where you going?", "she’s a slow one".

There are four in front of me, three more are approaching from where they were playing.

-Going to... the library. -I contemplate lying but what would the point be? He just wants to play macho in front of his peers, best I bite back my attitude and hope the answer bores him enough to lose interest.

-The library? -His tone carries a little bit of disgust at the thought of books, maybe he's so dumb that words scare him, I tie my tongue before I ask if he even knows how to read. -What? They won't let you read anything other than the Bible down there?

-What's going on? -Asks a boy a little behind, walking quickly towards the group. I look at him, he is a little shorter than the leader but taller than the rest, though clearly younger, maybe thirteen.

He has shining straight black hair, a little wild from the winter wind, and almond eyes that make him look like a puppy, thin face, button nose red from the cold.

He alternates his gaze between me and the leader, putting his gloves in his pockets slowly.

-'M just having a chat with the nun here. -The leader says, not taking his eyes off me, like a coyote looking at a rabbit, in one quick motion he propels over the fence and lands in front of me, I take a step back, and my lower lip betrays me by trembling.

The second boy also jumps over, approaching quickly, he steps in between us, placing a hand on the leader's shoulder.

-Hey man, not cool, let it be, she's just walking. -His back is to me so I can't see his face, but his voice is stern, chastising even, my heart reaches my throat.

Energy shifts way too quickly, they are no longer laughing or addressing me. I should use the opportunity and make a sprint for it.

-What the fuck you on about Kim? I told you I'm just talking to her, get the fuck off my face. -Says the leader, eyebrows furrowed in anger. The boy, Kim, doesn't budge, he's using his body to hide me as best as he can.

-She's a kid Connor, and she's scared, that's enough, you got what you wanted right? Now stop bothering her. -He's louder now, irritated, throwing himself off the thin line of veiled suggestion into the open sea of blatant threat.

Oh God, please shut up, please stop winding him up.

-Stop being a cunt Kim, you just got here and you wanna act like you are tough shit? -The taller one pushes him, he slams into me and I nearly trip on the snow, my hands instantly grabbing his coat to keep steady. Though off balance, he doesn't cower, puffing his chest. -What? Is the freak your little girlfriend? This is none of your business.

The other boys are tense, they were not ready for the disagreement and are clearly waiting for the assertion of power within their group, their eyes shift rapidly between the two boys.

There's silence for a second and I bite the inside of my cheek, something I do whenever I'm jittery. Maybe he's nervous too, scared too, maybe he's breaking under pressure, I want to run but I can't bring myself to abandon him with the consequences of defending me, but I'm also too much of a coward to intervene.

He sucks in a breath, I can't see his expression.

-Why don't you go fuck yourself huh Connor?

Well shit...

The boys eyes are as big as sausages on their faces, Connor's mouth is wide open in shock.

-What did you just say to me you little shit? -He looks around, looking for reassurance, checking if the power dynamic hasn't changed.

Don't say anything else, please, shut up, shut up, shut up!

I nervously pull the back of his coat, he puts a hand behind his back to grab my wrist.

-What I've been meaning to say all year. Fuck you, pussy-ass bitch, why don't you pick on someone your size?

Everything happens in accelerated mode, Connor takes a step towards him at the same time as Kim launches forward, striking a lousy punch to the taller's nose. Blood immediately gushes on his face, Kim hisses and shakes his hand, the punch so amateur it hurt his thumb.

In one second the minions are screaming and jumping over the fence, the next I'm sprinting into the street, Kim dragging me by the wrist, I'm struggling to keep pace with his longer legs, unable to catch my breath from the shock.

We run at full speed, turning one block after another with the angry screams following behind us, the threats of what they will do when they catch us getting lost in the freezing air that burns my lungs.

We run and run until he forcefully pulls me behind a black van parked by a flower shop. He covers my mouth as the group of boys makes the corner, they shout at each other, passing by us without noticing and heading to the next street, Connor with a murderous look on his bloody face.

We fall on our butts, panting against the car, sweat making our faces cold, wide eyes as we stare at each other.

Then he bursts into laughter, a laugh so genuine and full of relief that I can't contain mine. He finally reaches a hand out to me.

-I’m Kim Seokjin, you can call me Jin!

I shake his hand and offer him a shy smile. He looks so beautiful with flushed cheeks and that dimpled smile.

