act like an angel and dress like crazy~

You let out a giggle, reminiscing the why you had been punished to clean the Room of Requirement. Which, yes, it is as stupid as it sounds. The great idea for such a useless task had been of the defence against the dark arts professor, who hates both you and Scorpious.

“At least it was fun.”

“Yeah,” he replies, a smug smirk on his face, probably just as proud of you about your mischief. “It is always fun until the punishment comes, and you find yourself cleaning a room this damn dirty.”

“Well, at least we’re together,” you say sweeping the floor.

The silence makes you turn to Nathaniel. You find him staring at you, a shy smile on his lips. “Yes, that’s nice,” he confesses to your surprise. “Until I remember it’s your fault we’re here.” Oh, yeah - that’s more like him.

You instantly open your mouth exaggeratedly, pretending to be offended, but you know him all too well to know he is not serious. 

“That is rude, Malfoy. Very rude.” You take advantage when he shakes his head smiling to throw your broom at him. 

“Ow! You absolute idiot.” He starts to chase you, so you take off running as you both laugh. “Come here, Lovegood.”

You keep running, out of breath, until you see a door. You sprint to it and close yourself inside the room it takes to. 

You hold the door when your friend begins banging on it.

“You can try to hide,” he said in between laughs. “But you won’t be able to escape me. Let alone this punishment.” 

“Shut up, you are crazy.” Lucky you, you find a locker in the door. You are quick to seal yourself in the room. And once you are safe, you turn to watch the place. 

A big trunk catches your attention. “Oh, there is stuff here,” you yell so he can hear.

“Really?”

“Yes, and it looks old. I will investigate.”

“Investigate, or avoid cleaning?”

“Aren’t they synonyms?” you ask letting sarcasm run your words.

“When you get out of that room, I will try every transformation spell on you,” he threatens, but you can feel the smile on his face.

“I look forward to that,” you reply, sitting down in front of the trunk, and inspecting it. 

“I give you fifteen minutes, Y/N,” he says, and then he's gone. 

You have no mind to thank him, you are solemnly lost in the uniqueness of the trunk. You slowly move your hands to it, careful when you try to open it. But of course, it’s locked. 

“Alohomora.” 

You peek into its contains and, “Oh…” You don’t hesitate into taking the odd collar that’s inside. “A time-turner?” you ask yourself, which you usually do, so you are not surprised when no reply comes.

But the answer is obvious and simple. And it’s right in front of you, making it difficult to resist your curiosity.

You had never been much of a planner, or prudent, or cautious person. Yes, that had gotten you many problems, like being punished here today. But, that thought doesn’t seem to matter much when your fingers turn the ring of the old collar. 

You don’t really know how these work, but you guess you are about to find out. However, you grow more lost on its functioning when the room changes, and changes, and keeps changing. Finally, the time-turner stops turning, and so does the room. 

“What?”

You swiftly get up and walk to the door, but, when you open it, it’s not Nathaniel that’s there. 

“Bloody hell! Harry, look at this!” a boy yells at the sight of you.

“It’s not a ‘this’, Ron. She’s a girl,” a young blonde girl says, and her voice is so soft and tender it reminds you of your mom’s singing. “A beautiful girl,” she smiles.

That smile… 

“Who are you?” A boy's voice snaps you back to reality, and you look up — no way. 

“Who are you?” you ask, taken aback by- 

“Harry Potter,” he replies plainly. “But I asked first; who are you? I’ve never seen you in Hogwarts before.”

“But she’s wearing the uniform,” a girl next to him adds. 

“Slytherin uniform… We’ve told no Slytherin about Dumbledore’s army.”

“Neville,” the nice girl says quickly, as if he had said more than he should.

“Dumbledore?” you mumble. “You are - wait. You are Harry Potter,” you sate, ordering the thoughts in your mind. “And these - you all - are the famous Dumbledore’s army. The rebellion formed to prote-”

“Famous?” Harry asks worried. “Who more knows about us? Are you spying on us and telling people?”

“What? No. No. I am not. I really am not. It’s... difficult to explain.”

“Well, it must be easier of an explication than simply appearing magically here,” the red haired boy speaks again. 

“Well… mmmm…” you try, but you are not sure if it’s a good idea telling them you are from the future. God, you really should have planned this before you turned that collar.

”You are scaring the girl, Harry. Intimidating won’t make her talk,” the sweet girl says, and you watch as her words make Harry’s face turn guilty. “I’m Luna. Will you tell us your name?”

No way. Luna Lovegood?

This woman is your great-grandmother. 

“Luna?” you say.

“You have the same name,” Ron tells in surprise. 

“No, you idiot,” a girl whispers as she hits him playful with her hand.

“No, I’m Y/N. But…” you breathe deeply, trying not to faint. “You are Luna, what? What's’s your last name?”

She gives you a surprised giggle before answering. “Lovegood. Luna Lovegood.”

Oh.

“A-al-right. Great! Well. I - I…” you mumble nervously.

“What is wrong with her?”

“- I have to go, bye.” And you start walking, almost running, to the door you came in. But there is no door anymore. “What? Where is the door?”

“Over there,” Ron points with his finger to another door, and you can smell his confusion from here. You know you are acting very strangely in their eyes. But how could you tell them you come from the future? That Dumbledore is dead? That Voldemort was defeated? That that that - so many facts from the future that would alter the timeline. 

You don’t know much about how the time-turner works, but you know that one must not play with time. You know that you must be careful, and thus, come back to your time. And you also know a handsome boy is staring, looking at you as if you were the most curious thing in the world.

“Hello,” he says, showing you a friendly smile. 

Harry Potter is smiling at you. 

“Hi,” you say, not knowing what game is this. 

“You can’t go. I can’t let you go tell the professors about this.”

“But I will not; I have no ill intentions.” He stops to think, turning to his friends for help. “I swear,” you reassure. 

“Alright… Y/N,” he says at last, and the way he says your name… 

“Harry Potter,” you whisper, lost in his gaze, and realize a beat later you've said it out loud.

“What?”

“Nothing. Nothing.”

His eyebrows furrow as he assesses you and your bizarre behavior. “Where are you going?” he asks, but it’s not accusing anymore, he’s just interested. 

“I’m not su-”

“Sorry,” he interrupts and turns to the rest of the curious students. “You continue with the class, Hermione.”

“But I’m not the professor. You are,” she replies. 

“Hermione, please,” he asks in a plea. But she only cocks her head, confused. It is only when Ron walks to her, and turns her with his hand, giving Harry a knowing grin, that she finally begins the class. 

“We’ll take it from here,” his friend tells Harry, giving him a wink and sparing you a quick glance after. 

And that’s Harry’s cue to turn back to you. It is relieving to not have so many eyes on you anymore. But it is not so much to have Harry Potter’s gaze on you, watching you so close. 

“I’m sorry,” he says shyly, scratching the back of his head. “What were you saying?” 

“I- I was saying that I don’t really know where I’m going…”

“Oh,” he breathes. You shift from foot to foot, unable to meet his gaze as his frown deepens. “And where do you come from? You can surely answer that.” 

His friendly smile tells you he’s just as kind-hearted as legend tells. Harry Potter, you can still not believe it. The Hogwarts’s young boy with glasses and the-

Oh my - his scar.

He finds you staring at his forehead and rises an eyebrow, “You -  you want to see?” he asks with trembling voice. You guess you have made him so uncomfortable with your weirdness, poor boy, all blushed. 

But you stop thinking about that when he brushes his dark hair away from the scar. You are lost in it, in the many tales you have heard about it, about him and his braveness and power. 

But no tales had given much description on how beautiful he was. You trace his features with your eyes, only stopping when they meet with his eyes. 

He is even more blushed than before, not even bearing your gaze now. You have to get out of here, stop disturbing the boy. 

“Now,” he starts, finally facing you. “I really need you to explain… all of this. Because it’s weird, and suspicious. You surely understand.”

“I do, but… it’s still difficult to explain. I would love if you just believed me when I tell you - I really mean no harm. I will tell no one about this. I just entered here on accident.”

He assesses you silently for long seconds, taking in your words. “Why would I believe you?”

You ponder about your answer; you really have to convince him with your words, so you have to choose them wisely.

Then you know exactly what to say. Finally the history lessons about Dumbledore's army helped you.

“Because I believe you.” His head tilts to the side as he frowns "I believe Voldemort is truly back.”

He blinks a few times, slowly, as if hoping that with each blink, the disbelief will clear. “You do?” You nod. “Oh… Then… I think it’s only fair I believe you in return.” His lips curve upward softly.

His childish smile makes you tremble.

“It's better if I leave…” you mark, already walking to the door with trembling legs, knowing you can't linger longer here.

“Already?” he asks, and you hear his footsteps following you. And then you are grabbed by your arm. His hold on your skin is gentle, but it still makes your heart skip a beat. 

You turn to him, moving your gaze from his hand to his eyes. When he sees your embarrassment, he swiftly lets go. “Sorry,” he blurts out. “I just don’t want you to go…”

“Oh,” is all you can slip past your lips. 

“I think you should stay for a while, see what we do here. Maybe you like it…”

“You mean, joining Dumbledore’s army?” you question breathless. 

“Well, you can see if you like it, first. See if you are willing to take the risk of being here. But I would love if - I mean - we all would love if more people joined us,” he mutters, as he coughs nervously. 

You are speechless. Totally out of words. And the boy hurriedly adds, “No - but you clearly don’t - you are probably busy - I’m sorry… I’m being very annoying. You can of course go.” When he senses your hesitation, he timidly adds, "Unless, you want to join..."

Merlin - is he cute. And… nervous?

Definitely not as much as you are at the thought of joining them. You clearly want to, but… it feels wrong, you don’t belong in this time. What if you messed up the timeline… No, you couldn’t. Definitely, surely and utterly you should say no.

“Yes.”

-Characters by J K Rowling

a/n: im actually so proud of this fic. and i hope you enjoy it aswell loves. again, i will at some point post the harry potter masterlist, probably soon. and i would very much appreciate if you send request for harry potter, really :))

ps: if you enjoy this one, i will hundred per cent write a second chapter, since im so excited for the idea. and i will probably post it nonetheless :))

ps (part 2): yes. i kept the lovegood last name even if it usually comes the father's first. but Lovegood is too iconic of a last name to not use it as the main one. so that's that.

You still remember the last normal sky. A boring blue, a half-burned sunset, someone complaining about the heat. Then the clouds split open like someone tugged a zipper through the atmosphere, and the purple came pouring in—thick and slow, like bruises blooming across the firmament.

That was… you’re not sure how long ago now. Days and months blur when clocks don’t match the sun anymore.

What you do know is this: the sky has been wrong ever since.

You walk.

Boot soles slapping against cracked asphalt, your backpack dragging at your shoulders, the air tasting faintly like dust and metal and something sweet you can’t place. The city around you is frozen in that same twilight it’s had for weeks—dark purple clouds smeared across the sky, neon signs flickering in pastel lavender glows that never fully go out.

Ahead, the street curves, half-blocked by a jackknifed bus. Behind it, someone signals with a hand.

“Clear,” a voice calls quietly. “No movement. Let’s go.”

You adjust the strap digging into your collarbone and follow.

Your group is small. It used to be bigger. Consequences of living under a sky that sometimes decides you don’t exist.

You run a thumb along the edge of your notebook tucked into your pocket, reassuring yourself it’s still there. Dog-eared, full of jagged sketches of the sky, scribbled theories: dead star? portal? god? glitch? Every time the Violet Hour does something new, you write it down, as if cataloguing the horror might make it less real.

It hasn’t worked yet.

“Hey,” someone murmurs beside you, falling into step. Yunjin. Ponytail, baseball bat resting against her shoulder, eyes scanning alleys with the exhausted focus of someone who hasn’t slept in a bed in months. “You good?”

You huff out a breath. “My feet hate me. My brain hates me more. Otherwise? Peachy.”

She snorts softly. “Mood.”

You reach the bus, squeezing through the narrow gap between its twisted metal and a burnt-out car. On the other side, the street opens into what used to be a small shopping district—stores with shattered windows, posters peeling, a pharmacy sign half-hanging by its bolts, buzzing an anemic pastel purple.

There, standing near the entrance of an old convenience store, you see him again.

Lee Heeseung.

He’s checking the straps on someone’s pack, fingers quick and sure. Tall, shoulders bracketed by the glow of a dead billboard. Dark hair falling over his forehead. Hoodie pulled tight at his wrists like he’s trying to keep the world out and his warmth in.

The first time you saw him was three days ago, when your old group got folded into his.

You’d been down two people, up too much grief, when Jungwon—the de facto leader, all sharp eyes and sharper decisions—stared at you for a long moment and finally said, “You can walk? You can pull your weight?”

You’d nodded. “Yeah.”

And then Heeseung had stepped forward, held out a bottle of water, eyes soft in a way that had hurt.

“Drink,” he’d said. “We move again in ten.”

You remember thinking: He looks… normal. Not like the sky ate half his hope. Not like you did.

You’d taken the bottle anyway.

Now, he glances up as you approach, as if he can feel your eyes on him. For a heartbeat, the two of you just look at each other across the cracked concrete.

Then he gives you the smallest nod. A hello that costs nothing and somehow still makes your chest flutter.

You nod back, because what else is there to do?

“Alright,” Jungwon says, clapping his hands once to get everyone’s attention. The sound is dull, swallowed by the heavy air. “We sweep the store, then the pharmacy. In and out. We’re down on meds.”

Taehyun adjusts his glasses—one lens cracked, taped at the bridge. “We’re also due for a dropout in about fifteen minutes.”

You glance at him. “You can… predict them now?”

“Sometimes.” He flips open a spiral notebook, pages full of hand-drawn charts. “They don’t follow a perfect pattern, but there’s a cluster every few hours. Last one was—”

“Two hours, thirty-one minutes ago,” Heeseung says quietly, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. “Yeah. He’s right.”

The dropout. You feel a phantom shiver crawl down your spine.

The first time you experienced one, you thought you’d gone deaf. The world had just… stopped. No wind, no distant traffic, no hum of streetlights. Silence so complete you could hear your own heartbeat clawing at your throat. Then thirty seconds later, it all came rushing back.

And the man standing next to you had been gone. No scream. No blood. Just empty space.

You still have a page in your notebook dedicated to him. You never knew his name.

“Then we move fast,” Jungwon says. “Yunjin, Kazuha, you take the left aisles. Jay, Soobin, right side. Taehyun, Beomgyu, back room. Heeseung—” His gaze flicks to you. “Take her. Check the pharmacy entrance. We need painkillers, antibiotics, anything that isn’t dust.”

Your stomach tightens. Paired with Heeseung. Again.

“Got it,” Heeseung says easily, already turning to you. “You up for it?”

You shrug, ignoring the way your pulse jumps. “Yeah. I’m not dead yet.”

He huffs a soft laugh that seems to surprise him. “Good start.”

Yunjin catches your eye as she passes, grinning. There’s something teasing in the raised brow she throws your way, but you ignore it, following Heeseung across the street toward the pharmacy.

The door is mostly intact, glass spiderwebbed with cracks. A faded poster about flu shots peels from the window, edges tinted faint purple from the sky’s constant glare.

Heeseung tests the handle. Locked.

“Back entrance?” you suggest.

He nods, leading you down a narrow alley that smells like rot and wet cardboard. Overhead, the sky glows like bruised velvet, clouds pulsing faintly with lavender veins. You try not to stare too long—staring too long has never led to anything good.

“Here.” Heeseung stops at a metal door half-hidden behind a dumpster. He braces his shoulder, gives it a hard shove. It groans, then pops open, dust drifting from the frame.

Inside, the pharmacy is dim and stale. Shelves lean at odd angles, some toppled entirely. Posters for skincare and vitamins are curled on the floor. Behind the counter, you can see the outlines of pill bottles, labels greyed with dust.

“Let me go first,” Heeseung murmurs, stepping inside with his rifle raised.

You follow close, hand wrapped tightly around the handle of your knife.

It’s not the living you’re afraid of. Not anymore.

It’s what the sky does to the empty.

Sometimes objects move a little when you’re not looking. Sometimes reflections arrive a second late. Once, you watched an entire row of cereal boxes slowly tilt on their own, then snap upright again when the Violet clouds flashed.

The world is frayed. Reality is tired.

Heeseung checks corners, steps careful but confident. You watch the line of his shoulders, the way his head tilts as he listens. There’s a steadiness to him that makes your own breathing even out.

“Clear,” he says after a minute. “No bodies. No… other things.”

“Good,” you say. “I’m not in the mood for eldritch customer service.”

He huffs that soft laugh again. “You joke a lot for someone who writes doomsday theories in a notebook.”

You blink. “You… saw that?”

“Hard not to.” He moves behind the counter, starts checking labels with quick eyes. “You do it every time something weird happens. You think no one notices?”

Your face heats. “It’s… I like patterns,” you mumble. “If I can name it, I can… maybe not be terrified of it.”

Heeseung pauses, then looks up at you.

The purple light from the window slants across his face, catching in his eyes. For a second, he looks carved out of the same twilight as the sky—soft and sharp at once, shadows tracing the line of his jaw.

“I don’t think that’s weird,” he says quietly. “I think it’s brave.”

You blink, thrown. “Brave is a big word for a glorified diary, dude.”

“No,” he says. “Brave is choosing to look at something that terrifies you and saying ‘I’m going to try to understand you anyway.’”

Your throat goes tight. You look down, pretending to inspect a shelf of bandages so he won’t see your expression.

“You talk like you used to write poetry or something,” you mutter.

“Songs,” he says. “Before.”

You glance up. “You were a musician?”

“Kind of.” He shrugs, lips quirking. “Uni band. Annoying neighbors. Too many late-night rooftop sessions. Nothing big.”

“You miss it?” you ask, before you can stop yourself.

His gaze drifts toward the ceiling, like he’s looking through it to the sky beyond.

“I miss… having something to sing about that wasn’t just staying alive,” he admits. Then, softer, “Sorry. That got dark.”

You want to say, It’s okay, everything’s dark now. Instead, the words that tumble out are, “You should sing again sometime.”

He looks back at you, eyes searching your face. “To what audience?” he asks, half-teasing. “The shelves?”

You swallow. “Me, maybe,” you say, trying for casual. “Someone should document the soundtrack of the end.”

Something flickers over his face. Not quite a smile, not quite a flinch.

“Maybe I will,” he murmurs.

You turn away before your heart can climb any higher into your throat.

________

You work in silence for a while, collecting painkillers, antiseptics, anything unexpired. You stuff them into your bag, the clink of plastic against plastic marking each small victory against the inevitable.

After a few minutes, Heeseung straightens.

“How long have you been with a group?” he asks, stacking boxes.

You shrug. “Depends what you count as ‘with.’ Long enough to know people leave. Or vanish. Or… change.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I get that.”

“Did you lose anyone?” you ask before you can decide if it’s too personal.

His fingers tighten around a bottle for a fraction of a second.

“Yeah,” he says again. “I did.”

You wait for more, but he doesn’t offer it, so you don’t push.

In this world, grief is a closed door. You knock gently or you don’t knock at all.

Your watch beeps softly—one of the last working things from Before. You tap the face.

“We’re at… twelve minutes since Taehyun’s prediction,” you say. “If he’s right, we’ve got like three before the dropout.”

Heeseung nods. “Grab what you can. We’ll meet the others at the corner.”

You hurry, sweeping the last of the usable meds into your bag. As you do, the air shifts.

A subtle… thinning.

The faint hum of the fluorescent light overhead seems to pull away from you, like sound is a tide rolling backward.

Your stomach drops. “Heeseung.”

He’s already looking up. “Yeah. I feel it.”

The dropout crawls over you like a shadow. First, the distant noises die—the wind wheezing through broken windows, the far-off drip of water. Then the hum of the lights fades. Your breaths sound too loud in your own ears—

—and then they don’t sound like anything at all.