-Y/N… Aren’t they going to see you at school anyways? Why did you do that? 

-Ah, it was worth it. -He dismisses with a bright smile. 

For one moment, everything is so genuinely nice I can't comprehend it. I'm so used to being ignored or made fun of that I can't fathom the idea that this stranger just backed me up, and for no reason at all other than... Empathy? The concept is so wild to me.

I can feel something tying us together, wrapping its strings around us. Friendship, loyalty... Love.

I think that was the moment I fell in love with him, but I was too young and traumatized to acknowledge it.

Everything is great, warm and happy, truly happy for a second.

And then one boy pops his head to look in between the two cars and I'm forced to watch my new friend, my only friend at the time, get beat up into a bloody pulp.

And I'm screaming, I'm screaming at the top of my lungs for them to stop, my heart breaking at every punch and kick. 

But they don't stop until he's immobile on the asphalt and I'm crying my eyes out on top of him, trying to shield the only good person I've ever known.

It was all my fault. 

***

I try so hard to open my eyes. It's like my eyelashes are glued together, I feel as if my entire body is covered in cement.

Hushed voices speak around me. Sounds passing right over my head.

-We don't know if she'll turn, she has been able to keep the stimulant, she's tougher than she looks. -I know this voice, a flash of bright brown eyes crosses my mind.

Another male speaks in the same muffled tone.

-Tae we have to be realistic, it's not looking good, you and I both...

I grunt, cause my head weighs a million pounds and I can't move a single muscle, the bright lights are burning my eyes, everything is blurry.

Conversation dies, they must have noticed me cause the room grows significantly darker, as if someone closed the blinds. Something brushes my left hand but I can't react to the touch, it's as if my body is tied to this bed by invisible chains.

Pain hits me all at once. So hard. So fucking hard.

I think I'm screaming, I can't say for sure, the sounds that leave me are so raw and guttural they don't feel human. I break in sweat, I'm drenched in it in seconds, and my skin is on fire with a million needles sinking into my flesh. I cry and cry and cry and cry until I can't cry anymore, this body is a torture chamber, being alive is a curse.

For one second I get to breathe again, one delicious second when the pain fades only slightly.

Those eyes are staring at me with concern, so much engraved in them, so filled with what almost looks like fear.

He's at my side, his hand is on mine.

-Please kill me... -I beg as I feel the pain growing, withdrawing, gathering inside me like the retreating waves of a forming tsunami. My voice is a broken whisper, heavy with despair.

He shakes his head, closing his eyes for a torturous moment, so much sympathy in those eyes.

-I'm afraid I can't do that, Sunshine. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry I can't kill you, I'm sorry I can't free you of this torture.

-Give her another dose! -He barks at someone, his hand doesn't leave mine.

-Tae, we can't, she's gonna burn out... -The man he spoke to earlier responds, he's not as collected as he was previously.

-Now! Give it to her now! -He insists, not a shadow of the gentle man that held me at the bloody garden, his deep voice thundering through the room.

I hear running and doors opening and people screaming at each other, I hear glass vials and metal, then loud steps, the noises soften, and my hard breathing fills the room.

The energy of the room has changed, I try to look but I can't.

-So, there you are. -The softest, most menacing voice I've ever heard in my life speaks and I know he's referring to me, but I can't see him. -Don't give her any more, she'll have to survive without it.

-Brother! -The brown-eyed man, Tae, lets out a pleading cry. -She's in too much pain, she won't make it without it!

-She will. -The voice makes every single hair on my body stand, and my fight or flight instinct kicks in telling me to run, ironic that the only time I want to listen to it, I can't. -She'll do without it, or she's not worth saving in the first place.

His word is final, Tae stares at me, death sentence written all over his face.

The barricade inside me bursts, and pain explodes throughout my body, the wave destroying everything in its path, all logic and rationality in my being, expelling me back to that void limbo I’ve been trapped in for days. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

2. Tainted in Blood

Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run.

I have to  scream. I want to. I can’t.

This building is full of people—people in danger, fire is spreading, they have to escape.

Morgan is dead.

Morgan is dead. Morgan is dead. Morgan is dead. Morgan is dead. Morgan is dead. Morgan is dead. Morgan is dead. Morgan is dead.

I feel like I'm trapped in a nightmare, running through endless halls that stretch on forever. Time feels frozen, yet everything is happening too fast to comprehend. The walls blur into streaks of color and shifting shadows. My legs burn as I reach the main staircase in the darkness. It’s a miracle I don’t lose control and tumble down.

My chest aches—I’ve been holding my breath for too long. My knees buckle with every step. I’m going to pass out.

I can’t pass out. For the love of God, don’t pass out.

I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood, the pain yanking me back to reality. I don’t know where I’m going. Above me, its claws tear through the wooden floors.

Then, like a lighthouse piercing through a storm, a thought anchors me: The north wing. I have to reach the back of the convent—the oldest part of the building, where the walls are still carved stone. The hallways there are too narrow for it to follow me.

I can't afford the luxury of hesitation. Every second counts.

I hear its massive body drop to the first floor with earth-shattering force, obliterating furniture on its way down. I jump over a fallen bookcase, nearly slipping on the loose paper scattered on the floor.

I have maybe 5 seconds before it turns and finds me.

I can see the door to the north wing. Oxygen burns in my lungs. My wet clothes constrict every joint, heavy as chains. My heart is about to explode when my hands reach the door.

In the split second it takes to stop, turn the knob, and pull open what might be my only chance of survival—

It sees me.

The beast lunges, covering the distance between us in an instant.

I throw myself forward into the dark hallway. Something touches my back, a searing line of fire cutting through my skin following the line of my spine. The force sends me rolling, limbs flailing until I crash against the far wall. My head slams into stone with a sickening thud.

Stars explode in my vision. The world is upside down.

I’m lightheaded, vomit rises at the back of my throat.

Move. Move. Move. You have to keep running, get up, get up, get up!

The voices in my head blare like catastrophe alarms but my body is shutting down. I blink furiously, trying to clear the black spots clouding my sight, it  sharpens just enough to see—

I was right. The hallways are too narrow.

The creature is stuck where wood turns to stone, one monstrous arm reaching for me, claws scraping at the floor like a cat trying to catch a rat in a hole.

Stupid. Raw. Human relief washes over me for one full second.

That’s all I get.

Because then I hear it. The sound of cracking bone. Of crumbling stone.

It’s breaking its own shoulders to fit through. It will stop at nothing.

With sheer brute force, it claws its way in, smashing through the thick walls.

A violent sob rips from my chest. Strength drains from my limbs. I slam my hands against the wall behind me, forcing myself upright. My gaze flickers left, then right. The hallways are identical.

I don’t know what to do.

I don’t know what to do.

I don’t—

The creature howls.

The sound is not of this world. It’s like a vortex to hell—filled with the screams of a million tortured souls.

The garden.

The back garden. If I can make it outside, I’ll have an open field, I know it like the back of my hand, I can find a place to hide. The narrow walls will slow it down just long enough for me to climb the metal gates.

I’ve done it a million times before.

I’m soaked to the bone. I’ll have minutes before I freeze to death—That is, if I even make it outside.

I don’t have time to think of the faults in my plan.

My legs finally obey me but I don’t feel like I’m in control anymore—and that’s good. Instinct has turned me into a missile, fueled by adrenaline and the desperate need to survive.

I sprint down the left hallway.

Behind me, the beast crashes through the first set of doors.

It’s moving slower, but not slow enough.

It won’t stop until it catches me.

One turn.

Two.

I cut through a pitch-black sitting room, muscle memory guiding me. Needles of fear prick my spine. Another hallway—darker, colder. More stone.

Stone is good.

Stone can’t burn.

Stone might save me.

Then—moonlight.

I see the glass doors ahead, silvery light spilling through in soft beams. 

The anxiety clawing at my throat tells me its talons are inches from my back, just one step away.

Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please.

A lock.

A giant, metal lock clamps around the handles of the doors.

No.

Fear surges through me, drowning me, suffocating me, the sense that all it’s lost and it was all for nothing.

There’s no other way.

I close my eyes and brace for impact, closing my arms tight to my ears .

Then I collide.

Momentum and raw desperation give me the courage to throw my body at full speed through the doors.

Glass explodes, wood splinters.

I crash into the snow and the cold slams into me like a freight train.

Jagged lacerations tear through my skin, my side burning from the cuts and shards deep in my skin—

But I’m outside.

I’m alive.

For now.