You open your mouth. No sound. You slam a box onto the counter. Nothing. Silence so heavy it feels physical, pressing against your eardrums, your teeth, your bones.

Your heart is racing. At least you think it is. You can’t hear it.

Heeseung steps closer automatically, like he’s done this a hundred times. His free hand reaches for you, fingers wrapping around your wrist in a firm, grounding grip.

His skin is warm. The only proof you’re not dreaming.

Thirty seconds, you think. It always lasts about thirty seconds.

You count in your head.

One. Two. Three.

Halfway through, a flash of movement hits the corner of your eye.

You jerk, turning toward the window.

Out on the purple-tinged street, through the cracked glass, you can see the rest of your group moving. Yunjin’s bat raised, Kazuha checking a doorway, Soobin bent over a map.

Then, in the silence, Beomgyu—bright hair, big gestures, the only one still trying to make the universe laugh—turns to say something to Taehyun.

His mouth opens. You see the shape of a joke in his eyes.

And he’s gone.

Not fallen. Not dragged. Just—gone.

One frame he’s there, weight on his heels, arms spreading out mid-story. The next, there’s nothing but air and the faint afterimage burned into your retinas.

Your breath stutters. You would scream if you could.

Beside you, Heeseung’s fingers clamp harder around your wrist, nails digging just enough to hurt. His eyes are wide, reflecting the empty space where their friend was a second ago.

Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine—

Sound slams back into the world like someone dropping an ocean.

The hum of the lights. The wind. A distant shout—Yunjin’s voice, high and panicked. “Beomgyu? BEOMG—”

You suck in a ragged breath, the silence breaking in your chest like glass.

“Shit,” you choke out. “Shit, shit—Heeseung—”

“I saw,” he says hoarsely.

Outside, chaos erupts. Taehyun is yelling something, Jungwon is dragging people back under cover, Yunjin is screaming Beomgyu’s name like she can drag it back into his lungs.

You press a shaking hand over your mouth.

It never gets easier. The vanishings. The way reality simply… edits people out.

Heeseung lets go of your wrist only to grab your shoulder instead, turning you toward him.

“Hey,” he says, voice rough. “Look at me.”

You do.

His eyes are dark, wet around the edges, jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumps in his cheek. You can see the grief sitting in his throat, thick and livid. But his gaze on you is steady.

“You’re here,” he says, as if he needs to remind both of you. “I’m here. We’re going out there together, okay?”

Your voice shakes. “Until we’re not.”

“Maybe,” he says. “But not yet.”

Something in you steadies at the way he says that. Not a promise—he’s not stupid enough for that—but a choice.

He squeezes your shoulder once, then nods toward the door.

“Come on,” he says quietly. “They’re going to need all of us.”

You swallow hard, nod, and follow him back out into the purple-lit street, where grief is already making home in the space Beomgyu used to fill.

You don’t write anything down in your notebook that night.

You sit under the Violet sky, listening to the cracked sound of Yunjin’s laughter turned into sobs, and think: The universe is cruel enough to take people mid-sentence. If it wants to take me, it better make it count.

Across the dim circle of camp, Heeseung sits with his back against a crumbling wall, head tipped up toward the clouds. His profile is edged in lavender light. His hands are knotted together like he’s holding onto something only he can see.

You tell yourself you’re just watching him to stay awake.

But when his gaze lifts, meeting yours across the dark, something tightens in your chest.

Strangers, you remind yourself.

You’re just strangers trying not to die under a broken sky.

So why does it already feel like losing him would be another kind of apocalypse?

_________

By the time you leave that street, Beomgyu’s absence feels louder than his voice ever was.

His pack sits on the ground for a long time before anyone touches it. Yunjin refuses to look at it; Taehyun stares at the spot where he vanished until his eyes go glassy. Jungwon is the one who finally steps forward, jaw clenched, fingers tight on the straps.

“We can’t stay here,” he says, voice rasped raw. “The next dropout will hit. We have to move.”

No one argues—not because they agree, but because there’s nothing left to say.

You look up once at the sky.

It looks back like it always does: indifferent, beautifully wrong. Thick bands of dark purple, veins of pastel light threading through like some celestial organism floating just above the atmosphere. It gives you nothing. No answers. No apologies.

You drop your gaze and start walking.

___________

You travel for days.

The city blurs into variations of the same ruin—shattered glass, overturned cars, purple light staining everything it touches. You lose track of which neighborhoods you’ve crossed; the only landmarks that matter now are places that didn’t kill you.

Nights are the worst. The Violet Hour pulses, brightening and dimming like a heartbeat you can’t sync with. Sometimes the clouds thin and you swear you can see… something behind them. Stars that aren’t in the right place. Shapes that don’t make sense.

“You’re staring again,” Heeseung murmurs one night, dropping down beside you on the crumbling rooftop.

You blink and drag your eyes away from the sky. “I’m thinking.”

“About?”

You tap your notebook, closed and resting on your lap. “Dead stars. Signals. Corpses of gods. Pick your poison.”

Heeseung lies back, folding his arms under his head, eyes on the same sky you were trying to decode.

“Taehyun still thinks it’s a broadcast,” he says. “Like the universe is downloading us into a different server.”

“Cheery,” you mutter. “So Beomgyu just got… uploaded?”

“He’d like being a glitch,” Heeseung says, mouth twitching. “He’d make a bit out of it.”

The ache that rushes your chest is sudden, sharp. “Don’t,” you whisper. “I can’t… laugh about him yet.”

He doesn’t apologize. Instead, he rolls onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow, gaze steady on your face.

“I don’t think it’s about fairness,” he says softly. “Who goes, who stays. I think…” He hesitates. “I think the sky is pulling people apart to see what still sticks together.”

You raise a brow. “That sounds like a song lyric.”

“Maybe it was,” he says. “Once.”

“You really believe that?” you ask. “That there’s some kind of… pattern to who ends up together?”

His eyes flick over your features—your furrowed brows, the tired line of your mouth, the way your fingers worry the corner of your notebook.

“I believe we keep not losing each other,” he says. “In a world that keeps trying to make us disappear mid-sentence, that has to mean something.”

Your throat goes tight.

You look back at the sky because you’re not ready to look at him when he says things like that.

__________

Two days later, you hear the rumor.

It’s in a half-collapsed community center, traded from another half-starved group clinging to the husk of a gymnasium. A woman with sunburnt cheeks and taped-up glasses tells Yunjin and Jungwon about it while you sort through boxes of mildewed clothes.

“North of here,” she says, pointing at a map that’s almost more tape than paper. “Old observatory. They retrofitted it before the main waves hit. Underground levels, reinforced. They track the sky patterns up there. Say they can predict the dropouts better, find… safe windows.”

“Observatory?” Soobin echoes, suddenly more awake than you’ve seen him in days. “Like, actual telescopes?”

The woman nods. “If they’re still working.”

Taehyun leans over the map. “How far north?”

“Two, maybe three days on foot,” she says. “Longer if you have injured.”

Everybody’s eyes pivot, almost in unison, to you.

You flinch. “What? I still have both legs.”

Yunjin snorts. “For now, princess. You nearly fell through that cracked staircase yesterday.”

“It moved,” you protest. “On its own.”

“Everything moves on its own,” Kazuha says quietly from the corner, stretching her sore shoulder. “That’s the problem.”

Jungwon studies the map in silence, lips pressed in a thin line. You’ve learned to recognize that look: the one where he’s calculating risk versus resources versus whatever fragile thing passes for hope these days.

“It’s not safe to stay here,” he says finally. “We’re down meds. Food won’t last two more weeks. If there’s even a chance there’s a working shelter with intel on the sky…”

“It’s worth it,” Soobin says. “If they’re really tracking patterns, we could stop getting blindsided.”

Taehyun nods. “Even rough predictions are better than me doing back-of-the-envelope guesses.”

Yunjin looks around at all of you. “We vote?” she asks. “Or we just follow your dictatorial ass?”

Jungwon almost smiles. Almost. “Anyone against going?” he asks.

Silence.

The woman with the taped-up glasses gives you a look that’s both pitying and a little envious. “If you make it,” she says, “tell them some of us are still listening down here.”

You don’t promise anything. No one does. In this world, promises feel like tempting whatever lives behind the Violet curtain to prove you wrong.

But later, when you and Heeseung are packing, you find yourself saying, “If there’s a place where the sky makes more sense, I kind of want to see it.”

He glances over, sliding spare batteries into a side pocket.

“I want you to see it,” he says quietly.

You look up. “Just me?”

He shrugs, but his eyes don’t leave your face. “If it comes down to it.”

You don’t know what to do with that, so you zip your bag instead.

_________

The purple rain starts on the second day.

It comes without thunder, without warning. The clouds above you gather into a dense, pulsating knot, then thin in the center like an eye opening.

The first drop hits the hood of Jungwon’s jacket and hisses.

Everyone freezes.

“The hell—” Yunjin starts.

Another drop lands on the rusted hood of an abandoned car, beading like mercury, then sinking slowly into the metal. Where it touches, the paint blisters, colors discoloring into washed-out pastels before flaking away.

“Move!” Jungwon snarls. “Cover up, stay under something!”

You drag your hood up, tighten it under your chin, shoulder your pack more securely. The rain isn’t heavy—more of a fine mist—but every drop that hits metal sizzles and warps.

“It’s not burning skin,” Kazuha notes, watching a bead land on the back of her bare hand. It sits there, pearlescent and purple, cool rather than hot. “Feels… weird. Like static.”

“Let’s not test the long-term side effects,” Taehyun mutters. “Shelter. Now.”

There’s an underpass ahead, concrete and shadowed. Jungwon leads you down, footsteps echoing off the walls. The air grows damp and cold, the sound of the strange rain muffled above you.

The underpass connects to a series of tunnels—old maintenance routes, maybe, or access paths for whatever highway project was abandoned when the sky turned against you.

It’s not on the map, not exactly, but Jungwon’s convinced it will cut time off your route.

“We go through, resurface near the ridge,” he says, tapping a rough sketch. “Observatory’s only half a day from there.”

“And if something’s living down there now?” Yunjin asks.

“Then we’ll introduce ourselves,” Jungwon says. “Politely.”

You don’t like tunnels. You write it down once—tunnels = places where the sky can’t see you and that somehow feels worse—then cross it out because you don’t want to admit it to the page.

Still, you go. Because what else is there to do.

__________

The tunnel breathes.

That’s the only way you can describe it. The deeper you go, the more the air feels like it’s expanding and contracting, subtle pressure changes against your eardrums. It might just be your imagination.

The walls are slick in places, water running down in thin streams that glint faintly purple. Your flashlight beam catches graffiti—old names, hearts, declarations from a world that still thought “forever” was a thing.

Now, forever feels like a joke the sky is playing.

“Watch your step,” Heeseung murmurs, hand hovering near your elbow every time the ground dips or cracks. “There’s loose rock.”

You try to snort. It comes out shaky. “You worried about me or my notebook?”

“Both,” he says, no hesitation. “The theories are useless if their author breaks her neck.”

“That’s romantic,” you mutter.

He smiles in the dark. “End of the world. You take what you get.”

Far ahead, Kazuha and Jungwon scout point, moving with efficient, quiet steps. Yunjin covers the middle, bat resting on her shoulder, humming under her breath to keep herself from spiraling. Taehyun and Soobin whisper about resonance frequencies and whether the tunnel could amplify sky-induced anomalies.

You catch fragments.

“…if the dropouts are localized—”

“—then underground we might be shielded, or…”

“…or the silence could be worse.”

You stop listening.

The thing about fear is that it has a rhythm. Yours falls into a dull, familiar thud: step, breathe, scan, step, breathe, scan.

Until the tunnel… glitches.

You don’t notice it at first. It’s small things—the drip of water that echoes half a second too late, the scuff of your boot repeating itself like an audio clip replayed.

Then you see it.

Up ahead, for a heartbeat, there are two Kazuhas.

Both moving identically, both lifting a hand to gesture to Jungwon. One slightly ahead of the other, like a shadow outpacing its owner.

You blink hard.

The extra Kazuha flickers and is gone, leaving just the real one.

Your heart kicks against your ribs. “Heeseung,” you whisper.

“I see it,” he says, voice low. “Don’t slow down.”

“This is bad,” you mutter.

“This has always been bad,” he replies. “This is just… differently bad.”

You want to laugh, but your throat is too tight.

A few meters later, you hear footsteps behind you that don’t align with anyone’s gait. Like someone out of sync is following, just to the left of your hearing. You don’t look back. You’ve learned not to, since the night you did and saw a version of yourself walking half a step behind, eyes hollow, mouth closed.

That one you wrote down. Then tore the page out.

“Almost there,” Jungwon calls softly. “I see an exit shaft ahead.”

The tunnel slopes upward. The air grows fresher, cooler. You can smell the rain more sharply now, that strange sweet-metal tang.

“We’ll have to climb,” Kazuha says from the front, peering up at a vertical shaft where a rusted ladder leads toward a faint disk of violet light. “One at a time. Slowly.”

“Okay,” Jungwon says. “We go in order. I’ll go first, check the top. Then Yunjin, Taehyun, Soobin, Jay. Kazuha, you stay near the bottom to help boost if anything goes wrong. Heeseung—”

His gaze flicks to you.

“—you take her up just before last,” he decides. “I’ll be at the top by then. We’ll pull her from both sides. Then you, Kazuha, bring up the rear.”

Kazuha nods. “Got it.”

You open your mouth to protest being put in the near-last safest slot and then close it. Pride and practicality keep getting in fistfights in your chest. Practicality has been winning more lately.

One by one, they climb. Jungwon disappears first through the circle of violet light, then Yunjin, Taehyun, Soobin, Jay. Each body ascending tugs the ladder with faint metallic groans.

Every creak makes your palms sweat.

Finally, Heeseung turns to you.

“Ready?” he asks.

“No,” you admit. “But that hasn’t stopped me yet.”

He huffs out a breath that almost qualifies as a laugh. “Okay. I’ll go right behind you. Jungwon will be at the top. Three people to catch you. Try not to make us test that.”

You swallow, step up to the ladder, and wrap your hands around the rusted rungs. They’re cold and damp and rough enough to bite into your skin.

“Let’s go,” Kazuha says softly from below, bracing one hand under the ladder as if her strength could hold up the world. “One step at a time.”

You climb.

The space is narrow. Your backpack scrapes the walls, shoulders grating against damp concrete. Above, the circle of light glows brighter, Violet sky bleeding around the edges.

You focus on the pattern: hand, foot, breath. Don’t look down.

Halfway up, the tunnel… exhales.

The shift in pressure is subtle but unmistakable. Your ears pop. The hair on your arms stands up.

“Oh no,” you whisper.

Heeseung’s voice floats up, tight. “What is it?”

You don’t answer. You already know.

The sounds fade.

First the distant drip of water, then the scrape of your boots, the groan of the ladder under your weight. Everything goes muffled, then gone.

Not again. Not here.

The dropout slams into you like a wall.

Your body keeps moving, but the world has been turned to mute. You can’t hear your own ragged breathing, can’t hear the metal under your hands, can’t hear Kazuha’s steady encouragement from below or whatever curse Heeseung is spitting through gritted teeth.

The only sound is inside your head: counting.

One. Two. Three.

The ladder vibrates under you, but without noise you can’t tell what’s happening. For a dizzying moment, it feels like you’re climbing through the empty chest of the earth, all ribs and no heart.

Nine. Ten. Eleven.

You look up. The circle of light is closer, haloing Jungwon’s silhouette. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but his hand is reaching down.

You lift your own to meet it—

And the world moves.

Not you. The world.

The shaft lurches sideways in your vision, like someone grabbed the tunnel and twisted it. The ladder heaves. Your hand slips on a rung slicker than it was a second ago.

Your fingers miss Jungwon’s.

You fall.

Silence makes it worse. You can’t even scream to mark the seconds between you and the ground.

The impact isn’t sharp so much as… total.

Your back hits concrete, then your head, light bursting behind your eyelids in blinding white. Something heavy crashes across your legs—debris, a chunk of ladder, you’re not sure. Pain explodes through you, raw and hot and immediate.

Your breath punches out. You try to drag it back in and it feels like inhaling broken glass.

You dimly register a shape moving above you.

Kazuha.

Her lips are moving, but you can’t hear what she’s saying. Her hands are on the debris over your legs, muscles straining as she tries to lift it.

You want to say, Don’t, you’ll hurt yourself. But your mouth is full of copper and static.

Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-four.

Heeseung appears in your shattered field of vision, wild-eyed, clinging to the ladder a few rungs up. His mouth forms your name, over and over, a silent chant.

You try to answer, but your chest won’t expand right.

Purple droplets fall through the shaft, slow and floating, like they’re underwater. They hang in the air for a moment, then land—on the metal, on Kazuha’s arm, on your cheek.

They’re cold. Then they burn.

Not like fire. Not on the surface. It’s deeper, like they seep through skin and nerve and into whatever makes you you, buzzing there.

Your vision goes fuzzy at the edges.

Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine—

Sound slams back in.

Kazuha’s grunt as she heaves the debris. Heeseung’s shout, raw and desperate: “MOVE, MOVE—!”

You gasp, the sound clawing out of your throat like it’s been buried.

Everything hurts. Your legs are pinned, your back a continuous throb of agony, your head spinning.

“Don’t you dare,” Yunjin is yelling from somewhere above, voice breaking. “Don’t you dare fucking vanish—”

“I’m not—” you croak, and cough, blood flecking your lips. “I’m still here.”

Heeseung drops the last rungs of the ladder, practically throwing himself to the floor beside you.

“Don’t move,” he orders, hands hovering, afraid to touch and afraid not to. His pupils are blown, chest heaving. “You fell—God, you fell—”

“Really?” you rasp, because terror is easier if you turn it sideways. “Thanks for the update.”

His face crumples for a heartbeat, some raw emotion flashing through before he reigns it in.

“We need this off her,” Jungwon says tightly, dropping down into the shaft. “Then we move. Taehyun, check if the tunnel’s stable—”

“It’s not,” Taehyun calls from the top. “We’re getting stress fractures along the wall. Another dropout down here and this whole thing could—”

You don’t want to know the end of that sentence.

Kazuha braces her shoulder under the slab pinning your legs. “On three,” she grits out. “Jungwon, help me. Heeseung, get her out as soon as it’s clear.”

“No,” Heeseung snaps. “You’ll get crushed—”

“We don’t have time to argue,” Kazuha says. Her eyes find yours, calm and frighteningly clear. “Ready?”

You want to tell her not to. That you’re not worth this. That they should leave you and get out before the tunnel decides to rearrange itself again.

But Heeseung is already leaning over you, one arm sliding under your shoulders, the other bracing near your hips, every line of his body taut with focus.

“Breathe,” he whispers. “You hold on, I pull. That’s the deal.”

You look up at him, at the sweat streaking down his temple, at the way his mouth trembles around the words. At the terror he’s not even bothering to hide.

You nod.

“Three!” Kazuha yells.

She and Jungwon push.

The slab lifts.

You scream.

Pain roars through you as sensation comes back to places you wish it hadn’t. Your legs feel like they’ve been chewed up and spat out by the earth. You hear something—someone—keening, and it takes a second to realize it’s you.

“Now, now—!” Jungwon grunts.

Heeseung hauls you backward, cradling your torso against his chest, dragging your lower body clear. Every inch is torture. You cling to his jacket, nails digging into fabric, another scream tearing out of you.

The tunnel groans.

“Out!” Taehyun shouts. “Now!”

You catch a last glimpse of Kazuha as the ceiling above her cracks.

She looks up, just once, at where you and Heeseung are sprawled. There’s dust in her hair and bruises blooming across her arms. She smiles—small, soft, resigned.