A large wood shard is lodged at my side, blood splashes against the white snow, I wheeze, I don’t know if it punctured anything but it feels impossible to take in a full breath, like there’s cotton in my lungs. .

I'm crying. I can't control it, I can't do this, I can't. Morgan told me to run, she's dead upstairs, I tried, I tried, I tried, I tried, I tried, I tried, I tried, I tried, I tried, I tried, I tried, I tried, I tried, I tried, I tried, I tried, I...

I'm going to die.

Raw realization hits me at the same time as the beast pounces, landing its gigantic paws on either side of my form, towering. blocking the moon and the sky and the stars, a mountain about to collapse on top of me, burying me forever in this spot.

An indistinguishable form of rotten skin and razor-sharp fangs clicking, the sound making the earth quake under me.

I've had a lifetime of abandonment and fear and now I'll die the same despicable way, it was worth nothing, my life was worth nothing, violence will be my grave and sorrow will be my tombstone. Fuck it, fuck this, fuck this world, fuck thinking I could be sparred, fuck thinking I was worth a miracle.

I never got to tell him. Jin. And now I never will.

It's dripping on me, Morgan's blood, it's dripping from the beast's mouth into my face, I’m spitting it out, mixed with tears and bile.

What was I running for? What was I trying to save at that moment?

"It was nothing more than the animalistic instinct of survival" rings the voices in my head, I won't admit—even in my last moments—that there was a weak and naive part of me that believed that if I made it to the other side of that gate I would find myself a life worth living. Worth surviving to see.

It's that same part of me that lets out a broken cry, so tiny I don't recognize my voice.

I was never religious, but I’m going to die anyway, so might as well.

-God…

The scream that was previously caught up in my throat breaks free as the monster sinks its fangs into my flesh, striking pain turns the world into a white empty canvas.

My arms in its mouth are the only thing keeping its dagger-like fangs from ripping my head right off. My shoulders pop out of their sockets with my weight the moment I'm raised in the air, swung like a ragdoll, my own blood swashes my chest as the creature stands on its back legs to use its front legs to gut me in half.

Suddenly, I'm free-falling, landing at an absurd angle, my head hits the ground.

For a second I can’t tell if I’m alive or dead, sounds hit my ears as if I’m underwater.  

The creature was slammed by a flash of white, something roaring, a blur almost indistinguishable from the snow surrounding us. 

It's only seconds before the monster gets up from where it was thrown, eyes glowing with even more fury, but the white thing, that creature, it moves as quick as a lightning bolt, like a spirit, I can't follow the movement.

Neither can the beast.

They are a mess of talons and fangs and claws and white fur and black blood, I'm about to lose conscience. This can't be happening, this can't be real, it has to be some kind of hallucination.

The world grows quiet, I don't know if it's because the fight is over, my blood pressure is dropping too quickly, or because I'm dead, but I'm grateful for it. If this is the peace that comes with it, I'm glad I'm dead. I want to look at the sky one last time.

It feels like hours have come and gone and I'm staring into nothingness, the black sky above, the lack of stars, the moon pinned to darkness, staring back at me as if calling.

I zone in and out, blinking slowly until I'm met with a set of warm—impossibly bright—brown eyes on a blood-stained face. A man. A man with golden hair and silk skin. His hands are on me, supporting my neck up, shaking my limp body.

-Hang in there for me, just a little longer, ok sunshine? Hang in there, everything is fine now, I got you.

His baritone voice is so unique I would be glad if it was the last thing I’ve ever heard, but there’s no time to praise it as my body finally gives up, my eyes roll to the back of my head and I fall into blissful oblivion.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

1. Forged in Flames

Everything is burning.

It's so fucking hot—everywhere. Even my thoughts seem to be mushed into a steaming soup, I can't make out the right contents of it.

Sweat trickles down my back, soaking into the already moldy mattress that smells god awful. Strands of my hair stick to my forehead, a tangled, damp mess that can only be described as a bird’s nest.

I’d give anything to be outside right now, my face buried in the six inches of snow covering the back garden. I’d do it naked, too—just lie there, waiting for the heat to drain out of me, staying until my skin turns red and peels off from frostbite.

My heavy panting competes with the wind outside. Winter howls against the bare trees and dirty windows of this sad excuse for a building. It must have been impressive when it was first built, a billion years ago, all rough stone and dark wood.

Hell, I’d bet Jesus walked the earth while it was already in need of repairs.

A sob claws its way up my throat. I try to swallow it back, but it won’t go. I kick and turn for what feels like the hundredth time. 

It’s not just the fever making me restless.

It’s the fact that I feel like shit while everyone’s out. Including Morgan. 

Not that I miss her much right now.

No, she’d be all over me, forcing her disgusting organic tea down my throat, lighting incense, rubbing crystals on my forehead or some shit like that. Sweet, sure, but I’m not in the mood for her "trust the universe, and the universe will heal you naturally" bullshit. If I had the strength, I’d dump every antibiotic in the house into a smoothie and chug it.

But it’s not Morgan’s absence making my heart ache.

It’s Jin’s.

And, as always, it’s my fault he’s not here.

If I had told him I felt like my brain was melting, like my heart was pumping boiling oil through my veins, he’d be here in a second. But I can’t bring myself to do it.

Especially because he’s on a date right now, one he was excited for.

A date with a tall, blonde, not-disgustingly-sick woman who works in STEM. A woman who’s probably holding his hands over the gloves I gave him. A woman who will soon decorate her living room with the flowers I helped him pick out. A woman who must be making him smile—that smile. The one that makes his eyes wrinkle.

The anger doesn’t help with the fever.

Why am I even angry? Do I even have the right to be?

Of course not.

I did this to myself. If I wasn’t such a fucking coward, I would have admitted my feelings sooner. If not to him, then at least to myself. But no—I lied, I resisted, until it became obvious that Jin saw me as nothing more than a friend. A younger sister, even. The thought of anything else would probably disgust him.

Maybe it should disgust me, too, but it doesn’t. It really fucking doesn’t.

We grew up together. Shared every hardship, every joy. We leaned on each other too many nights to count. I watched every one of his firsts, close enough to bear witness but never close enough to be the one living them with him.

He hasn’t texted in three hours. The date must be going well.

God, I hope she dies.

Okay, that was psychotic. I need to deal with this fever.

I push myself up, and the world tilts violently. My vision blurs the second my back leaves the mattress, my head spinning so fast it feels like my brain might slosh right out of my skull. I bite the inside of my cheek, squeeze my eyes shut, and count the seconds until the room decides to stay still.

My throat feels like I swallowed a handful of gravel, raw and scraped from the inside. My lips are cracked, and I’m sure my voice sounds like plastic being dragged across a cheese grater.

Still, I force myself to move.

Getting up is a struggle, but I manage, wobbling my way to the dresser before I have to stop again to regain my balance. The cold wood under my bare feet is a relief, and for a second, I seriously consider just lying on the floor for a few hours.

But moving helps. At least I feel less like a damp rag left to rot on the bed.

I make it to the hallway.

Halfway down the stairs, the door to my right swings open, and a group of girls spills into the living room, their laughter echoing through the walls. Their faces are flushed from the cold as they yank off hats and gloves, still buzzing from whatever fun they had outside.

Morgan is ahead of the group.

Her blonde hair is a windblown mess, her nose red from the chill, and she’s grinning at something one of the older girls just said.

I freeze on the step like a deer in headlights.

It’s something I hate about myself—fuck a fight or flight, my brain short-circuits and I just freeze, like a baby goat.

Our eyes meet and her smile falters. 

Her gaze drops to my body, widening at the sight of me standing there in nothing but training shorts and a tank top—at -8°C.

The other girls notice me now. Their expressions range from mild shock to the usual barely-contained indifference, all the way to full-on disgust from the girl at the far left.

The conversation dies too quickly.

I should say something. Anything. But my mind goes blank, and we just… stare at each other in excruciating silence.

Morgan clears her throat.

-Oh, sweetie, what are you wearing? You must be freezing!

She’s already climbing the steps toward me, unraveling her scarf and wrapping it around my neck before I can protest. The second she’s close enough, her brows knit together.

-Are you feeling okay? You look a little green.

"She doesn’t mean to sound so condescending," I tell myself, but it doesn’t help. Not when I can hear the other girls barely holding back their giggles. Not when they already look at me like I’m some kind of dementia patient.

I force out a reply. 

-I’m fine, Mor, seriously. I was just gonna grab something for my fever.

Her face hardens with concern. 