“Run,” she says.

Then the tunnel comes down.

The sound is indescribable. A grinding roar of stone and rust and something else, something higher, like the sky itself laughing through the fissures.

Heeseung throws himself over you, curling his body around yours as debris rains down the shaft. Rocks and metal slam around you, some glancing off his back hard enough to make him grunt.

For a second, you’re sure this is it. That you and everyone you’ve come to care about are going to be folded into the earth and that’ll be that. No more theories, no observatory, no strange sky above an open dome. Just dark.

Then the dust settles.

Your lungs burn. When you blink your eyes open again, the shaft above is a jagged wound instead of a neat circle. Kazuha is gone.

“She was right under—” Yunjin’s voice cracks from somewhere up-slope. “Kazuha!”

No answer.

You don’t want to see. You don’t want to look and find nothing where she was, like with Beomgyu. Or worse, something twisted in a way human bodies shouldn’t twist.

Heeseung keeps his body between you and the worst of it, arms still around you. You can feel him shaking.

“Hey,” you whisper, because it feels wrong for him to be the one trembling when you’re the one who just got crushed. “I’m… still here.”

He lifts his head.

For a heartbeat, his face is bare. No calm, no teasing deflection, no survivor’s numbness. Just naked terror and relief warring in his eyes, wetness clinging to his lashes, jaw working like he’s trying to bite back a sob.

“You fell,” he says again, like he can’t get past it. “You fell, and you weren’t answering, and I thought—”

His voice breaks.

You’ve never heard that from him before. It scares you more than the collapsing ceiling did.

“Don’t,” you rasp. “Don’t say it. I’m too stubborn to die.”

“You’re too important to die,” he snaps, sharper than you’ve ever heard him. Then, softer, like he’s confessing to the ground, “To me.”

Your heart stutters.

There’s no time for it, no space to unwrap the weight of those words. Jungwon is already barking orders, Taehyun tossing down rope, Yunjin swearing under her breath as she tries not to sob.

“We have to move,” Jungwon says, dropping into the wreckage, dust coating his hair. His eyes rake over you, quick assessment hardening his mouth. “Her legs?”

“Not good,” Heeseung says, voice tight. “But she can feel them. We’ll splint what we can and carry her.”

You swallow. “You can’t—if I slow you down, the next dropout—”

“We’re not leaving you,” Yunjin snarls, tears hot tracks down her grimy cheeks. “You think we’d be able to sleep after that?”

“We left Kazuha,” you say, chest aching. “We didn’t even—”

“We didn’t leave her,” Jungwon cuts in sharply, pain sharpening his words. “She made a choice. Don’t spit on it by wasting the time she bought.”

Your vision blurs. Whether it’s from pain or grief, you’re not sure.

Heeseung’s hand finds yours, fingers sliding between your own, holding on like an anchor.

“Listen to me,” he says, low and steady, like the world isn’t falling apart around you. “The sky can take a lot from us. It’s not taking you. Not if I can still move.”

He shifts, getting an arm under your knees, another behind your back in a careful cradle. You bite your lip, bracing yourself.

“This is going to hurt,” he warns.

“Everything does,” you whisper. “Just don’t drop me.”

He manages a humorless huff. “Not funny.”

Then he lifts.

The pain is so white-hot you almost black out. Your vision tunnels, sound warping. You hear yourself whimpering, small and broken.

“Hey, hey,” Heeseung murmurs, voice right at your ear now. You can feel his heartbeat pounding against your ribs where your chest presses to his. “Stay with me. Please. Stay.”

You want to tell him you’ll try. The words get lost somewhere between your brain and your mouth.

As they scramble out of the shattered tunnel, up a different, more precarious incline, you drift in and out.

Snatches of sky. Purple rain hissing on rock. Yunjin’s ragged breathing. Taehyun muttering equations under his breath like prayers. Soobin’s quiet cursing when he stumbles.

Heeseung’s voice, over and over, the only constant.

“Stay. Stay. Stay.”

At some point, the rain stops. The clouds thin. The world tilts again under your half-closed eyes, and you glimpse it through the haze:

Far ahead, atop a distant ridge, a dark shape against the Violet horizon. Round. Domed. Unmistakable.

An observatory.

“You see that?” Heeseung whispers, following your gaze. His breath is hot against your temple. “We’re almost there. Just a little farther.”

You want to say, You sound like every person who ever lied to someone bleeding out. But something in you believes him. Maybe it’s the way his arms refuse to shake, even though you can feel the strain in his muscles. Maybe it’s the sheer stubbornness radiating off him.

Maybe it’s just that in a world where the sky steals people mid-word, you’ve decided this is the one person you’re going to trust anyway.

Your eyelids droop.

“Don’t,” he says sharply. “Don’t sleep.”

“M’not,” you mumble.

“Liar,” he breathes, but there’s a tremor of relief in it, like even your bad jokes are proof you’re still here.

The last thing you clearly register is this: the sky above, bruised and beautiful; the observatory closer now, like a dark eye waiting to open; and Heeseung’s heartbeat under your ear, frantic and furious and very, very alive.

You cling to that rhythm as the dark finally drags you under.

If the universe wants to pull everything apart and see what still sticks together, it’s going to have to try a lot harder to pry you out of his arms.

__________

You wake up to the sound of someone humming.

Not the sky humming—not that high, warping whistle that sometimes threads through the Violet clouds before a dropout hits. This is low and human, and off-key in a way that feels painfully familiar. Safe.

You drag your eyes open.

The ceiling above you is curved, painted once upon a time in a soft, flaking cream. Now it’s lined with hairline cracks and pinned with paper—maps, charts, strips of tape holding up printouts covered in scribbles and numbers. A purple glow leaks in from somewhere you can’t see, tinting everything faint lavender.

Your body feels like it’s been hit by a train, then politely reversed over.

Legs: useless. Back: one throbbing bruise. Head: full of cotton, pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

You shift and make a small noise without meaning to.

The humming stops.

“Hey,” a voice says quietly, right next to you. “Don’t move too fast.”

You turn your head.

Heeseung is slumped in a chair beside the narrow cot you’re on, long legs folded awkwardly, neck bent at an angle that has to hurt. A jacket you recognize as his is draped over you like a blanket. His hair’s a mess and there’s a fading cut on his cheek, a thin line of scab that somehow makes him look more real.

His eyes, though—they’re sharp the instant you move, relief detonating behind them so fast it almost knocks the breath out of you.

“You’re awake,” he breathes, like a prayer finally answered. “God, you’re—”

He cuts himself off, biting down on the rest.

You blink slowly. Your voice comes out rough, half-rusted. “You sound disappointed.”

Despite everything, the corner of his mouth twitches. “You falling off ladders and nearly dying isn’t my idea of a fun personality trait.”

Memories hit in fragments.

The tunnel. The dropout. The ladder wrenching sideways under you. Kazuha’s hands braced under the slab. The tunnel collapsing. Purple rain seeping into your skin. Heeseung’s arms around you, his heartbeat under your ear. His voice, low and desperate: you’re too important to die. to me.

Your throat goes tight.

“Where…” You have to swallow twice before the words cooperate. “Where are we?”

He leans back a little, gesturing around with his chin. “Observatory bunker. We made it.”

You let your gaze roam.

The room is small—a converted office, maybe, or a storage room. Someone’s pushed a cot against one wall. There’s a metal cabinet in the corner with the door hanging open, revealing stacks of bandages and bottles. Another wall is entirely taken over by taped-up star maps, the constellations overwritten in pen with strange new names and jagged lines connecting points that were never meant to be connected.

The air smells like antiseptic and dust and the faint, sharp tang of coffee.

“How long was I out?” you ask.

He hesitates. “A while.”

You give him a look.

“Three days,” he admits. “You woke up a couple times. Asked where your notebook was, tried to fight me when I told you not to get up.” A small smile ghosts over his mouth. “Yunjin wanted to film it for blackmail.”

“Did you… win?” you ask.

“Only because you passed out again,” he says wryly. “I’m not sure I’d win a fair fight.”

You shift under the jacket, feeling the stiff wrap around your ribs, the heavier bandaging around your legs. Under the ache is a weird… buzzing. Not pain, exactly. More like your bones are remembering the feeling of the purple rain sinking through them.

“Am I… broken?” you ask, trying to keep it light and failing.

His gaze drops to your legs for a second, then comes back up.

“Nothing we can’t work with,” he says. “Fractures, bruising, a concussion. Taehyun helped set things. There was an actual doctor here, once. They left notes. And we had meds, thanks to your pharmacy raid.”

“And the cosmic radiation?” you murmur. “Any notes on that?”

He hesitates. “We’re… figuring that part out.”

You let your head sink back into the thin pillow, staring up at the cracked ceiling.

“Kazuha?” you ask quietly.

His jaw flexes. “We couldn’t… No.”

The word lands like a stone between you.

You see her smile in that last second before the tunnel came down, hear her voice: run.

Your eyes burn. You blink hard.

“What about everyone else?” you push. “Yunjin, Jungwon, Soobin…?”

“Here,” he says. “Banged up, but here.” A muscle ticks in his cheek. “Kazuha… bought us time. Without her, that tunnel would’ve taken all of us.”

You hate that word. Bought. Like survival is a thing you can purchase with bodies, receipts written in blood.

You stare at the maps on the wall, at the spidery handwriting tracing new paths through old skies.

“You carried me,” you say suddenly, the memory surfacing: the world tilting, your cheek pressed to his chest, his arms refusing to let go.

He looks away. “We all carried you, in shifts.”

“But you didn’t let me go,” you insist. “I remember that much.”

He exhales slowly. “I wasn’t going to let the sky take you right after it took her,” he says. “It could have its dropout and its tunnel. It wasn’t getting you.”

Your stupid traitorous heart does something painful and complicated in your chest.

Before you can find a way to answer that, the door bangs open.

“OH MY GOD, SLEEPING BEAUTY LIVES.”

Yunjin barrels in, nearly knocking into the chair with how fast she crosses the room. Her bat is conspicuously missing; instead, she’s holding a chipped plastic mug that smells like broth.

She thrusts it at Heeseung. “Move, nurse boy, I’m hugging her.”

Heeseung barely has time to set the mug aside before Yunjin is leaning over you, arms wrapping around your shoulders with terrifying enthusiasm.

Pain ricochets down your ribs. You let out a strangled noise.

“Yun—lungs,” you wheeze.

“Shit,” she gasps, immediately pulling back. “Sorry, sorry. I just—” Her eyes are wet. She wipes at them with the heel of her hand like she’s mad at them for existing. “You scared the crap out of us.”

You manage a weak smile. “That’s my brand.”

“You and your brand need to stop trying to die in increasingly dramatic ways,” she says, voice wobbling. “We already buried— we already lost…”

She trails off, swallowing hard.

Heeseung quietly pushes the mug into her hands. “Broth,” he reminds her gently. “Doctor’s orders.”

“Fake doctor,” she mutters, but she brings it to your mouth anyway. “Small sips, okay? Don’t make it weird.”

The broth is salty and lukewarm and the best thing you’ve tasted in months. You sip slowly, each swallow settling warm in your empty stomach.

“Soobin wanted to be here,” Yunjin says, watching you drink like she’s monitoring an experiment. “But he and Taehyun are in the control room, arguing about whether the latest sky reading means we’re all going to spontaneously float or melt.”

Heeseung snorts softly. “They’re helping the observatory team map the Violet pattern.”

“We have a team now?” you ask.

Yunjin nods. “Yeah. Run by this terrifying woman with bangs that look like she cut them during a panic attack.” She looks vaguely awed. “Her name’s Chaewon. She knows everything about the sky, and also I think she could kill me with a look. It’s hot.”

Despite yourself, you huff a laugh. The sound hurts, but it feels good too.

“We’re part of a real base,” Yunjin continues, softer. “There’s solar power, and a water system, and food that isn’t just cans. People sleep in the same place two nights in a row. It’s… weird.”

The word safe hangs unsaid.

You glance at Heeseung.

“Safe?” you ask quietly.

His expression is complicated. “Safer than out there,” he says. “The dropouts still happen, but they’ve mapped when it’s least risky to open the dome. They’ve almost completely stopped losing people without warning.”

Almost.

You cling to the first part.

“I want to see it,” you murmur. “The dome.”

“Not yet,” Heeseung says immediately. “You’re barely staying awake.”

“Give her a day,” Yunjin says. “Then let her see it. She didn’t nearly get turned into tunnel paste just to be stuck in here forever.”

Heeseung glares at her. She ignores him.

You hide your smile in another sip of broth.

___________

You don’t get a day.

You get two.

The first is a blur of sleep and pain meds and the strange quiet of a place where people aren’t always on the verge of running. You drift in and out, catching pieces of conversation.

“…the last reading shows the Violet band dipping—”

“—if we shift the opening windows by ten minutes, the risk drops by—”

“—sometimes she tenses up before a dropout, I’m not sure if it’s coincidence—”

The second day, you’re more awake. Awake enough to notice the new ache threaded through your old ones: something like… dislocation. Your body feels like it doesn’t fit exactly inside your skin. When you close your eyes, you can feel the sky.

Not literally. Not like you’re suddenly tuned into some cosmic frequency. It’s more like your bones know when the air pressure is about to change.

The next dropout proves it.

You’re mid-sentence, complaining to Heeseung about the way the bandage on your thigh itches when a prickling sweeps over you.

Not the usual dread. Not the muscle memory of fear.

Something else.

Your words falter.

“Wait,” you say.

Heeseung, perched on the edge of the cot, goes still. “What is it?”

You don’t answer. You’re listening. Not with your ears—with some strange, new sense. There’s a… pause. A tiny sucking-in of the world. Like the moment before you dive underwater.

“Dropout,” you say. “In three, two, one—”

Sound vanishes.

You and Heeseung stare at each other in the heavy silence.

You didn’t even have time to be surprised. You just… knew.

Thirty seconds later, the noise snaps back. Voices in the hall. Distant footsteps. The muffled hum of a generator.

Heeseung exhales slowly. “You called it.”

You stare at your hands.

“That’s not normal,” you say.

“Nothing’s been normal in a long time,” he replies.

“No, I mean—” You gesture vaguely upward. “People don’t… feel them coming. Not like that. Do they?”

He looks at you for a long moment, like he’s weighing his options.

Then he shrugs one shoulder. “Taehyun thinks the rain did something to you.”

Your stomach flips. “That’s supposed to be comforting?”

“It’s not necessarily bad,” he says. “If you can sense dropouts, we can use that. Warn people.”

“I didn’t sign up to be a storm siren,” you mutter.

“No one signed up for any of this,” he says gently. “But if the sky wanted to mess with someone, it picked the one person who’s been taking notes since day one.” His gaze softens. “Maybe that’s… I don’t know. Fair.”

You snort. “Nothing about this is fair.”

“Not fair,” he amends. “Fitting.”

You look down at your bandaged legs, then back up at the maps.

“Taehyun know it happened?” you ask.

“He will,” Heeseung says. “If you want him to.”

You sigh. “Later. When my brain doesn’t feel like it’s on a forty-second delay.”

He smiles faintly. “Deal.”

___________

You see the others that evening.

They file in one by one, as if there’s a schedule you don’t know about: Soobin with his arms full of paper, Taehyun with ink on his fingers, Jay carrying a tray of something that used to be potatoes.

Soobin almost drops his stack when he sees you sitting up. “You’re vertical,” he blurts. “That’s… I mean, hi.”

“Hi,” you say, lips curving.

Taehyun leans against the foot of the cot, eyeing you like a new variable in an equation. “Heard you predicted the last dropout,” he says.

You grimace. “Lucky guess.”

“Guess my ass,” he mutters. “We’ve been trying to pin them down for weeks. You’re the first person to call one to the second without a watch.”

“Maybe the sky just likes me,” you say lightly.

“If it liked you, it wouldn’t hurl you off ladders,” Jay points out dryly.

“Thank you for your support,” you tell him.

Jay shrugs, setting the tray down. “Eat. You can argue about being chosen by the Violet Hour later.”

Yunjin plops down on the end of the cot, careful of your legs, and steals a potato from your plate.

Jungwon appears last, lingering in the doorway for a moment before stepping inside. He looks different—more shadows under his eyes, more tension in his shoulders—but his voice is steady when he says, “You look less like death. That’s an improvement.”

“You look more like it,” you retort.

To your surprise, he huffs out a quiet laugh. “Occupational hazard.”

For a moment, the room is almost… normal. People talking over each other. Yunjin trying to imitate Chaewon’s terrifying glare. Taehyun and Soobin bickering about whether the latest sky anomaly is a wave pattern or a hardware error. Jay pretending not to listen while listening to everything.

Heeseung sits close enough that his knee brushes your hip every time he shifts.

No one says Kazuha’s name. But you feel her there in the spaces, in the way Yunjin’s hand curls around her cup, in the silence that falls whenever someone mentions the tunnels.

At some point, the conversation dips. Soobin and Jay leave to check on some water system issue. Taehyun follows, muttering something about recalibrating sensors. Yunjin hangs back long enough to squeeze your shoulder.

“We do a little not-dying,” she says softly. “You keep up the trend, okay?”

“I’ll try,” you say.

She leans down, pressing her forehead to yours for a second, then straightens. “Good. Because I am absolutely not emotionally prepared to lose another idiot.”

Jungwon lingers at the door again, eyes on you and Heeseung, then nods once, almost to himself.

“Chaewon’s opening the dome tomorrow night,” he says. “Predicted low-risk window. You want to see the sky from somewhere that’s not trying to kill you, that’s your chance.” His gaze flicks between you and Heeseung. “If you can walk.”

You open your mouth to say I can’t, but Heeseung beats you to it.

“She’ll manage,” he says, like it’s non-negotiable.

Jungwon’s lips twitch. “Don’t make me regret this. Get some rest.”

When they’re gone, the room feels bigger and smaller all at once.

You look at Heeseung.

“You volunteered me,” you say.

He doesn’t look remotely sorry. “You wanted to see the dome.”

“I also wanted both my legs to function.”

He glances at your bandages. “Minor detail.”

You should be annoyed. Instead, something fizzles in your chest. Anticipation. Fear. Something sweeter, threaded through both.

“Tomorrow, then,” you say quietly.

Heeseung nods. “Tomorrow.”

___________

Tomorrow comes.

You spend the day testing your limits.

Standing is… an adventure. Your legs shake under you, muscles protesting, bones aching—all your body’s ways of saying, we did not sign up for this.

Heeseung is there the whole time, one hand hovering without touching until you start to wobble, then closing around your elbow to steady you.

“Slow,” he murmurs, as you take your first unassisted steps. “You don’t have to run a marathon.”

You grit your teeth. “I just have to make it up some stairs.”

“Those stairs are steep,” he warns.

“You’re carrying me if I fall,” you shoot back.

His jaw clenches. “I’m carrying you if you blink too slowly.”

That shouldn’t make your heart flip the way it does.

You make it to the door and back. Then the end of the hallway. Then to the small common room, where you collapse onto a couch, breathless and shaking.

Heeseung drops down beside you, close enough that your shoulders brush.

It’s stupid, but you feel proud. Alive. Like the universe has not, in fact, succeeded in knocking you down where you’ll stay.

When you glance at Heeseung, you catch him looking at you with an expression you can’t immediately name.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you mumble.

“Like what?” he asks.

“Like I grew a second head.”

He smiles, small and crooked. “You didn’t grow a second head,” he says. “You just… didn’t give up.”

“You didn’t either,” you point out.

He shrugs. “Someone had to carry you.”

It hits you then, all at once, in a way that feels different from the half-formed realizations in the tunnel and on the road.

You could have died. You almost did.

You didn’t.