-Why didn’t you tell me you had a fever? I wouldn’t have left if I knew! -She starts ushering me back up the stairs before I can stop her, talking a mile a minute. -No, go lie down. I’ll make you some tea. And I have honey biscuits left, I think. They should be on my nightstand. Oh! And we might still have some basil…"

Her bracelets and earrings jingle as she moves, spinning me around, guiding me away from the other girls and the shame crawling up my spine.

-No, no, Mor, really, please— -I try to argue, but it’s useless.

She’s already made up her mind.

After a long back and forth, we strike a deal—she’ll get me actual medicine from the kitchen cabinet if I take her tea without complaining.

Morgan and I don’t have much in common. But if there’s anyone in this building I’d consider a friend, it’s her.

I’ve struggled with mental health issues my whole life, and the rumors have ensured that most of the girls here either see me as a freak or a charity case they’d rather not involve themselves with. Not that everyone is outright cruel. Most of them just… don’t care. And the indifference is mutual.

Officially, this place is a convent.

It’s run by a large group of nuns who offer religious studies and shelter alike, a safe haven for girls with nowhere else to go. Some are here against their will, forced by their conservative families. Others are here because they genuinely believe they’re God’s chosen ones.

And then, there are girls like Morgan and I.

Orphans. Runaways. Outcasts. The ones who were simply abandoned.

Morgan is one of the runaways. Her kind personality hides a turbulent past with alcoholic parents and more pain than she ever lets on. Maybe that’s why she warmed up to me so quickly.

She’s seen enough messed-up shit to recognize it in someone else.

Morgan became my roommate three years ago. She’s never seen me at my worst, never witnessed a full-blown crisis, but she doesn’t buy into the rumors either. She’s polite, friendly, even though we don’t spend much time together outside of sleeping in the same room. Still, it’s good having her around.

Neither of us gets involved in the convent’s religious activities. We’re just here for the dorms, paying our way by helping the sisters with chores a few days a week and picking up regular jobs to cover our own expenses. Unlike most of the girls, we don’t benefit from the city’s donations.

I’m what they call a dropout.

I’ve lived here as long as I can remember, too young to recall a life outside these walls. When I dig through my mind, the only fragments I find beyond this place are of a woman—a stranger, really. She used to pick me up or look down at me, her face expressionless, maybe even annoyed. No warmth. No words. I don’t know what her voice sounds like. If she walked past me on the street today, I wouldn’t recognize her.

But I remember her eyes.

Pale, icy blue. Ringed with fine lines and dark circles. Exhausted. No motherly love there.

I must be getting delirious. My mind keeps slipping into useless thoughts. Maybe the fever is actually frying my brain cells.

Morgan finally returns. She probably got caught up talking in the hallway, but I was too out of it to make out her voice from the white noise outside.

I’m sprawled on my bed, eyes shut, breathing hard. She tried to cover me earlier, and I almost kicked her in the chin.

She helps me sit up, pressing two pills into my left hand and a cup of steaming, blood-colored tea into my right. The pills? No hesitation—I pop them in and swallow. The tea?

God, that’s foul.

But a promise is a promise. Even if it might kill me.

I drink the whole thing without complaining, though nothing was said about glaring daggers at Morgan the entire time. Every gulp burns like alcohol on an open wound.

-Y/N, it blows my mind that you didn’t think to call me! -She scolds, hands on her hips. -And I know this is weird coming from me, but why the hell didn’t you go to the hospital already?

I sigh. 

-I don’t own a car. And I can’t afford another hospital bill.

I’ve racked up enough of those to consider myself permanently buried in debt.

-Well, Jin? Why didn’t he give you a ride?

I don’t look her in the eyes when I mumble back.

-He’s on a date… -Morgan’s eyes widen in a “you have got to be shitting me” kind of way. Suddenly, my own feet become fascinating. -Plus, most roads are closed. It’s been snowing all day.

A tiny beep sounds from under my armpit. I pull out the thermometer, and Morgan leans in to check the reading.

She doesn’t even blink. 

-Well, either that thing’s broken or you have about five seconds left to live, any last words?

-I dare you to find something in this place that actually works. -I toss it onto the nightstand and collapse back onto the bed. -It’s probably older than I am.

Morgan paces the room, her expression tight, the wheels in her head turning.