And between the sky and the tunnel and the spiral of panic in your own chest, between Kazuha’s choice and Beomgyu’s disappearance and the endless churn of grief, there was one constant: this man, refusing to let go. Counting your breaths in silence. Saying stay like it was a word he could staple you to the world with.

You turn to him before you can talk yourself out of it.

“Why?” you ask.

His brow furrows. “Why what?”

“Why me?” You twist your fingers in the edge of your jacket. “You barely knew me before… all this. There were a dozen other people you could have cared that much about. But when the tunnel came down, when the dropouts hit…” Your voice trails off, throat tight. “You keep choosing me.”

It’s not an accusation. It’s bewilderment. Awe.

Heeseung looks away, jaw working.

When he speaks, his voice is low. “Do you remember when we first met?”

You think back. The mall. The merging of groups. The water bottle in his hand.

“You gave me water and told me I looked like I’d been run over by a bus,” you say.

He huffs out a breath. “Not my most poetic moment.”

“You can be poetic now,” you offer. “We’re in a literal observatory. Vibes are on your side.”

He’s quiet for a moment.

“When the sky first turned,” he says slowly, “I was… nobody. Just some guy with a guitar and too many half-finished songs. Then the Violet Hour came and suddenly everything that used to matter didn’t. Degrees. Jobs. Likes.” He shakes his head. “It all burned out. And what was left was people. The ones you’d die for, the ones you’d kill for, the ones you’d miss even if you’d only known them five minutes.”

He glances at you, then back at his hands.

“You joined our group three days after we lost half of it,” he says. “You were bleeding from your knee, clutching that notebook like it was a relic. I remember thinking you looked like you’d been dropped from a great height and were still falling.”

You swallow.

“You looked at the sky like it owed you answers,” he continues. “Like you were angry at it and scared of it and still determined to understand it. You made jokes when you were shaking. You took notes when everyone else was trying not to look.”

His mouth curves, but there’s too much feeling behind it for it to be called a smile.

“You were a stranger,” he says softly. “But you were… beautiful, in the way you refused to let the world make you blind. You know that TXT song? ‘Beautiful Stranger’? You reminded me of that. Someone ordinary who showed up in the middle of a disaster and made it… less meaningless.”

Your chest feels too full.

“So yeah,” he says, voice roughening. “I didn’t know you. Not really. But after a while, it didn’t feel like it mattered. The sky kept trying to pull people apart, and still, there you were. Walking beside me. Cracking jokes. Writing theories.” His gaze finally meets yours. “I just… decided I wouldn’t let it separate us. Not if I had a say.”

Beautiful stranger.

The words lodge somewhere deep inside you.

You think of all the moments you dismissed as coincidence: the way he always ended up on your side of the fire, the spare portion of food pushed your way when supplies ran thin, the quiet hum of a melody you didn’t recognize until you caught a line and realized it was about you.

You realize, with a clarity that’s almost frightening, that you made the same decision somewhere back there too.

To keep ending up beside him. To keep watching the way his head tilted toward the sky. To keep being relieved, stupidly, every time a dropout ended and he was still there.

“We were just strangers, then,” you murmur.

“Beautiful strangers,” he says. There’s no teasing in it. Just honesty.

Your heart stutters.

“And now?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

He looks at you like he’s standing on the edge of a ledge and about to step off.

“Now,” he says, “I don’t know what word is big enough for what you are to me.”

Silence stretches between you. Not the cosmic kind—the heavy, predatory quiet of the dropouts. This is smaller. Human. Fragile.

You reach for his hand before you can overthink it.

He freezes as your fingers slide over his, then closes his hand around yours so gently it almost breaks you.

“I don’t have a word, either,” you say, throat tight. “Just the feeling I get when I wake up and you’re the first person I see, and it’s not the sky.”

He laughs, choked. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you warn. “I have a reputation.”

His thumb strokes over your knuckles, slow and reverent. “Too late.”

___________

Night falls purple.

You can tell when the safe window approaches. Not because of any chart or countdown—your bones feel it first. A loosening in the air, the sense that the sky is… less hungry for a little while.

Heeseung appears in your doorway just as you’re lacing your boots, leaning on the frame with that faintly nervous half-smile you’re starting to recognize as his I care too much and don’t know what to do with it expression.

“You sure about this?” he asks.

You straighten carefully, testing your balance. “Sure about walking, or sure about seeing the thing that’s been trying to kill me from an aesthetic angle?”

“Both,” he says.

“You’ll catch me if I faceplant,” you say. “That’s good enough.”

He shakes his head, but he steps forward anyway, offering his arm.

You take it.

The walk to the dome is a slow climb, up stairs that curve along the interior of the observatory like a spine. The walls are lined with more charts, more notes. You catch glimpses of other people as you pass—faces tired but alive, some nodding in greeting, some too focused on their tasks to spare the energy.

At the top of the last flight, you find Chaewon and Taehyun by a heavy metal door.

Chaewon’s hair is indeed cut in a jagged, too-short fringe that screams stress, but there’s something razor-sharp and steady in her gaze that backs Yunjin’s assessment: she absolutely could kill you with a look.

“Window starts in two minutes,” she says without preamble. “You have ten before the risk curve spikes. Don’t linger near the opening mechanism; if anything starts to go wrong, I’m sealing it.”

“Understood,” Heeseung says.

Taehyun flicks his eyes over you. “If you feel anything—pressure, drop, anything new—say it,” he tells you. “I don’t care if it sounds dumb.”

“Got it,” you say.

Chaewon hits a switch. The heavy door groans open.

Heeseung squeezes your arm. “Ready?”

“No,” you say honestly. “Let’s go.”

The dome is… beautiful.

And terrifying.

You step into a circular room lined with consoles and long-dead computers. The centerpiece is a massive telescope, old and dignified, its barrel aimed toward a shuttered opening in the curved ceiling. The air smells faintly metallic and dusty, with a hint of ozone.

“Here we go,” Chaewon’s voice crackles over a nearby intercom. “Opening in three… two… one.”

The dome panels above you split.

For a moment, nothing happens. Then the sky pours in.

You’ve seen it a hundred times from streets and rooftops and through shattered windows, but this is different. Here, framed by the observatory’s dark ribs, it feels closer. Intimate.

Bands of Violet light ripple overhead, thick and slow-moving. Dark purple at the core, bleeding out into pastel plumes that shimmer, almost iridescent. Stars flicker through in places, but they’re wrong—clustered where they shouldn’t be, lines drawn between them that form unfamiliar patterns.

It’s like looking up at a bruise spread across the universe, veins glowing from within.

You take a step forward, neck craned back, breath caught in your throat.

“It’s…” Words fail. You laugh, a short, breathless sound. “God. It’s awful.”

Heeseung huffs beside you. “And beautiful,” he murmurs. “Like some giant, cosmic scar.”

You glance at him. His face is tipped up, the purple glow painting his skin, catching in his eyes. He looks like he belongs here. Like someone carved him out of the same twilight and put him in your path just to see what you’d do.

Your chest aches.

“You used to look at normal stars like this?” you ask quietly.

He smiles, small. “Didn’t have much else.”

“And now?” you press.

“Now I look at them like I’m checking if they’re still there,” he says. “And then I look at you to make sure you’re still here too.”

You feel your cheeks heat, even in the cool air.

“Smooth,” you say. It comes out hoarse.

“Was that smooth?” he asks, genuinely curious. “I’m out of practice.”

You laugh, softer this time.

Your hand finds his again without thinking.

“Hey,” you say.

“Yeah?”

“We’re not strangers anymore,” you say. “We’re just… two idiots who decided to be stubborn about each other.”

“A promotion,” he says gravely. “From beautiful strangers to… beautifully stubborn idiots.”

You snort. “That’s terrible.”

“You’re stuck with it now,” he says.

You realize, somewhere between his fingers curling around yours and the way he’s looking at you, that he’s right.

You’re stuck with him.

You’re not even a little bit mad about it.

A breeze slips through the open dome, cool on your overheated skin. It smells faintly like wet stone and old metal. The hair on your arms rises, but not from fear this time.

“Any weird sensations?” Taehyun’s voice crackles over the intercom. “Headache? Nausea? Existential dread?”

“I live with existential dread,” you call back.

Heeseung laughs quietly.

“No pressure shifts,” you add. “Feels… weird, but stable.”

“Good,” Chaewon says. “You have eight minutes.”

Eight minutes.

It feels like a lifetime and a blink.

Heeseung shifts, turning to face you fully. You mirror him, the telescope at your back, the Violet sky framing his shoulders.

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

Then he lifts his free hand, hesitates for a fraction of a second, and touches your cheek.

His fingers are rough, calloused from weapons and ladders and too many days of climbing through ruins. His touch is feather-light, like he’s afraid you’re going to flicker and vanish if he presses too hard.

“You really scared me,” he says quietly.

Your throat tightens. “You really carried me,” you reply.

“I’d do it again,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “As many times as it takes.”

“You’ll wreck your back,” you say, because every defense mechanism you’ve ever had is screaming at you to make a joke before you fall apart.

“Worth it,” he says.

You swallow.

“Say it,” you whisper.

“Say what?” he asks, though you think he knows.

“That thing you don’t have a word for,” you say. “Just… try.”

He exhales slowly. His thumb strokes over your cheekbone in a small, shaky arc.

“I woke up one day to a purple sky and the feeling that the universe had finally snapped,” he says. “Everything I thought was permanent turned out to be fragile. People vanished mid-step. Friends died. The world became this… kaleidoscope of horror.”

You listen, heart pounding.

“And then,” he continues, “in the middle of it, there was you.”

He smiles, small and painfully soft.

“You, complaining about your blisters and scribbling down theories and refusing to look away,” he says. “You, making me laugh when I didn’t remember how. You, looking at me like I was… more than what the sky left behind.”

His voice drops.

“You’re the part of the apocalypse that doesn’t feel like a joke,” he says. “You’re the one person I can’t imagine this ending without. If the Violet Hour is some kind of test to see what sticks, then I’m… pretty sure I’ve already found my answer.”

Your eyes sting.

Tears spill over before you can stop them, hot tracks on your chilled skin. Heeseung’s thumb catches one, startled.

“Sorry,” you mutter, laughing weakly. “I think my face is leaking.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he says. “I’ve been… kind of stuck on leaking mode since that tunnel.”

You breathe out a wet laugh. “Good. Then we match.”

He stares at you like you’re the only thing in the room that makes sense.

“Can I…” He swallows. “Can I kiss you?”

The fact that he asks, that he gives you that escape hatch even now, after everything—that’s what undoes you.

“Yes,” you say, voice shaking. “Please.”

He leans in slowly, giving you more than enough time to change your mind.

You don’t.

His mouth meets yours with a softness that steals your breath.

It’s tentative at first, a careful press of lips, the kind of kiss that says I don’t want to scare you away. His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading gently into your hair, holding you like you’re the only steady thing in a world that keeps slipping.

You sigh into him, the sound caught between your mouths.

The second kiss is deeper.

Something in him breaks loose, some tether he’s been holding too tight. His mouth opens against yours, and you answer without thinking, tilting your head, letting him in. His hand tightens in your hair; your free hand fists in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.

You taste him: salt and something sharp, like held-back fear finally exhaled.

The world narrows.

There’s sky and there’s him and there’s the way your chest aches in a way that has nothing to do with cracked ribs.

He makes a small sound against your lips, half-groan, half-sigh, and it sends a bolt of electricity straight through you. You feel him everywhere—where his hand cups the back of your neck, where his other hand finds your hip, where his chest presses to yours, warm and solid and alive.

You pull back for a breath, foreheads touching, both of you panting like you’ve run miles.

“This is—” you start.

“Insane,” he finishes. “I know.”

“I was going to say inevitable,” you murmur.

He laughs, breath ghosting across your mouth. “God, you’re going to kill me.”

“Tell that to the sky,” you say. “It keeps trying.”

His fingers flex on your hip. “We’re wasting time,” he whispers.

“We have…” You glance at the nearest console, at the blinking light that marks the window. “Five minutes.”

“More than we had yesterday,” he says. “Less than I want.”

He kisses you again.

This time, there’s nothing tentative about it.

All the things you’ve both been swallowing—fear, longing, grief, the desperate hope that you’re not making a mistake by loving someone in a world like this—they all pour out, raw and messy, into the way his mouth moves against yours.

You let go.

You let yourself feel the way his hands slide up your sides, careful of your injuries but greedy for contact. You feel the tug of his fingers at the hem of your shirt, the way his thumbs rub slow circles into your waist through the fabric, grounding and dizzying at once.

You angle yourself toward him, wincing a little when your leg protests. He catches the flinch immediately, breaking the kiss.

“Too much?” he asks, breathless.

“Not enough,” you say honestly. “Just… help me.”

He searches your face, then nods, jaw set with that familiar, stubborn determination.

“Come here,” he murmurs.

He helps you sit on the edge of one of the low platforms near the telescope, easing you down like you’re something precious instead of someone held together by tape and willpower. He steps between your knees, hands braced on either side of you, caging you in without making you feel trapped.

“What do you want?” he asks quietly, eyes dark and blown wide.

You swallow, fingers sliding up his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart under your palms.

“You,” you say. “Here. Now. While the universe is distracted.”

A crooked smile tugs at his lips. “Bossy.”

“Motivated,” you correct. “We’re on a timer.”

He huffs, then leans in, lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “Then we shouldn’t waste what we’ve been given.”

His breath is hot against your skin. A shiver races down your spine.

Outside, the Violet sky ripples, slow and strange and endless.

Inside the dome, with the panels open and the night breathing in, you feel something you haven’t felt since the world ended: not safety—not exactly. But possibility.

Heeseung kisses down the side of your throat, slow and reverent, like he’s memorizing you. His hands slide lower, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, the line of your back. You grip his shoulders, nails digging in just enough to make him catch his breath.

The air between you grows thicker, each exhale a shared thing, each small sound swallowed by the other’s mouth.

When his fingers finally slip under the hem of your shirt and find warm skin, you gasp, back arching into his touch, the observatory falling away in a rush of heat and heartbeat and the knowledge that for this moment, in this ruined, Violet-stained world, you are here and he is here and neither of you is letting go.

Far below, alarms and charts and calculations track the whims of a broken sky.

Up here, under that same sky, two once-beautiful strangers cling to each other like the last honest thing the universe left behind—

—and in the space between his wandering hands and your hungry mouth, something opens that has nothing to do with domes or stars and everything to do with what you’re about to do next, together.

________

The dome above is still open.

The Violet sky pulses slowly—thick and strange and alive, like it’s breathing through the ribs of the universe. The stars are wrong and close, more suggestion than science, constellations melted into spirals that weren’t there before.

And Heeseung is looking at you like you’re the miracle in this room.

“You’re the only thing that ever made sense up there,” he murmurs, voice low and threaded with heat, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath spilling into your mouth with every syllable.

You’re trembling—not from pain this time, not even from fear—but from how much you want him. How long you’ve wanted him. How much you’ve had to hold back when the world was all falling ceilings and blood and grief and please don’t disappear on me too.

Now you have minutes. And his body between your knees. And the taste of his mouth still blooming behind your lips.

His hands slide slowly, reverently, over your hips, beneath your shirt, fingertips grazing skin like he’s afraid it will vanish if he touches too fast.

You whisper his name.

Heeseung’s eyes flutter shut.

“I thought I lost you,” he breathes, voice cracking. “When you fell, when I saw you under all that fucking concrete, I—”

You drag your fingers through his hair, slow and gentle, and he shudders.

“You didn’t,” you whisper. “I stayed. I stayed because of you.”

He chokes on a sound—half breath, half broken thing—and kisses you again, desperate now. His hands grip tighter, pulling you closer as your body tilts forward into him. He shifts his weight to brace you, holding your lower back, your thighs, like a man keeping a promise with his entire body.

“You scare the hell out of me,” he groans into your mouth, “and I still—fuck—I still can’t stop wanting you.”

You whimper against his lips.

“Then don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t stop. Don’t hold back. Not tonight.”

His breath stutters, chest pressing flush to yours. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” you say. “Not even when the sky made sense.”

He moans—soft, guttural—and kisses you harder.

His hands are under your thighs now, fingers squeezing, dragging you flush against the ridge of his hips. Your core pulses at the contact, the firm pressure of him grinding into the seam of your jeans as he swallows the sound you make.

It’s hunger. All of it. But also… reverence.

Like he’s been dying to touch you and scared of what it might mean once he does. Like he’s memorized every line of you from afar and now he’s trying to burn it into his hands before the sky has a chance to steal you away again.

“You’re so fucking warm,” he murmurs, breath fanning across your jaw as he mouths a path toward your ear. “And I keep thinking—what if I never got to feel this? What if I never touched you like this, tasted you like this?”

You gasp as his teeth graze your neck.

“Then do it,” you say, breath catching. “Touch me. Taste me. I’m here, Heeseung. I’m not gone. I’m not going anywhere.”

His fingers twitch, digging into your waist. You see it happen—the moment the fear breaks. The tension in his shoulders shatters, replaced with something wilder, messier, needier.

He lifts your shirt slowly, reverently, dragging the fabric up and over your head. He stares.

His mouth falls open just slightly, eyes devouring every inch of exposed skin like he’s not sure he deserves to see it.

“You’re…” His throat works. “You’re not real.”

“I am,” you say, pulling him back in by the collar. “But only for you.”

He groans like that does something to him.

His hands return to your skin, sliding up your ribs, calloused fingertips ghosting over your sides, your stomach, your bra. You arch into the contact, your breath stuttering, heat pooling low in your belly.

Heeseung kisses your chest through the fabric, slowly, reverently—pressing his mouth to the space above your heart, your sternum, the soft swell of your breast. His hands are gentle, but his mouth grows more desperate.

Your fingers fumble at his jacket, then his shirt. He helps, tugging the layers off and tossing them aside.

And god—he’s beautiful.

Lean muscle, scars from the road, bruises still fading. He looks carved from the sky itself, all shifting light and unspoken ache. His skin is warm, golden under the purple glow, his breaths shallow as you touch him like you’ve been starving for the taste of him.

“I dreamed of this,” you whisper. “I used to think about what it would be like to feel you like this.”

His gaze darkens. “You thought about me?”

“Every night,” you say. “You were all I had sometimes.”

He crashes his mouth to yours, teeth clashing, breath ragged. He lifts you onto the edge of the platform with both hands gripping your thighs, spreading them enough to slot himself between.

You can feel the hard line of him through his jeans, grinding slow against you, the pressure perfect, maddening. You gasp against his mouth and he groans, hands sliding down to your ass to pull you closer.

“This is going to be fast,” he pants. “I can’t—I’ve wanted you for too long—”

“Then take me,” you whisper, nails digging into his shoulder blades. “Like you’ll never get another chance.”

He growls, and then his hand is on your jeans, unbuttoning, dragging them down past your thighs, past your knees, leaving you bare on the cold platform with nothing but the sky above and the heat between you.

And when he sinks to his knees in front of you—eyes dark, breath hot, mouth parting with hunger and reverence and need—your body pulses like it’s been waiting for this exact kind of ruin.

He looks up at you once, like a man staring up at god.

“You’re so wet,” he whispers, voice breaking. “You’re soaked for me already.”

Then his mouth is on you.

And the sky finally stops meaning anything at all.

________

His mouth is on you like he’s starved for it.

Not hesitant—not anymore—but hungry, greedy, reverent. His hands spread your thighs wider as he kneels between them on the cold observatory floor, the air thick with heat, history, and the electric tension of finally.

You cry out the second his tongue touches your slit—slow and purposeful, one long lick from your dripping entrance to your clit. He groans, guttural, like he’s tasting something he never thought he’d get to have.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You taste like you were made for me.”

You shudder, fingers lacing into his hair, grounding yourself in the feel of his mouth, the wet glide of his tongue as he licks you again, slower this time, swirling around your clit before sucking it into his mouth.

Your head falls back, eyes fluttering, the exposed dome above a blur of violet haze—but you don’t care. The only thing that’s real is the way he eats you like a prayer and a promise and a possession all at once.

Heeseung’s tongue fucks into you next, deep and messy, licking up everything you give him, his moans vibrating right through your core.

“Shit—Heeseung—” you gasp, hips bucking as he drags two fingers along your slit and slides one inside. You’re already soaked, walls fluttering around him as he pushes deeper, curling just right—

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, voice muffled against your clit. “Like your pussy’s never been touched like this. Have you ever—?”

“No,” you gasp. “No one’s ever—fuck, only you—”

That breaks something in him.

“God, baby, I’ll ruin you,” he whispers, and then he’s devouring you—sucking your clit into his mouth again, pumping his fingers faster, fucking them in and out in filthy, wet thrusts that echo obscenely in the quiet dome.

You’re squirming, hips grinding down, riding his tongue, his fingers—every muscle in your body tightening.

“I want you to cum on my mouth,” he rasps. “Wanna feel you shake. Want it dripping down my chin—”

You do.

Your orgasm tears through you like the Violet sky cracking wide open. You moan his name, high and broken, legs trembling around his head as he keeps licking you through it, drawing out every last spasm, every slick wave of pleasure until you’re panting and wrung out, pussy pulsing and drenched.

Heeseung pulls back, mouth and chin soaked, eyes wild.

He presses his slick fingers to your lips. “Taste what you do to me.”

You open obediently, sucking his fingers clean, moaning softly at the salt of yourself on his skin.

He watches you like he might lose his mind.

Then he’s on his feet, jeans already undone, cock thick and heavy and leaking as he fists it once, twice, groaning.

“Can I?” he rasps. “Fuck you?”

You nod so fast it’s a whimper. “Please. Please, Heeseung. I need it.”

He lifts you, your legs wrapping around his waist, your back pressed to the telescope platform. He lines himself up, tip brushing your soaked slit, and looks into your eyes.

“Tell me you want this.”

“I need this,” you whisper. “Fuck me. Now.”

He surges forward, burying his cock in you in one smooth, deep thrust.

You scream.

Heeseung groans, mouth dropping open. “Fuck, baby, you’re so tight—squeezing me so hard—”

You’re full. Stretched. Perfectly filled by his cock, your cunt pulsing around him already, greedy and soaked.

He pulls back, then slams into you again—harder.

You choke on a moan, nails digging into his shoulders. “Heeseung—fuck—don’t stop—”

“Not stopping,” he pants. “Not ever—”

His rhythm builds: deep, hungry thrusts that slam into you again and again, his cock hitting your spot with perfect, punishing precision. He holds you up like you weigh nothing, fucking into you like he owns you, like this is the only thing that’s ever made sense.

“Feels so fucking good inside you,” he grits out, eyes locked on yours. “Pussy made for me. So wet. So tight. You’re mine, baby—say it—”

“I’m yours,” you sob, voice wrecked. “I’m yours, Heeseung—oh my god—”

“Say it louder,” he growls, fucking you harder now, deeper, rutting into you with desperate, filthy thrusts that shake your entire body.

“I’m yours! I’m yours, please—”

Your pussy tightens hard around him.

“You gonna cum again?” he pants. “Gonna soak my cock?”

“Yes—yes—yes—”

“Then fucking cum for me,” he snarls. “Cum all over this cock—my cock—”

You scream as your second orgasm hits, body convulsing, walls gripping him like a vice as he fucks you through it, eyes locked on your face.

“Fuck—fuck—I’m gonna—” Heeseung gasps, hips stuttering. “I’m gonna cum—where do you want it—?”

“Inside,” you whimper. “Want you to fill me—please—”

His eyes roll back.

“Holy fuck—”

He slams into you one final time, cock buried to the hilt, and cums—thick, hot spurts spilling deep inside your spasming pussy, filling you up completely. He groans like it’s breaking him apart, arms shaking as he holds you through it.

You both stay there for a long moment—panting, wrecked, bodies trembling in the afterglow.

The sky pulses softly above you. But nothing else matters now.

Not when he’s still inside you.

Not when your body’s still twitching from how hard he made you cum.

Not when he leans forward and kisses you again—sweet, desperate, like he’ll never stop.

“Beautiful stranger,” he murmurs, forehead pressed to yours, voice thick and ruined. “You’re all I fucking have now.”

And god help you—

You think it might be enough.

_______

Six months later, the sky is still wrong—

but it feels a little less like it’s trying to swallow you whole.

The Violet bands are thinner now, stretched out and softer, like old bruises fading. Dropouts still come, but you feel them before they hit and Chaewon’s team listens when you say, “Not yet. Wait.” People live because of that.

There’s a garden on the lower level now.

Yunjin and Jay argued for weeks about what to plant, then somehow ended up building it together—plastic crates for planters, rigged grow-lamps, a sad but determined line of herbs and tomatoes. She still swings her bat when she’s stressed, but she laughs easier now. Sometimes you catch her sitting in the dirt, talking quietly to a patch of basil like it’s a person she misses.

Soobin and Taehyun basically live in the control room. There are string lights now, and a whiteboard where they draw stupid comics in between mapping the sky. When a dropout skims past the predicted curve and nobody dies, they high-five like kids who beat a boss level.

Jungwon goes in and out.

He’ll disappear for a week with supply runs and negotiations and rumors of other pockets of survivors, then come back hoarse and tired, but alive. Every time he returns, he checks the names on the wall, touches Beomgyu’s and Kazuha’s, and lingers there for a breath too long.

“We’re still here,” he says once, catching your eye, like he’s surprised every time. “Huh.”

The observatory stops feeling like a hiding place and starts feeling like a small, stubborn version of home.

And you and Heeseung… change, too.

Not overnight. Not suddenly. But slowly, in the way you reach for each other without thinking when the silence falls. In the way you steal his shirt in the mornings and he pretends to complain. In the way his guitar (rescued on some stupidly risky trip down into the city) now lives in your room, not his.

Some nights, you still wake up gasping, heart pounding, sure you’re under concrete again—or worse, that he’s gone.

Every time, there’s a weight beside you, warm and familiar. Heeseung mumbles your name into your shoulder, arm tightening around your waist like his body refuses to let go even in sleep.

“I’m here,” he always says, half-awake. “Still here. You too.”

Tonight, you’re on the roof, wrapped in a blanket he insisted on carrying up for you. Your legs still ache when the weather changes, but he takes that as an excuse to sit closer, thigh pressed to yours, fingers laced with yours beneath the fabric.

The dome is open.

The Violet sky overhead is thinner now, streaked with delicate pastel lines and patches of real black where new constellations flicker through. Chaewon says they’re not the old stars, not really, but they’re stars. Somehow, that feels like enough.

“Remember the first time we came up here?” Heeseung asks, voice low.

You snort. “You mean when we almost ran out of time because you were too busy making out with me against a telescope?”

He grins, eyes crinkling. “Very worth it.”

You lean your head on his shoulder, breathing in the familiar, comforting smell of him—soap, paper, metal, something warm and uniquely him that never goes away.

“We were so stupid,” you murmur. “Didn’t even know if we’d survive the week.”

“We didn’t,” he says. “Not the versions of us that walked in here the first time, anyway.”

You consider that. “Yeah. I guess they died and we turned into the DLC.”

He laughs, tipping his head against yours. “Terrible analogy,” he says. “But accurate.”

Quiet stretches between you, easy now instead of brittle.

“So,” you say eventually, “do you still think I’m just a beautiful stranger?”

His grip on your hand tightens.

“No,” he says. “You were never just that.”

You tilt your head up to look at him. “What am I now, then?”

He studies you in the soft purple glow, his gaze lingering on the tiny scar at your hairline from the tunnel, the crinkle near your eyes when you’re fighting a smile.

“You’re my favorite part of this entire broken sky,” he says simply. “The one thing I’d still choose, even if the world had ended a thousand different ways.”

Your chest aches in that good, too-full way you’re still getting used to.

You shift closer, pressing your mouth to his. The kiss is slow now, unhurried—warm and deep and threaded with memory instead of panic. His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, thumb stroking the place where bone remembers the tunnel.

Below, you can hear faint laughter from the garden. The control room door bangs and Soobin yells something about “new data” and Taehyun yells back like he just got handed a present.

Above, the universe is still strange and wounded and loud.

But here, in this small, stubborn circle of light, you’re safe. You’re held. You’re loved.

Once upon a time, the world ended in shades of purple.

An impossible aurora rolled over the sky and never left.

In its ruins, two strangers met on a broken street—

and somehow, against every law of probability and horror and grief, they survived long enough to stop being strangers.

“Hey,” you murmur against his lips. “If the sky tries to take you, I’m going with you. Just so you know.”

He smiles into the kiss.

“Deal,” Heeseung whispers. “But between you and me… I think we get to stay this time.”

The Violet light shifts overhead, softer now, almost gentle.

You squeeze his hand and let yourself believe it — because after everything you were beautiful strangers.

_____________________

first fic in big 2026

perm taglist - @yourislandgirl @luvr4gyu @staarflowerr @whattlulu @chae-rries @mariegibeau @wonuziex @iris65 @toastmenace @saraabbas @kaykay11sworld @en-boyz @strawberrykkk1 @nshmrarki @xoseos @rosepetalsO9 @candidupped @choeryyxyz @pebblejazz @123hees @wonniesjungdimple @jenlunes @h3esdo11 @leesayyy @choeryyxyz @diameuwu @wonniesluvr24 @ddeonuswife @kristynaaah @rikisonline @esmioriki @wonnieswife @f-nari @hoonsocks @enstarzzi @blindingvenomss @hoonskis @hoonnri @drkbl00d @enhlux @gardenwonn @6371797261 @jungwonluveren @kookiesnkim @mailovesreading @eisaissante

you can hardly answer. because even though it’s been weeks of sneaking off to see him, you’re still not used to how it feels to be kissed by a prince, the prince jungwon, who looks at you like you’re anything but just a servant.

your dress hem is dusty with soil, your hands still a little rough from the day’s work, and your hair is poorly tied with a frayed ribbon. but he never seems to care. he never has.

“my lord… if we’re caught…”

his brow furrowed. just a little. that gesture he made whenever something bothered him, even though he tried not to show it.

“milady…” he says, his voice low, almost a whisper. “i don’t care if we get caught. i couldn’t find you all morning. where were you?”

your hands tremble slightly at how close he is, how being with him like this feels both terrifying and perfect.

“i was… working.” you whisper, eyes falling to the flowers near your feet. it’s hard to look at him when he speaks with that kind of gentleness. “as i’m supposed to.”

he lets out a soft sigh, low and quiet. then his hand lifts to your face, tilting your chin with such delicate care that your breath hitches in your throat. his touch is gentle, too gentle for someone of his status. a prince shouldn’t touch a servant like that.

“working?” he repeats, raising a brow. “don’t you know that seeing you is far more important than any royal duty?”

he makes a dramatic little face, pretending to be offended, but his eyes sparkle with softness. his thumb gently brushes your cheek, and that stupidly charming smile of his doesn’t budge.

“i was about to launch a kingdom-wide search. or worse… interrogate every guard in the castle. do you know how bad that would look in the official records?”

you giggle softly, shaking your head, heat blooming on your cheeks.

“you missed me that much?”

“that much?” he echoes, smirking. “i almost wrote you a tragic letter and slipped it under your pillow. in golden ink, of course. signed: his royal highness, the hopelessly desperate prince.”

you cover your face with both hands, laughing while he leans closer, clearly proud of himself.

“what was the letter going to say?” you ask peeking your eyes through your fingers.

“something like… ‘my heart beats only for you, my radiant flower from the northern wing of the castle.’” he says, lowering his voice with mock seriousness, pressing his forehead against yours. “though… i still have time to write it. maybe it’ll convince you to sneak off with me more often.”

you bite your lip, heart fluttering like crazy. “you’re ridiculous.”

“and you’re enchanting, milady.” he says without missing a beat, whispering so close you can almost feel the smile on his lips. “now give me five more minutes before duty drags you away again, will you?

“actually… “you murmur, glancing toward the dark path. “i’m done for the day. i was on my way to my quarters.”

“to sleep?” he asks, with a look of mild betrayal, like you just insulted him.

you nod, a bit amused, and he immediately steps ahead, subtly blocking your way like it’s a royal obligation.

“milady, i’m afraid i cannot allow that.”

“excuse me?” you raise a brow, trying not to laugh.

“i spent the whole morning without seeing you.” he says, bowing dramatically like he’s putting on a show. “and now you want to simply… go to sleep? without letting me steal at least a few smiles?”

“jungwon…”

“yes, milady?” he responds with that face. that impossibly sweet, infuriatingly charming face.

he takes your hand and gently lifts it to his lips without breaking eye contact. his mouth brushes over your knuckles in the softest kiss imaginable, warm and lingering.

“just five minutes.” he whispers. “i’ll let you go after. though… i can’t promise i won’t steal one more kiss first.”

“just one…” you say, lifting a finger.

“one very long one.” he corrects with a mischievous grin, and before you can protest, he’s already pulling you in, his nose brushing yours, his voice soft enough to make your knees go weak. “i can’t help it, milady. there’s something about you that makes me want to break every rule in the kingdom.”

you fall silent, heart thudding faster than any royal horse could gallop. he leans in a little closer, and just when you think he’s about to kiss you, he murmurs.

“besides… i can’t let you go to sleep without wishing you sweet dreams”

“you’re going to wish me sweet dreams with your lips?” you ask, trying not to giggle. you bite your lip, and of course he notices, he always does. his eyes drop to your mouth, and he smiles again.

“of course.”

and then he does. it’s a soft kiss, sweet, so tender it feels like it was stolen out of a fairytale. and in that moment, you forget the castle walls, the titles, the fact that he’s the crown prince and you’re just a servant.

because right there, between bushes and whispers, he’s just jungwon. your jungwon.

after your encounter with the prince you made your way to the shared servants quarters, tucked away in the quieter wing of the castle. far from the golden halls and polished staircases that royalty walked. your room was small, simple, and lit by a few flickering candles. stone walls surrounded you, cold and silent, but the soft glow and warmth of your friendship with gisselle made it feel almost safe.

the candles were still lit, though dim, their wax spilling over the edges of their holders, pooling like forgotten time. the room was quiet, save for the soft creak of the wooden floor beneath your bare feet. your nightgown brushed against your ankles as you opened the door slowly, breath still uneven.

as soon as you stepped inside, gisselle sat up in her bed, eyes wide.

“finally!” she whispered sharply, sheets rustling as she motioned for you to come closer. “i was about to sneak out and find you. where on earth have you been?”

you closed the door gently and padded across the floor, not to your bed, but to hers. you dropped to your knees beside it, heart thumping, face flushed.

“i saw him, gisselle.” you whispered, breathless.

she clutched your arm immediately, her eyes even wider now.

“was it him? the prince?” she nearly gasped, then caught herself and slapped a hand over her mouth. “good god, what if someone had seen you?”

“no one did. i ran into him on my way back to the quarters. he came to see me.”

“oh my—” gisselle fell back onto her pillow, clutching it to her chest. “tell me, was it tender? did he call you milady?”

your heart skipped at the memory, his voice so gentle, like you were something delicate in his hands.

“yes..” you whispered, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “he called me milady. and… it was like a dream, gisselle. i don’t know how to explain it. everything just felt… perfect.”

her eyes sparkled with excitement. she leaned in close, voice dropping to a whisper, like she feared the walls might lean in too.

“i can’t believe it. you’re really living a fairytale.” she grinned. “did he… did he kiss you? like..” she paused, eyes flicking around the room. “like a prince would?”

you swallowed hard. the memory was still fresh, still warm. your fingers brushed your lips without thinking.

“he did.” you whispered, shy. “it was soft. gentle. like he thought i might break if he wasn’t careful.” a laugh slipped out, light and breathless. “i never thought i’d feel like that… with him.”

gisselle gasped, her hand flying to her mouth again like she physically couldn’t contain her joy.

“oh my stars..” she breathed. “you’re not just some servant anymore, are you? you’re the prince’s secret. this is madness. pure, beautiful madness.”

you chuckled, glancing toward the soft candlelight flickering on the nightstand. shadows danced across the stone walls, quiet and warm.

“he’s royal, gisselle.” you murmured, your smile faltering. “if anyone finds out… it could mean trouble. for both of us. for everything.”

gisselle’s expression softened. she reached out and took your hand in both of hers, her touch grounding.

“i know.” she said gently. “but it’s his choice, isn’t it? if he wants to be with you… then who’s to say no? he sees you for who you really are. not just some servant girl.”

you bit your lip, her words comforting, but the worry still lingered like a shadow in the back of your mind.

“but i am just a servant.” you whispered. “and he’s the prince. his family, his kingdom… they’ll never accept it.”

gisselle squeezed your hand a little tighter, pulling you closer.

“forget them, y/n.” she said with quiet conviction. “you’ve got a love story worth telling, and no crown or title can take that from you.”

you sighed, the weight in your chest easing a little. just enough. for a moment, everything felt simpler. you closed your eyes, thinking of him. the way his lips had brushed yours.

“i don’t know what will happen.” you murmured. “but for now… i’ll treasure it. i’ll treasure him.”

gisselle leaned back into her pillow, her eyes warm with affection as she looked at you.

“you’re so hopelessly in love.” she teased, voice soft and fond.

“am i?” you smiled, resting your head against the edge of her bed, gazing up at the flickering candlelight.

she giggled, nudging you gently with her foot under the blankets.

“yes” she said. “and somehow, you’re going to make it all work. i just know it.”

you smiled, squeezing her hand once more. her warmth, her words, made everything feel a little less impossible.

“thank you, gisselle..” you whispered. “for everything.”

she smiled softly, voice like a lullaby.

“always.”

ii. lavender hands

the scent of lavender clung to the air, subtle and clean, as you stood in the linen room, carefully folding pressed sheets into perfect thirds. it was quiet, peacefully, so save for the rustle of fabric and the occasional creak of the old wooden shelves that lined the walls. sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting golden beams across the room like soft ribbons of light.

you didn’t hear the door at first. not until the latch clicked gently, then closed again. your head lifted quickly, heart stuttering when your eyes met his.

“your highness—”

“shh.” jungwon grinned, finger to his lips as he stepped inside. “i should scold you for calling me that.”

you stared at him, wide-eyed. “you shouldn’t be here. if anyone were to see—”

“they won’t.” he said simply, voice soft as he approached you with featherlight steps. “you fold these sheets too quickly. i hardly have time to catch a glimpse of you.”

you sighed, turning away to keep your hands busy. “i have work to do.”

“and i am only here to assist, mylady.” he said, lifting the edge of a sheet beside you, mimicking your folds with little success.

you tried not to laugh, but the way he fumbled the corners and stared at the linen as though it had offended him, it tugged a smile from you.

“you’re hopeless.”

jungwon beamed. “and yet, you are the one who’s hopelessly pretty.”

you turned, sheet half-folded in your arms, eyes narrowing with a blush warming your cheeks. “that’s improper.”

“so is sneaking in here to see you.” he murmured, stepping closer. his voice dropped, lower now, just for you. “and yet, i can’t seem to stop myself.”

his fingers brushed yours as he took the linen from your arms, folding it with surprising care this time. his eyes didn’t leave your face.

“every hour i’m away, i wonder where you are. what you’re doing. if you think of me.”

you looked away, heart racing. “you should be with your court. preparing for—”

“a future that bores me endlessly.” he finished for you. “i’d rather be here. with you. in rooms that smell like lavender. watching you tuck corners.”

you turned back to him, brows furrowed. “jungwon…”

“may i hold your hand?” he asked softly, like it was sacred.

you hesitated. then slowly reached for him, your fingers slipping into his like puzzle pieces long separated.

he let out a breathless smile, as if he’d just been handed the world.