-Okay. Let’s give it some time. If the fever doesn’t break, we’ll figure something out. I’ll blackmail Jaden for a ride or something.

She sounds confident, decisive. I’m too grateful for her concern to mention that I’d rather gnaw off my own foot than share a car with her ex-boyfriend.

Eventually, she settles into her routine, distracted by last-minute homework. The room is bathed in the warm orange glow of our shared study lamp. The pills start kicking in, dulling the fever’s grip, making it easier to breathe. The soft rustle of turning pages and the scratch of pen on paper lull me into an exhausted sleep—despite it barely being 8 p.m.

I manage four hours before the fever rips me back to consciousness.

It’s worse this time. So much worse. Like my body is punishing me for daring to fight it off.

I wheeze uncontrollably, hands trembling, vision blurring as I search the dark for Morgan. She’s sound asleep in her bed, eight feet away, oblivious.

I have to do something or I’ll combust.

One thought rises above the fevered haze: a shower. A cold shower.

I drag myself to the shared bathrooms at the end of the hall. Technically, we’re not supposed to be awake past curfew, let alone taking showers, but slivers of light slip from under closed doors. If the nuns want to scold me, they’ll have to go through every other girl before they find me curled up under the freezing water.

And that’s exactly what I do.

I don’t bother undressing. I step under the showerhead and turn the knob allowing the first burst of ice-cold water to steal my breath, paralyzing me. Time halts. Sound vanishes. The world shrinks to nothing but my body—skin tightening, heart skipping erratically, blood thundering in my ears.

I see stars.

Fucking hell…

I wrap my arms around myself, forehead pressed to the tile, forcing out slow breaths. My clothes cling like a weighted vest, heavy and suffocating. I stay until my fingers turn stiff and blue. There’s no scenario where I don’t get pneumonia after this.

Brilliant.

I didn’t bring a towel or a change of clothes. I shiver in my own puddle, staring into the mirror.

The girl looking back at me looks—and feels— like a sewer rat.

On a good day, I’d call myself pretty, but pretty in the way a girl is. Not a woman.

No round curves, no striking angles, no feline grace. Just puffy cheeks, big brown eyes and the body of a stick figure. 

If I was being honest, the things I liked most about myself were my curly hair and full lips, and that’s because they were Jin’s favourite things about me.

And his opinion matters. More than I want to admit.

Right now, my lips are purple, my eyes are hollow, my skin is as thin as paper. But at least I’m no longer on the brink of death.

I have no choice but to sneak back to my dorm, dripping wet, stupidly trying to tiptoe so I don’t soak the wooden floors.

A faint crackling noise comes from inside my room.

Warm orange light spills beneath the door. Morgan must be awake, wondering where I went.

The doorknob is oddly warm in my palm, maybe my fingers are just too cold.

I push the door open—

—And the smell hits me.

It slams into my gut, Wrenches bile into my throat. It’s thick, cloying, repulsive.

Like sulfur. Rot. Decay.

It burns my nostrils, floods my lungs, makes my eyes sting with instant tears.

No time to process. No time to think.

The heat swallows me whole.

I don’t understand at first. My vision swims in yellow and red, flickering, shifting. Then reality registers—too late.

It’s not my face burning. It’s not my body.

It’s the room.

The room is on fire.

Flames crawl up the wooden walls, devour the carpet, lick the ceiling. The air snaps and roars with it, alive, breathing.

Terror rushes through my veins, rooting me to the spot.

Then I see it.

A hulking mass in the flames. Bone-white irises with slit pupils. A mouth that isn’t a mouth—just a gaping, jagged gash from one side of its face to the other, rows of needle-sharp teeth jutting from rotting flesh, a black sack of muscles the size of a minivan seated at the bed.

It’s drenched in blood.

Morgan’s blood.

I find her eyes. Wide. Horrified. Dead.

She hangs limply, impaled, blood gushing from her mouth, her neck, the massive claw spearing through her stomach.

Her head tilts at an impossible, unnatural angle.

The sounds—God, the sounds. The wet, choking gurgles.

I have to do something. I have to—

But I don’t move.

I can’t move.

The beast lowers her onto the wreckage of the bed, its shoulders spreading, its body coiling. Preparing to launch.

Morgan’s lips part.

A whisper.

Three letters. One command. One last breath.

“Run.”

The monster lunges.

The world blurs into motion.

Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run.  ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*