“forgive me.” he said, raising your hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across your knuckles. “but i find you so terribly lovely.”

you couldn’t speak. not with the way his eyes looked at you, like you were something precious.

“you make it so difficult to stay away.” he whispered, his hands moving from your waist to gently cup your face.

he took his time, studying your face with such intent that it made your heart race. his thumb traced along your cheekbone, and you caught the small, soft gasp that escaped him when his fingers brushed a lock of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear.

you laughed under your breath, cheeks still warm where his hand had been. “you’re ridiculous.” you whispered, voice barely louder than the fluttering in your chest.

jungwon grinned, the boyish kind, the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made your heart stumble. “ridiculously in love with you, perhaps.”

you nudged his shoulder, trying and failing to look stern. “you shouldn’t say things like that.”

“but it’s true.” he leaned against the shelf beside you, hands tucked behind his back, as if resisting the urge to reach for you again. “besides, you blush every time. it’s very rewarding.”

“you’re impossible.” you muttered, turning to the linen stack again, but you smiled, and he saw it.

you pretended to be busy continuing folding, but he stepped closer, his shoulder brushing yours lightly.

“do you ever think..” he said, voice low. “about sneaking away? just for a day. no titles. no expectations. just you and me and the world outside the gates.”

you tilted your head, the idea painting soft, wild colors in your mind. “what would we even do?”

he brightened. “we’d eat sweet bread from the baker’s cart. get our boots dirty in the fields. maybe i’d pretend not to know how to ride a horse just so you’d help me.”

you snorted. “you’re an excellent rider.”

“then maybe I’ll pretend to get lost. that way you’d have to find me.”

“jungwon—”

“and when you do..” he continued with a playful grin. “i’d thank you with a kiss.”

your hands paused, eyes flicking up to meet his. the air between you filled with something golden and warm.

“i think you just want an excuse to kiss me.” you said softly, smile tugging at your lips,

he leaned in a little, lowering his voice like a secret. “i don’t need one.”

your heart flipped. and maybe it was the sunlight or the lavender or the way he was looking at you like the world had slowed down, but you didn’t stop him this time.

his lips brushed yours in the gentlest of kisses, barely there, like a promise.

when you opened your eyes again, he looked dazed, a little stunned with happiness. “i’ve been wanting to do that since the first time i saw you in this room.” he admitted.

you smiled, shy but radiant. “then you should’ve come to fold linens sooner.”

he laughed, full and bright, the sound echoing off the shelves.

“i’m never missing a laundry day again.” he said solemnly.

you giggled, swatting lightly at his chest, but he caught your hand and twirled you in a slow, clumsy circle, right there in the middle of the linen room, amidst half-folded sheets and sunshine.

“what are you doing?” you laughed breathlessly as you stumbled into him.

“practicing for our secret royal ball.” he said with a wink. “it’ll be just the two of us. dress code: aprons and laundry dust.”

you rested your forehead against his, still laughing. “you’re unbelievable.”

“you love it.” he whispered, brushing his nose against yours.

“i might.” you admitted, so softly he nearly missed it.

he stilled.

“say it again..” he murmured, his voice suddenly shy, like he couldn’t believe he’d heard right.

you looked up at him, eyes round and warm. “i might love you.”

his breath hitched. and then he kissed you again, this time giddy and just a little clumsy, like he couldn’t believe you were really there, saying things like that.

you both dissolved into giggles when your teeth bumped. he kissed you again to make up for it. and again. and again.

“you taste like honey.” he whispered against your lips.

“it’s probably the tea from the kitchens.” you replied, cheeks aching from smiling.

“no.” he said, nose brushing yours once more. “it’s just you.”

and there, in a room filled with nothing but fresh linen and sunbeams, jungwon kissed you like the world had finally gotten something right.

iii.

the room was too quiet.

you could feel it in your fingertips as you poured tea into a cup. your movements steady, but not calm. there was no one else in the chamber. no guards, no attendants. just you… and prince ri ki.

ri ki was the second-youngest of the royal line, born into silk and sharp expectations. where jungwon carried the warmth of spring, ri ki was winter, graceful, exact, and difficult to read. his words always seemed carefully chosen, his presence always perfectly composed. he was the kind of boy who wore velvet like armor and wielded silence like a sword.

he sat at the far end of the long table, posture flawless, gaze unreadable. his gloves rested beside his untouched plate, fingers steepled beneath his chin as if the entire room was waiting for his permission to breathe.

you bowed politely. “will there be anything else, your highness?”

“sit.” he said.

you blinked.

“…pardon?”

he nodded to the chair beside him, not unkindly. “i asked you to sit. not as a command, but a courtesy.”

after a heartbeat of hesitation, you obeyed, lowering yourself slowly into the seat. your hands folded in your lap, your breath held.

the silence stretched.

ri ki turned his head, studying you, not cruelly, not unkindly. just… watching.

“you’ve been spending time with my brother.” he said at last.

your pulse stuttered.

you answered carefully. “he sometimes visits the servants’ quarters. he’s friendly.”

ri ki tilted his head just slightly. “you think i’m such a fool?”

you stayed quiet.

“i’ve seen the way he looks at you..” ri ki continued, voice like polished stone. “i’ve also seen the way you look at him.”

your throat tightened. “i never meant—”

he cut you off raising a hand, not accusing, just tired.

“for it to become something real?” he finished, arching a brow. “it already has. and that’s the danger.”

he leaned forward, his gaze sharpening. “i’ve lived in this palace long enough to know the rules, even the unspoken ones. who’s allowed to look at whom. who’s allowed to want. and who’s not.”

you stared at your hands in your lap, fingers curled too tightly.

he sighed. not cold. not even annoyed. just… older than he looked. like someone who had been watching too long from behind a wall of gold.

“i’m not here to threaten you..” he said finally. “i came because jungwon trusts me. and i trust him. but love, especially his, is no small thing.”

you lifted your head.

“he’s always been brave.” ri ki went on. “but lately, i see something more in him. something… reckless. like he’s standing too close to a fire and smiling anyway.”

you breathed. “and you think that’s me?”

“no.” ri ki looked at you calmly. “i think it’s both of you.”

you swallowed, hard. “so what are you going to do?”

“nothing.” he stood, slipping his gloves back on one finger at a time. “at least… not yet.”

you rose with him. “why?”

he paused, adjusting the cuffs of his coat. “because for once, it doesn’t look like a scandal. or a game. it looks like something real. and if it is… you’ll need more than each other to survive it.”

he met your eyes one last time.

“you’ll need to be strong. careful. and above all… silent.” ri ki nodded once. “take care.”

you stood as well, heart still pounding. “your majesty, you’re not going to tell anyone?”

he turned for the door, then paused. “like i said, im not going to do nothing. but be careful.” he said over his shoulder. “not everyone in this palace will be as kind as i am.”

and then he was gone.

you stood there in the quiet, hands trembling slightly, not from fear, but from the truth that had just been laid bare.

because now, you knew someone else had seen the flame.

iv. mylady

the ballroom was packed.

music swelled from the golden chamber like waves crashing against your skull, strings, trumpets, voices, clinking glasses, laughter that didn’t sound happy, not really.

you didn’t belong there. you were just passing through the corridor when you saw him bolt.

jungwon.

a blur of dark blue royal suit, hair combed back too perfectly, expression unreadable as he walked fast, then faster, then ran. no one stopped him. they were too busy bowing.

you didn’t think. you followed.

and now you were here. in the stables. the royal stables, to be exact. where the scent of hay and saddle leather replaced perfume and wine, and moonlight poured in through high wooden slats.

jungwon was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, crown gone, his white undershirt wrinkled beneath layers of discarded uniform.

his knees were drawn up. his elbows rested on them.

he looked…small.

like a boy.

not a prince.

not someone with the weight of the entire court on his back.

“you’re not supposed to be here.” he said softly, not even looking up.

“you’re not either.” you whispered.

he looked up then. his eyes were red. not crying, but close. his jaw tightened when your gaze met his.

“did they send you?”

you sat beside him slowly. your skirts rustled. “no. i just saw you leave.”

he didn’t answer right away.

you watched his hands. they were shaking. he kept flexing his fingers like he couldn’t get the feeling back into them.

you swallowed. “what happened?”

jungwon let out a humorless laugh. “what han’t happened?”

he leaned his head back against the wall and stared at the beams above, silent for a moment.

“my uncle’s drunk..” he started. “my mother’s furious because i didn’t want to dance with the viscount’s daughter. the duke from glenmare asked me what my plan was for international strategy, and i—I’m eighteen.”

you glanced over. he looked so tired.

“i just wanted to breathe..” he muttered. “but then they said i needed to smile more. and shake hands. and bow. and act like i give a damn about any of it.” he turned his head to you suddenly. “and i couldn’t even find you.”

your throat tightened. “me?”

“you always find me when i need air..” he whispered. “but you weren’t there. i couldn’t see you anywhere in that room.”

you were frozen. you never realized he looked for you like that. you thought you were invisible most of the time.

“i was in the west wing..” you said softly. “cleaning.”

he nodded slowly. “of course.” he sighed and leaned forward again, resting his elbows on his knees.

silence again.

but not uncomfortable. just…settled. after a moment, you reached over and touched his hand. he tensed. then relaxed. your fingers stayed there and jungwon stared at them for a second, then intertwined his with yours without looking at you.

his hands were warm now.

“sometimes i wish i wasn’t the prince..” he said quietly. “sometimes i just want to be jungwon.”

you didn’t say anything. instead, you leaned your head on his shoulder. his breath caught. he looked down, stunned at first, but then his whole body seemed to settle. like your touch reset something inside him.

“you feel like peace..” he whispered.

you shut your eyes. he was still holding your hand. your pinky was twitching because of how close he was. you were just a maid. you weren’t supposed to be here. you weren’t supposed to comfort him like this.

but you were. and he was letting you.

“do you ever think about leaving?” he asked. “just…running off? starting over somewhere they don’t know your name?”

you nodded. “all the time.”

jungwon turned to look at you, really look this time. his lashes were long in the moonlight. his eyes soft.

“would you go with me?” he asked.

you blinked. your chest tightened. “what?”

“if i asked..” he said. “would you come with me?”

you wanted to say yes. god, you wanted to scream it.

but instead, you whispered. “is that what you really want?”

he didn’t answer right away. his gaze dropped to your lips. his face was close, so close you could count every texture of his skin.

“no.” he said finally. “what i really want is to kiss you. right now.”

your breath caught.

“but i won’t.” he added. “not unless you want it too.”

your fingers squeezed his, you looked up at him and you nodded. that was all it took.

jungwon didn’t hesitate. his hand came up to your face, gently cupping your cheek like he was scared you’d vanish if he touched you too roughly. his lips found yours, warm, slow at first.

then he kissed you again. and again, deeper this time.

you moved closer without thinking, climbing into his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs, skirts bunched around you. his hands settled on your waist, gripping like he needed something to hold onto.

he pulled back just barely, foreheads pressed together, breathing hard. “tell me if this is too much..” he whispered.

“it’s not..” you said, voice shaky but sure.

his mouth found yours again, more desperate this time. you felt his fingers slide up your back, warm under the fabric of your dress, holding you tighter. your own hands moved up into his hair, finally messy, the way you liked it, the way no one else was allowed to see.

he kissed you like he’d been waiting forever. like he didn’t care about the kingdom or the rules or the titles.

just you. just this.

when his lips left yours, they found your jaw, then your neck, slow, hot kisses that made your breath hitch. you felt dizzy. not from fear, not from nerves. from how real it all felt.

his hands roamed, careful but curious, tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, the bare skin where your dress had slipped just slightly off one shoulder. you gasped quietly when he kissed there, slow and lingering.

you rolled your hips slightly, testing the tension between you. he groaned, quiet, breathy, right against your collarbone, and you felt it, the proof of his want pressing up into you through layers that suddenly felt like too much.

“milady..” he muttered, voice low and rough. “are you.. sure about this?”

you nodded, hands tugging at the buttons of his shirt.

jungwon let out a short breath that could’ve been a laugh, but he was too busy dragging his mouth down your throat, kissing a slow path over your skin. your fingers finally got the last button undone, revealing more of his chest, pale, warm, already flushed. he looked up at you as your hands explored him, watching your face like every move you made was the answer to something he’d been aching to know.

“are you quite certain?” he asked again, one hand slipping up your thigh, pushing your skirts higher. l.

you nodded, breath catching where your fingers brushed his chest. “yes… are you?”

a flicker of colour bloomed on his cheeks. “i’ve never… not once. not with anyone.”

your eyes met his, wide and surprised. “nor have i.”

for a moment, neither of you moved.

the stillness between you felt reverent, sacred. not rushed, not impulsive, just two souls baring themselves.

jungwon exhaled shakily, his thumb brushing your cheek. “then we take our time..” he murmured. “we learn… together.”

your lips curved into the smallest smile. “alright.”

his kiss came slowly, deliberately, with every ounce of care he could give. his lips ghosted over yours as though you were something fragile, something royal in your own right. your hands slipped into his hair, anchoring yourself to him as the warmth of his body pressed against yours.

you helped him undo his pants, fumbling a little with the fabric, both of you shaky and flushed. by then he was free, hard and flushed and already throbbing against your thigh. your underwear came off too, discarded somewhere behind you, forgotten in the soft hay.

“i’ve no notion what i’m doing, mylady.” he admitted softly, flushed and breathless.

“nor i…” you whispered back, a nervous laugh escaping. “but i trust you.”

“may i…?” he asked, voice catching.

you nodded. “slowly.”

and he did. you took him in carefully, inch by inch, both of you holding your breath. it stretched and burned a little, but it wasn’t bad.

his fingers gripped your hips as though anchoring himself. “you’re alright?”

“yes.” you breathed. “just… give me a moment.”

“say the word, and i’ll stop.” he whispered.

but instead, you kissed him.

your bodies moved in soft rhythm, unsure but willing, each motion a question answered with breath and touch. his head rested against your shoulder, his voice a quiet sound of wonder each time you rocked into him.

there was no bed. no privacy. just the hay, the moonlight, and the way he held you like this moment might break him.

“sweet mercy...” he groaned, head tipping back against the stable wall.

you couldn’t think. could barely breathe. all you could do was move, slow at first, easing yourself into the stretch, the fullness. his hands gripped your hips, holding you like he didn’t want to let go.

“mylady, look at me.” he whispered.

and when you did his eyes burned into yours.

“jungwon..”

you moved together, slow, grinding, chasing the edge like it was the only thing that mattered. each roll of your hips dragged a whimper from your throat and a quiet curse from his. he kissed you through it, messy, desperate, open-mouthed kisses as your bodies met again and again.

you felt him throb inside you, knew he was close.

“mylady..” he begged.

you came together quietly, holding each other close, his breath mixing with yours. and a moment later, you followed, falling apart against him, your face buried in his shoulder.

neither of you moved for a long time. you both stayed there, tangled in silence.

his breathing was still uneven, lips slightly parted as he buried his face in your hair. one of his hands lay over your back, fingers twitching gently.

your heart thudded slow but steady, matching his. it felt like the world had paused around you. no court. no crown. just sweat-slick skin, shallow breaths, and the press of two people who shouldn’t have had this, but did.

you exhaled first. and then, softly, barely audible, you speak. “ri ki knows about us.”

jungwon didn’t move. he blinked once. then again.

slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at you. his eyes were puffy but his brows drew together with concern.

“…what?” he whispered.

you swallowed. “your brother knows about this.”

jungwon was quiet. his expression didn’t twist into panic, he just leaned his head back against the wooden beam behind him, staring at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling.

“don’t worry about him.” he murmured. “he wouldn’t tell anyone.”

you nodded slowly, fingers still resting lightly on his chest. “i know. but he’s also loyal. to the crown.”

jungwon looked back at you. there was something unreadable in his eyes now. something sharp beneath the softness. “he’s loyal to me.”

you held his gaze. “are you sure that’s enough?”

he didn’t answer right away. outside, a horse shuffled in its stall. the night breeze creeping through the cracks in the stable walls.

jungwon reached for your hand again, intertwining your fingers.

“i’ll protect us..” he said quietly. “i swear it.”

and you believed him.

v.

the morning sun had barely crested the hills when jungwon stepped onto the practice grounds.

his boots sank slightly into the soft earth, dew still clinging to the grass. his tunic stuck to his back with sweat, already, though it was barely past dawn and the guards who usually assisted him were dismissed.

jungwon exhaled through gritted teeth, blade locked against ri ki’s. both brothers stood at the center of the courtyard, boots planted firm on cobblestone slick with dew.

“you’ve gone soft.” ri ki muttered, pushing back with a smirk.

jungwon twisted his wrist, parried, and stepped aside. “i’ve not.” he grunted. “you’re just insufferable this early.”

“speak for yourself, your highness.”

their swords clashed again, fast now, the rhythm sharp, prince to prince, brother to brother.

jungwon’s movements were aggressive. sharp turns. no hesitation. each strike carried more than just training, it carried frustration.

“you’re distracted.” ri ki said after another parry. “again.”

“and you’re irritating.” jungwon bit, swinging low. ri ki dodged, barely.

“not the first to say so.” they paused, swords crossed, faces close. ri ki studied him. “it’s her, isn’t it?”

jungwon’s jaw tightened. “say it again and i’ll knock your teeth out.”

ri ki lowered his sword.

“you truly believe you’ll keep her hidden forever?” he asked, more serious now. “you’ve always been daft when it comes to consequence, but this, this is foolish beyond reason.”

jungwon stepped back, sword still in hand.

“you think i do not know that?” he snapped. “you think i do not wake with dread in my gut each morn, wondering if mother’s already caught wind?”

“then why continue?”

jungwon looked away, silent for a moment. “because she’s the only thing that feels… honest.”

riki scoffed lightly. “how poetic. write her a sonnet then, not an obituary.”

jungwon turned to him sharply.

ri ki’s tone darkened. “she could die.” he said bluntly. “you know what mother is. you know what she’s done. you’ve seen it.”

a silence felt and jungwon’s knuckles were white around the hilt of his sword. he was breathing hard, but not from the drills.

he stared down at the sword.

ri ki continued, his tone cold. “if word of this reaches her, if she senses even a breath of rebellion, she will not speak of it. she will act.”

jungwon’s jaw clenched. “she would not dare harm her.”

ri ki’s gaze did not waver. “she would. and has. you are heir, jungwon. you were not raised to love. you were bred to rule.”

he felt it then. the doubt.

for the first time.

like rot in his lungs.

he’d always believed he could protect you. that if he loved hard enough, held you tight enough, it would be enough.

but what if it wasn’t?

what if he was dragging you into a fire, blindfolded and barefoot?

what if loving you was a death sentence?

ri ki sighed. “mother wants you ready for tomorrow’s.”

jungwon turned his head. “what is it now?”

“you leave by carriage this afternoon. the royal instructors have been summoned. they are to accompany you by carriage through the northern route.”

jungwon looked up sharply. “i was not told.”

“you’re to meet the princess. she’ll be seated beside you during supper.” ri ki said flatly.

jungwon’s heart sank.

“it begins.” ri ki added. “whether you like it or not.”

he gave jungwon a long look before he left.

vi.

the hour was far past decent.

moonlight stretched pale across the marble floors, and the long hall you crossed seemed to echo with silence. torches flickered low in their sconces, their flames casting golden shadows that danced across your path.

your skirts whispered with each step, arms tired from scrubbing, apron dusted with ash from the hearth. your hands were smudged faintly with soot, apron crumpled, hair tucked back loosely.

you moved quietly through the corridor, long and dimly lit, you just wanted to reach your chambers. you rubbed your arms absently, your shoulders aching. only a few more steps until a hand caught your waist.

you startled, breath caught in your throat, but before you could speak, a second hand came around, pressing gently over your mouth.

your back was against the wall in an instant.

warm breath touched your ear.

“hush.” the voice was low, familiar. your eyes widened as jungwon stepped into view.

his tunic was open slightly at the throat, the royal crest gleaming faint beneath the fabric. his hair was slightly tousled, as though he’d been running fingers through it all evening. he said nothing at first. just looked at you.

you blinked at him. “you scared me.”

“forgive me.” he murmured, brows furrowed as he stepped closer. “i did not intend to, i only… gods, i could not wait.”

your back pressed further into the stone as he closed the distance, eyes still searching his.

he looked tired.

“i’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

you straightened. “leaving?”

he nodded once. “just for a few days.” he reassured, his voice quiet in the empty corridor. his fingers curled gently at your waist. “nothing dangerous. just business. royal duties.”

you looked up at him, trying to read past the calm in his tone.

he was dressed simpler than usual, his dark tunic a bit wrinkled from rushing, the crest at his collar half-buttoned, and his hair messier than you’d ever seen it. like he’d run his hands through it a dozen times.

“will you miss me?” he asked, his head tilting slightly.

you shrugged, arms crossed loosely. “a little.”

he huffed a laugh. “liar.”

his arms came around you then, slow, deliberate, like he wasn’t sure you’d allow it. like he needed to be sure.

but you didn’t move away.

you let him hold you.

his arms slipped further around you then, drawing you in. slower this time, gentler. his head dropped to your shoulder, warm breath brushing your skin.

you didn’t move away.

his hold tightened a little, just enough to pull you closer. he didn’t speak right away, just stayed like that, forehead against your neck, fingers curling at your lower back.

“you’re tense.” you said quietly, hand brushing through his hair.

he hummed low in response, then leaned back just slightly to look at you. his eyes searched your face, soft, a bit heavy-lidded.

“am i?” he said with a small smirk.

you raised an eyebrow. “you look like you haven’t slept.”

“maybe i haven’t.”

his gaze flicked to your lips.

you felt your breath catch, just barely, and when he leaned in, reflexively you turned your face, shy, cheeks warming before you could stop it. not out of rejection, but out of memory. of that night. of how close you had been. how bare.

he noticed.

“ah..” he said under his breath, a small, knowing sound.

his hand simply moved to the back of your neck, thumb gently rubbing along your skin as his forehead came to rest against yours.

“you’re shy now?” he whispered, teasing.

you rolled your eyes, cheeks warm, eyes refusing to meet his.

jungwon hummed, gaze dropping to your lips, and he leaned closer. murmuring near your ear. “you weren’t shy last time. you—”

“don’t say it.”

“you begged, dove.”

“jungwon!”

he burst into quiet laughter, pulling you in with both arms now, clearly too entertained.

“you’re never seeing me off again.” you grumbled into his shoulder.

he smiled against your hair.

“too late. i’m already leaving with a memory i’ll take to my grave.”

you pulled back just enough to glare at him, only for him to steal that kiss after all, quick and soft, catching you off guard.

your breath caught and he smiled smugly.

“miss me properly, yeah?”

vii. just for a minute.

the days moved on like they always did.

your mornings began early, before the bells rang. you helped prep the main halls, swept ash from the fireplaces, and kept the west wing windows polished so the steward wouldn’t complain.

gisselle was the one who kept you sane.

she cornered you in the linen room two days after his departure, arms full of folded sheets and suspicion in her eyes.

“you’re quieter.” she said bluntly, dropping the stack on the shelf.

you blinked. “i’m tired.”

“tired, huh?” she echoed, clearly unimpressed. “you’re always tired. this is different.”

you didn’t answer, and she didn’t press. just gave you a look and passed you a basket of fresh towels.

“well, whatever’s keeping you up, tell it to let you sleep. you look like a sad candle.”

“a sad candle?”

“yes. all dim and droopy. it’s tragic.”

you huffed a laugh despite yourself.

afternoons were filled with errands, refilling water jugs, delivering notes between staff, helping the kitchen girls carry bread loaves up to the great hall.

nights were quiet.

gisselle snuck you extra biscuits from the kitchen. you returned her hairpins when she left them scattered across the vanity table. and sometimes you’d crawl into her bed with a sigh and ask if they feed him properly out there. gisselle could only said that he was a prince. he’ll survive.

one week passed. then another.

you did your duties. you kept your head down. you kept that folded parchment beneath your pillow. untouched.

no letters came. but you kept waking before the sun. just in case.

you found yourself, as always, in the same places. tidying the east wing, sweeping the hallways, delivering messages to the royal chambers. and yet, you carried on.

then, one evening as you were passing by the library, before you could even turn, hands were at your waist, lifting you from your thoughts and pulling you.

you barely had time to process it.

“what—jungwon?” you managed, though his name came out more like a question, a gasp, and you couldn’t quite place the confusion or the shock, both because you hadn’t expected him to be back and because, honestly, you hadn’t heard a thing.

he didn’t immediately speak, though his presence alone was enough to unsettle you. you finally turned your head to face him, your eyes searching his.

“when did you return?” you whispered, a bit breathless from the unexpected turn of events.

jungwon’s eyes flicked to yours, and for a moment, there was something unreadable in them. the usual spark was gone, replaced with something deeper, unease, maybe?

“this morning.” he said, his voice quieter than usual. he took a small step back, but his hands never left your waist.

you frowned, noticing the way his brows were furrowed, the tension in his jaw. he was acting different, too still, too careful with every movement.

“you seem…” you trailed off, trying to find the right words. “what’s wrong?”

he gave a half-smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “nothing’s wrong.”

but it didn’t sound convincing.

you tilted your head slightly, studying him, feeling the quiet pull between you as he remained unusually distant.

you watched him carefully, he couldn’t keep his gaze on you. instead, his eyes flicked around, scanning the corridor.

finally, after a few moments of silence, he met your eyes again, this time with a softer look.

“i missed you.” he said simply, already pulling you by the hand, into the familiar hush of the library.

it was quiet. lit only by candles. he let go of your hand then, and you rubbed your wrist out of habit, though it wasn’t sore. just warm. still tingling.

you turned away first, pretending to examine the nearest shelf. “you know i’m still working.”

“then consider this… an unauthorized break.”

you glanced over your shoulder. “what if someone finds us?”

he raised a brow. “then we’ll lie. you were dusting books, and i was brushing up on agriculture.”

“you hate agriculture.”

“exactly. no one would believe it. they’ll leave us alone.”

you snorted, crossing your arms and leaning back against the railing of the spiral staircase. “you’re impossible.”

but your heart was already thudding. you hated the way it did that, loud and reckless, whenever he looked at you the way he was looking at you now.

god how much you’ve missed him.

“you like it here.” he said suddenly.

your eyes flicked to his. “the library?”

he took a step closer, hands tucked behind his back. “you always slow down when you walk past. i’ve noticed.”

“…maybe.” you shrugged, turning back to the shelves. “it’s peaceful.”

jungwon moved slowly then, careful, like he was testing the weight of every step. the candlelight hit the side of his face, softening the sharp lines. making his eyes look warmer than you remembered.

“you looked absolutely beautiful, mylady.”

you shake you head. “i looked completely horrendous.”

his hand reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your cheek. gentle. slow.

“i mean every word when i speak to you.” he said.

you looked away, but he didn’t let you. his hand was careful, lifting your chin just slightly until your gaze met his again.

your lips parted. the breath caught in your throat. and then, just as suddenly, he stepped back. turned away. his shoulders shifted as he exhaled. he moved to one of the velvet armchairs near the tall window and sat down without another word.

“come here.” he said quietly, patting the armrest beside him.

“jungwon…” you hesitated.

“just for a minute.”

you sighed but walked over anyway, sitting beside him. your knees bumped lightly.

it was quiet again. the kind of quiet that felt private. heavy.

he looked at you, something thoughtful in his expression. something almost… hesitant. but he didn’t say anything. he didn’t say what he came here to say.

instead, his gaze fell on the shelves again. “read something to me.”

you blinked. “what?”

“pick anything. i want to hear your voice.”

you gave him a strange look, but reached for a nearby book anyway. you flipped through the yellowed pages until you found something legible and started reading, something about a royal banquet that had ended with someone’s wig catching fire.

he laughed and you glanced at him, smiling without thinking. you didn’t even notice how close his hand had gotten until your fingers brushed against his.

his fingers were long, soft, a little cold. yours were rougher, calloused from cleaning floors and silverware.

he liked your hands. he noticed they always shook a little when you were around him, and he’d never say it out loud, but it made his chest feel warm in a way that almost scared him.

you didn’t dress like the other girls he saw in the ballroom. no jewels, no silks. you wore a faded apron, scuffed shoes, sleeves rolled to your elbows. but somehow, you looked more beautiful to him than all of them combined.

and tonight, as you stood beside him under the library chandelier, face lit softly in candlelight, he couldn’t stop staring.

“why’re you looking at me like that.” you muttered, trying to sound annoyed.

“you’ve a smudge on your cheek.” he said, his hand reaching up your cheek to clean it. and when he did you looked away first, flustered.

he always looked at you like that, like you were something he wasn’t supposed to want, but did anyway.

it was confusing. it made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t understand.

jungwon stepped away slowly, pretending to inspect the books. his hair was slightly messy, soft brown strands falling into his eyes. he was always clean-cut, always neat in public. but in these stolen moments, he looked real.

less like a prince.

you stood in place for a moment, heart hammering, unsure of what to do with the space he’d left behind. the room still felt like it belonged to him, even when he wasn’t touching you.

you turned back to the book, pretending to read. you weren’t following the words. you were listening to him move behind you. the quiet creak of the floorboards under his boots. the way he breathed a little slower now.

“i didn’t think you’d be back so soon.” you murmured.

“neither did i.”

you glanced at him over your shoulder. he wasn’t looking at you, just tracing the spine of a dusty volume like it held something important. like if he focused hard enough, it would tell him what to say.

“did something happen?” you asked, voice low.

he paused. only for a second. but you noticed.

“no.” he said simply. “just… plans changed.”

you tilted your head, confused. “you’re usually kept longer when you travel with the council.”

jungwon let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but not a real one. more like something tired.

“turns out, not everything goes according to plan.”

you nodded slowly, still watching him. his voice was steady, but something in it felt… off. and he still wasn’t meeting your eyes.

you didn’t ask more. you should’ve. but you didn’t. instead, you took a step toward him.

“well… i’m glad you’re here.” you said and grab his hands with a smile across your face.

and that’s when he looked at you. fully. his eyes soft but guarded, like he was memorizing something.

“don’t say that.” he murmured.

you blinked. “why not?”

he didn’t answer at first. just glanced down at your hands joined like he hadn’t meant for that to happen.

but he didn’t let go.

“you make it harder.” he said, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

you frowned.

he shook his head. “forget it.”

you opened your mouth to ask again, but then he kissed you. thumb brushing the edge of your jaw.

“you talk too much, mylady.” he said softly, teasing, even if his voice sounded far away.

“that’s new.” you muttered, trying not to sound breathless.

he smiled faintly. “you’ve always talked too much.”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “you’re so strange lately.”

“am i?” he murmured, like he wasn’t even listening anymore.

you paused, leaning your forehead lightly against his shoulder. “you sure everything’s alright?”

his hand slid gently down your spine.

“yeah.”

he didn’t look at you when he said it. but his arms stayed around you like he didn’t trust himself to let go.

you didn’t ask again.

and he didn’t say anything else. just held you because maybe he wouldn’t get to again.

viii. the promise that wasn’t for me

the days passed, but jungwon was quieter than usual. he didn’t come around like before, didn’t seek you out like he did in the library that night. you heard his footsteps less often, his voice rarely reached your ears. sometimes, when you passed the great hall or the council chambers, you caught glimpses of him in the distance, always alone, always serious.

you kept yourself busy, going about your chores like always, sweeping floors, polishing silver, and running errands for the steward. it was easier to focus on work when your mind was crowded with questions you didn’t want to ask.

gisselle noticed, of course. she teased you less and watched you more, like she was waiting for you to say something anything about jungwon’s sudden silence.

you wanted to say something. you wanted to ask why he came back only to disappear again, why his eyes looked tired and distant the last time you saw him. but you didn’t have the words. maybe he didn’t either.

sometimes, when the palace was quiet and the sun was low, you found yourself standing near the library, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. but he never appeared. the empty space beside you where he used to stand felt heavier than any silence.

tho this morning the palace was louder than usual.

you had barely tied your apron when the head maid grabbed your arm and thrust a tray of covered dishes into your hands.

“to the golden parlour. now. her majesty is having a private breakfast with a guest.”

“a guest?” you asked, adjusting your grip on the tray. “shall i prepare tea, or—”

“princess navina of esthrene.” she cut in. “do not speak unless spoken to. and mind your posture.”

you offered a tight nod and made your way down the corridor, trying not to roll your eyes.

another one.

prince jungwon had been “introduced” to more noble daughters than you could count. you’d seen dozens. each one laced in foreign perfumes and draped in their kingdom’s finest silk. each one trying, and failing, to draw a smile from him.

jungwon never smiled at them.

you balanced the tray and made your way to the parlour. your chest felt calm. you had nothing to worry about.

he was yours.

even if no one knew it.

the doors to the golden parlour opened with a soft click, and you stepped inside, careful not to let the tray wobble.

the room was warm with gold accents, sunlight filtering through gauzy curtains. the queen sat at the head of the gilded table, elegance in every movement. across from her, a young woman, presumably princess navina, adorned in seafoam silks and delicate pearls. her poise was flawless. she looked composed. polished. untouched.

but it was jungwon who made your breath falter.

he sat beside her. straight-backed in his ceremonial robe, the one with black and gold threading reserved for national announcements or courtships.

when he saw you enter, tray in hand, something shifted. his eyes widened just slightly, lips parting as though caught mid-thought. he hadn’t expected you. not here. not now. and definitely not like this.

he looked down, then back up, expression unreadable again, face settling into calm.

but he wasn’t calm.

you bowed low, eyes on the floor. “breakfast is served, your majesties.”

“set it down.” the queen said evenly.

you obeyed, fingers steady, until you reached him. you didn’t look at him. but you felt him. he didn’t speak. didn’t move. but his eyes found yours. not cold, not warm. something in between. something stuck.

then, as if remembering where he was, who he was, he looked away.

you quickly stepped back to your post. hands clasped behind your back with posture perfect.

“well princess navina” the queen began. “we’re grateful your family agreed to the shortened engagement. a summer ceremony will be most fitting.”

your stomach dropped.

“indeed, your majesty.” navina answered softly. “my mother preferred a spring celebration, but i insisted. i would rather stand beside my husband from the beginning of his reign.”

jungwon didn’t say a word.

“the royal tailor arrives tomorrow.” the queen continued. “the wedding colours shall be gold and seafoam. the announcement will go out by week’s end.”

your heart fell to the ground before the silver tray.

because yes, you dropped it and the porcelain dishes shattered on the marble floor.

the entire room went silent.

you dropped to a bow without thinking, heart thudding against your ribs. “f-forgive me, your majesty.“

the queen didn’t answer right away.

you stayed in position, knees pressed to the floor, hands trembling slightly. the sound of the broken cup still echoed in your ears. it was foolish. you knew better. you were trained better.

but you hadn’t expected that.

you hadn’t expected her.

princess navina sat gracefully at the table, one gloved hand resting in her lap, the other holding a silver spoon just above her untouched plate. she didn’t flinch. didn’t look startled or annoyed. only concerned, the type of calm concern taught in finishing schools and royal drawing rooms.

she was beautiful, of course she was.

her dark hair was swept back into an intricate twist, not a strand out of place. her eyes, soft and almond-shaped, were framed with kohl and intelligence. her dress shimmered faintly with seafoam thread, and the pearl comb in her hair caught the light whenever she moved.

she looked like she belonged there.

next to him.

and that made your stomach twist.

you heard the queen shift in her seat. “get it cleaned.” she said sharply. “then leave us.”

you bowed lower. “yes, your majesty.”

you scrambled to gather the broken porcelain, careful not to cut your palms. jungwon didn’t move. not a muscle. but you felt his eyes on you.

you didn’t look up.

you couldn’t.

as you stood, you caught a glimpse of princess navina watching you. her expression unreadable. curious, maybe. or amused. or nothing at all.

you turned and walked out, heart pounding, cheeks burning, pieces of porcelain rattling on the tray.

you hadn’t cried.

not yet.

but gods, your eyes stung.

you set the tray down in the scullery with shaking hands. no one was there and the silence pressed in around you like a second skin. you stared at the shards, white and delicate, now ruined. like something else you couldn’t name.

you pressed your palms flat to the counter, trying to steady your breath. your reflection in the tarnished silver tray stared back, eyes red-rimmed and wide, lips parted like you might speak if you only had the strength.

you didn’t see jungwon for the rest of the day.

you kept your head down, kept busy, scrubbed the kitchens until your fingers ached. you avoided the golden parlour. you avoided everyone.

even gisselle, who cornered you by the laundry with furrowed brows and folded arms.

“you’re not made of stone.” she said, not unkindly. “you can talk to me, you know.”

but you couldn’t.

that night you lay on your straw mattress, the thin blanket barely keeping the chill away. the quiet was comforting — except for the absence of giselle, who was supposed to be nearby. she had left a few minutes ago saying she needed a bath before bed, wanting to wash away the day’s dirt and tension.

then your door creaked open and you saw him. soaked in rain, his cloak dripping onto your stone floor and hair flat against his forehead. you sat up fast, heart leaping,

your breath caught in your throat. “you can’t be here. someone will—”

“why?” he stepped fully inside, shutting the door behind him. “because if anyone finds out i’m marrying someone else, they’ll know i’ve been sneaking into a maid’s room at night for months?”

“you lied to me.”

“i didn’t lie.”

“you didn’t tell me.” you snapped, rising to your feet.

“i was going to tell you.”

“when?” your voice cracked, raw. “when, jungwon?”

“i didn’t think they’d agree to the shortened engagement.” he rushed out. “it was supposed to be discussed, just discussed. i was going to tell you, but not like this—”

“so you were just going to keep lying to me.”

“i wasn’t lying!” he said, louder now. “i wasn’t ready.”

“you weren’t ready.” you echoed bitterly.

“i was trying to protect you.”

you stared at him. “by marrying another woman?”

“i’m not choosing her. you know that. you think i’d stand at an altar with someone else, knowing what we have?” his voice sounded tired. defeated.

“you already are.” you whispered, voice breaking. “you sat beside her today. you let them plan your wedding.”

“and what would you have me do?” his voice rose. “declare my love for a servant before the entire court? bring scandal to your name? put a target on your back?”

“you already have.”

his face crumpled. “y/n…”

you looked away, blinking hard, throat burning. your voice came quieter this time. “you should go.”

“please don’t do this.” he stepped closer but you backed away quickly.

“go.” you whispered and crossed your arms, not to defend yourself, but to keep from shaking.

jungwon stood in the middle of the room like a storm himself, unwelcome, uninvited, and yet impossible to look away from.

he didn’t move.

he pressed a hand to his face, dragging it down slowly, as if trying to wipe the weight of it all away. “i thought i could buy us time. i thought—i thought if i kept things quiet, i could figure it out without hurting you.”

you turned away, gripping the edge of the small wooden table near your bed, trying to steady yourself. “you should go before giselle comes back.”

he stayed where he was.

“jungwon..” you said again, softer now, tired. “please.”

he looked at you like he was memorizing you, the distance between you was breaking something inside him. he opened his mouth, then shut it. and then, finally, he nodded.

“i’ll fix this.”

you didn’t answer.

you didn’t look back when the door creaked open again. or when it shut behind him.

your knees gave out the second the door shut behind him.

you dropped to the floor, hard, hands hitting the stone as you caught yourself. and then it all crashed in.

you cried.

you cried like it hurt to breathe, like the ache in your chest might never leave. the tears came hot and fast, spilling down your cheeks, dripping onto the floor. sobs tore through you, quiet but wrecking, the kind that left your whole body trembling.

because you loved him.

you pressed your forehead to the floor, eyes squeezed shut, wishing the stone would swallow you whole-wishing you could go back to before, when it was just you and him and a library full of stolen moments.

but those moments were gone.

ix.

the days following were torment. not just for him, but for you too.

the palace didn’t sleep. there were whispers in every hallway, servants sprinting across stone floors with velvet fabrics, golden plates, and endless flowers. everyone preparing for the arrival of the royal guests.

and you?

you kept your head down, hands busy, ears deaf. or at least, you tried. but every time someone said lady navina, it felt like someone dug their fingers into your chest and twisted.

you spoke only when spoken to.

and when you did, you called him, my lord.

the first time it left your lips, the pen slipped from his hand like it had burned him.

now jungwon was looking for you all over the palace.

in the marble corridors, in the garden, in the library where you used to sort the books by color just because he said he liked it like that.

but you were no longer in any of those places.

you had asked to be transferred to the kitchen.

away from the east wing.

away from him.

and still, jungwon kept looking for you.

through the hallways.

through the art gallery.

he even asked about you in the laundry room.

but you ignored him. more firmly each time.

you were never under any illusion, it was never meant to last. you knew he would come. and so he did. three days later, the doors burst open with such force, the very knives upon the table trembled in their place.

the kitchen fell still. not a word, not a breath.

even the head chef, midway through stirring, froze in silence. only the soup dared to continue its boil—blissfully.

“leave. all of you.” jungwon’s voice rang out—clear. commanding. no one moved at first. until he lifted his gaze. “i said leave. now.”

the cook dropped her knife. the helpers rushed to remove their aprons. one by one, they left, confused. you did the same. left the board, turned toward the back door, but his voice reached you before you crossed it.

“not you.”

you halted. and slowly, so slowly, you turned to face him. he came closer, closing the door behind him.

“my lord.” you said, with a curt nod. “if you’ll excuse me—“

“is that it?” he bit out, stepping forward. “are you truly going to keep pretending you don’t know me? that you don’t know what’s between us?”

“i’m not pretending anything, my lord.” the coldness in your voice was worse than any slap.

“don’t call me that. not you, for god’s sake.”

“but that’s what you are now. my lord.”

“no!” he took a step closer, his voice breaking with anger. “not after everything. not after the way you looked at me. not after those nights we spent talking about the world beyond these walls, dreaming of something more than

“that was before your engaged.”

his eyes softened for a second, like your coldness tore him apart. he walked toward you, slower this time, like he was unsure, like every step hurt.

“don’t look at me like that. not you.” he whispered.

“how am i supposed to look at you?” you asked, not with anger, just resignation. “like nothing happened? jungwon, you knew this was going to happen. you chose it.”

“they chose it for me.”

“but you accepted it. and i don’t blame you. you’re the prince. you have a duty.” your voice cracked a little, but you kept going. “i already knew my place. i’m just… a mistake in your story.”

“you were never a mistake!”

“but it seems like one. doesn’t it?”

he breathed heavily. you remained unmoved.

“you don’t understand.” he murmured, turning away and running a hand through his hair. “you don’t understand how hard it’s been to pretend i don’t care about you. how i ache every time i see you and can’t touch you. you don’t understand what it’s like to smile at a woman i never chose while thinking about the scent of your lavender-covered hands.”

you didn’t cry. you wouldn’t give him that.

“i love you..”he let out, almost a desperate secret. “don’t you get it? i’d do anything to give you the truth back, to turn back time. tell me you still believe me.”

“believing you isn’t the problem, jungwon.”

you looked him straight in the eyes, finally.

“the problem is that none of this matters anymore. because you have a duty. a kingdom. a crown. and i’m just a stone in the path to all that.”

“you’re not.”

“yes, i am. and you know it.”

jungwon lowered his gaze. he looked tired. his jaw was tight, eyebrows drawn like he’d been clenching them all day. but it was his eyes. red, a little swollen, like he hadn’t slept right in days. they kept flicking from your face to the floor, like he couldn’t decide where to settle.

“i didn’t expect to stay with you. i’m not that naive.” you added. “but i did expect you to be honest with me. after everything… i thought at least that much, you owed me.”

he closed his eyes, like your words were blades.

“i tried..” he murmured. “i tried to find a way out. i thought that if i postponed the announcement, if i delayed the ceremony… i could find you, explain everything myself. but things moved faster than i imagined.”

“it wasn’t your duty to delay it.” you said softly, eyes down. “your duty was to become king. i was just the mistake you made along the way.”

that broke him. you knew it because he stepped back, like he needed space to breathe.

“you weren’t a mistake.” he said again, firm, with a mix of pain and anger. “don’t say that. you were… the only real thing.”

jungwon looked at you as if hoping you’d interrupt him, say something, anything, but you just stayed silent. the kitchen was heavy with tension.

“say something. anything.” he pleaded, voice barely louder than a whisper.

“what do you want me to say?” you finally asked, still not looking at him. “that i understand you? because i do. that i forgive you? i do that too. but none of it changes what you are now.”

“you talk to me like i betrayed you on purpose.”

“i don’t blame you, jungwon.” you repeated calmly, but it was the kind of calm that only hides exhaustion. “i really don’t. i just… didn’t expect to find out while serving bread and tea.

jungwon shut his eyes tightly. “it hurts when you talk to me like this.”

“and you think it doesn’t hurt me?” you said, finally looking at him, eyes wet but no tears falling. “you were the only thing that didn’t make me feel invisible in this place.”

he stepped toward you again, desperate.

“i don’t want this to end like this. i don’t want you and me to…” his voice broke.

“but it already ended, jungwon.” you interrupted. “it ended the moment you signed the papers. the moment you swore loyalty to someone else.”

he looked at you with a mix of sorrow and fury. not at you, but at himself. for not protecting you. for losing you. for not having the courage to break from what was expected of him.

“if i could go back…”

“but you can’t.” you said, and this time you smiled, a sad resigned smile. “this was your destiny. i was just a pause in the middle of your duty.”

the silence stretched.

“and still, i love you.” he murmured.

that made you tremble. you lowered your gaze. you didn’t want to hear that. not now. not when you had already forced yourself to let him go.

“don’t say that to me, jungwon.” you whispered.

he stared at you for a long time. too long. and for a second, just a second, you wondered if he might say screw it. if he might reach for your hand. pull you close. risk it all.

but he didn’t.

he just looked down. his shoulders dropped a little. then he nodded, once.

“i’m sorry.” he said quietly.

you didn’t answer.

and this time, when he turned to leave, you didn’t stop him. you didn’t even look.

and maybe that’s what hurt most.

x. the bells said I died

the palace glowed as if it were already celebrating a fairytale you never asked to be part of. white flowers climbed the windows, golden velvet curtains hung from every arch, and a thousand scented candles waited to be lit once night fell. the grand ball in honor of prince jungwon’s engagement to lady navina was just hours away.

and you… you walked through it all as if you were just another piece of furniture. invisible. as if you hadn’t woken up before dawn for months to prepare the tea he always said he preferred when no one else was paying attention. as if you hadn’t memorized the sound of his breathing while pretending you were the only one in love in silence.

it was the day before the royal ball. the celebration in honor of the prince’s engagement to lady navina was already filling the palace with decorations. the halls overflowed with white flowers and golden ribbons, and every servant was rushing from one end to the other with trays, fabrics, crowns of leaves, while you just… walked through it all with your head down, pretending it didn’t affect you.

“more to the center, dear, that table must be perfect. the princess wants everything to look flawless.” ordered one of the ladies-in-waiting, adjusting her headpiece with a handheld mirror.

you were about to answer, but gisselle ran up to you, breathless.

“prince jungwon…” she said in a hushed tone, as if afraid someone else might hear. “he hasn’t gotten out of bed. the physician was called. they say he has a fever.”

you froze. “how bad is it?”

“i don’t know. no one is allowed near him. his mother isn’t letting anyone in except for her most trusted staff.” she lowered her voice again. “but he hasn’t eaten. hasn’t spoken. it’s been all day.”

“and navina?”

“she hasn’t even gone to see him. she’s too busy choosing the flowers for the banquet.”

you walked away without a word.

that night, as the sun finally disappeared behind the palace towers, you sat in your chambers pretending to sew. the thread slipped from your fingers more than once, and your stitches were uneven—your mind too loud, too far from the needle in your hand. you hadn’t truly been focusing, not for hours, but you kept your posture straight, lips pressed into a line, like you’d been taught.

across the room, giselle slept curled beneath a soft wool blanket. her back rose and fell in steady rhythm, face turned toward the window.

the only light came from a single candle on your desk. shadows danced along the walls, and every creak of the old stone outside felt louder than usual.

you were about to put down the needle when someone knocked on the door twice. you turned your head slowly, not wanting to wake giselle, you rose quietly, crossed the room, and opened the door just a crack. and when you opened it you weren’t expecting to see him.

prince ri ki was there, slightly out of breath, as if he had run all the way. you slipped into the hallway before he could speak, closing the door gently behind you.

“your highness?” you quickly bowed, trying to keep your voice steady.

he shook his head, glancing over your shoulder, making sure you were alone.

“no time for formalities. pack your things.” he said quietly but firmly. “only what’s necessary.”

“what?” you blinked. “i don’t understand.”

“it’s an order.” he repeated, gentle but serious.

you didn’t ask anything else. you didn’t have the strength to. with trembling hands, you stuffed what little you had into a small bag. giselle was still asleep, unaware of what was happening. you didn’t have time to say goodbye.

you paused for a second at the door, glancing back toward the bed where giselle was still asleep under the thick blankets, her breathing calm.

“don’t worry about her.” ri ki said quietly when he saw you hesitate.

as you followed him, you passed through corridors you were usually not allowed in. ri ki walked quickly but with ease, greeting every guard naturally, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

“can i know where we’re going?” you whispered, trying not to sound scared as you stepped through a back door into the garden.

ni ki didn’t answer. he just kept walking, circling one of the old fountains in the back.

and then you saw him.

jungwon. standing beside the oldest rose bush in the palace. no sign of fever. not a trace of illness. his back straight, his face lit by the moon, and his eyes fixed on you like he had never stopped watching.

“what is this…?” you asked, confused, dropping the bag at your feet.

“no time, milady.” jungwon said, walking toward you. his voice was urgent, different, like he knew every second counted. “we have to go.”

“go?” you frowned, stepping back. “what are you doing?”

“i’ll explain later.” he said, taking your hand. his palm was warm, steady, and that only confused you more.

“there’s a carriage waiting further down, at the north path,” said ri ki giving his brother your bag. “i’ll take care of the rest.”

ri ki looked at him for a long second, like he wanted to say something else. then he simply pulled him into a hug. strong, one arm across his back, the other hand resting on the back of jungwon’s neck.

“you’re going to be okay, alright?” ri ki murmured into his ear, voice trembling. “i’ve got it. you just… live, okay?”

jungwon nodded, biting his lip as he pulled away.

“thank you, brother. for everything.”

ri ki grabbed his shoulders and gave him a small shake, eyes glistening.

“don’t thank me now. thank me when you’ve got a home far away from here, a new name, and… her by your side.” he looked your way briefly before turning back.

you stood frozen, feeling the air shift. you still didn’t fully understand what was happening, just that it was big. too big.

“take care of him, will you?” ri ki said quietly, almost pleading.

before you could reply, he turned and walked back into the garden, disappearing into the mist and shadows of the palace.

jungwon didn’t wait another second.

“quickly.” he said, tugging your hand.

“what—? jungwon— where are we going?”

“trust me.” he said simply, and then started running.

your steps were clumsy at first, stumbling a little from the pace. the mud clung to your shoes, and soon the edges of your white gown were completely stained. the hem dragged dirt, leaves, branches. the cold bit at your skin, but jungwon didn’t stop.

and neither did you. because he didn’t let go.

the bells started ringing before you reached the carriage. one, then another. their echo sliced through the air violently, making you shiver.

taaan!

taaan!

taaan!

the sound spread through the valley, from the highest towers of the palace. it wasn’t any ordinary bell. it was the mourning call. the one they rang only when someone of royalty had died.

and then, you heard it. a distant scream from the east wing of the castle.

“prince jungwon is dead!”

epilogue.

the sky had that soft color that appears when the sun starts to set but hasn’t quite decided to leave yet. a shade between gold and peach slipped through the light curtains of the small country house they now lived in. it was one of those afternoons when everything felt calm, like even time itself had decided to pause for a few more minutes.

the kitchen smelled like freshly baked bread and mandarins. lots of mandarins. your daughter, barely five years old, was sitting on one of the high chairs with a wrinkled apron and sticky cheeks from juice. she had peeled four, or maybe five mandarins with more enthusiasm than technique, leaving a messy pile of peels on the wooden table.

“mom, look at this one, it’s weird.” she said with a smile, holding up a slice that, in her eyes, looked like a heart.

“it’s because it has love.” you replied, gently brushing her hair, feeling that warmth that only simple moments can give you.

the back door was open, letting in the sound of the wind, rustling branches. your youngest son came running down the stairs. barefoot, holding a stick he insisted on calling his “royal sword”.

“i’m going with dad!” he yelled, his giggles being contagios.

you barely managed to say “put on shoes” but he was already gone. you watched him run across the garden, where the grass was still wet with dew.

and there was jungwon.

his back turned. hair longer, tied with a leather strap. his body stronger, broader. arms marked by daily labor, broad shoulders under a white linen shirt rolled up to the elbows. chopping wood like he’d done it all his life.

the prince he once was, now just a man. a husband. a father.

“daaad!” the boy yelled, running toward him, barefoot and with mud-stained pants. jungwon dropped the axe instantly to lift him into the air, spinning once as they both laughed.

you stepped onto the porch holding your daughter’s hand. she kept eating mandarins while you tried to wipe the juice from the corners of her lips.

the image stayed with you like a painting: the sunlight filtering through the trees, your daughter playing with mandarin peels, your son clinging to jungwon’s neck, and him, looking at you from the garden as if he didn’t need anything else in the world but that.

you.

jungwon looked at you, and kissed your forehead when you got close. his hand was rough from working the land, but warm. real. your fingers laced with his almost without thinking, like your body did it on its own.

“today’s a good day to go to the lake.” he murmured.

“yeah… today everything feels right.”

you looked around. there were no carriages, no jewels, no titles. there were winters by the fireplace with everyone huddled under a blanket. there were summers running through flower fields, and laughter that disappeared into the wind. there were nights when jungwon held your hand in silence, saying nothing, but with eyes full of gratitude because you chose him. because you saved him.

the sacrifice.

the lie.

the freedom.

all to get here.

no, not nothing. the car wasn’t empty, not exactly. it was just—wrong. the seats were too clean, the blue upholstery a shade too bright, like something out of a catalogue rather than a real train that had seen years of use. the floor was spotless, no gum stains or discarded newspapers, no scuff marks from countless shoes. it was sterile and artificial, like a stage set designed to mimic reality but missing the vital imperfections that made things feel alive.

you swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. maybe you’d taken the wrong line. it happened, didn’t it? people made mistakes. you fumbled for your phone, your thumb jabbing at the power button, but the screen remained stubbornly black. dead. of course it was dead. you’d meant to charge it last night, but you’d been too tired, too distracted, and now—

the train slowed, the familiar lurch of deceleration making you sway on your feet. you turned toward the window, expecting to see the usual crowded platform, the familiar faces of strangers, the glow of advertisements.

instead, the station was empty.

not just empty—abandoned. the lights were dim, flickering intermittently, casting long shadows across cracked tiles. a single bench sat crookedly, one leg shorter than the others, and the sign above it was half-lit, the letters spelling out the station name flickering like a dying neon sign. you knew this place. you’d been here a thousand times before. but it wasn’t right. it wasn’t supposed to look like this.

the doors didn’t open.

you stared at them, waiting for the familiar ding, the hiss of hydraulics, but nothing happened. the train just sat there, humming, the lights above you buzzing louder, as if in warning. then, with a jolt, it started moving again, pulling away from the platform, leaving the ghost station behind.

your breath came faster now, your palms slick with sweat. this wasn’t right. this wasn’t how things worked. trains stopped. doors opened. people got on and off. you weren’t—you couldn’t be—

the next station was the same.

identical. the same cracked tiles, the same flickering sign, the same empty bench. your heart hammered against your ribs, a trapped bird desperate for escape. you lunged for the door, your fingers jamming against the button, over and over, but it didn’t respond. no cheerful chime, no mechanical whir. just silence.

“hey!” your voice echoed in the empty car, too loud, too sharp. “let me out!”

the train kept moving, the stations flashing by in a dizzying loop, each one a perfect replica of the last. you pressed your forehead against the cool glass of the window, your breath fogging it up, your fingers leaving smudges as you gripped the edge of the seat. this wasn’t happening. it couldn’t be. you were dreaming. you had to be. maybe you’d fallen asleep on the train, maybe you’d hit your head—

suddenly you heard a sound different from the rest.

soft, almost lost under the buzz of the lights. the scrape of a shoe against the floor.

your head snapped up.

there, at the far end of the car, a figure stood. tall, silhouetted against the flickering lights. you hadn’t heard him approach or seen him board. but he was there now, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“you’re back,” he said, voice low, almost fond.

your stomach dropped because you’d never seen this man before in your life.

yet the way he looked at you—like he knew you, like he’d been waiting—sent a shiver down your spine. he took a step forward, and the lights above him flickered, casting his face in alternating shadows and pale illumination. sharp features, dark eyes, a smile that didn’t quite reach them.

“jay,” he said, as if that explained everything.

it didn’t.

nothing did.

but the moment he said your name, your blood turned to ice. his lips shaped the syllables too perfectly, like he'd practised them. like he'd been waiting to say them.

"don't look so afraid." jay held up his hands, palms out, but didn't come closer. 

the train's flickering lights cut shadows across his face that made his expression impossible to read. "i know how this looks. stranger on an empty train, knowing things he shouldn't." his mouth quirked, almost amused. "but we're past strangers, you and i."

your back hit the cold metal of the partition behind you. the vibrations hummed through your shoulder blades. "i've never seen you before."

"not in this iteration." he said it so casually, like discussing the weather. his fingers tapped an absent rhythm against his thigh, out of sync with the train's rattling tempo. "the loop resets memories too. convenient, isn't it? makes the fear fresh every time."

the stations kept blurring past outside. same cracked tiles. same flickering sign. your reflection ghosted across the window, superimposed over the emptiness, pale and wide-eyed. when you looked back, jay hadn't moved, but his posture had shifted,just slightly blocking the aisle. 

"memory loops are tricky things." his voice dropped, conspiratorial. "they peel away everything until all that's left is instinct. that's why you're shaking right now." his eyes tracked the minute tremors in your hands that you hadn't even noticed. "your body remembers. even when your mind won't."

you swallowed. the air tasted like static and something faintly metallic. "if that's true, then why don't you reset too?"

for the first time, something real flashed across his face—too quick to identify—before his calm mask slid back into place. "someone has to remember. someone has to be here when you..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "you're not ready to hear that part yet."

the train lurched suddenly. your balance faltered, and for one terrifying second the world tilted—then jay's arm shot out, bracing against the window beside your head, not touching you. but close enough that you caught the faint scent of something warm beneath the train's sterile air. coffee, leather and ordinary things that had no business existing here.

"careful," he murmured. his breath stirred your hair. "the transitions between loops always get rough."

you ducked under his arm, putting three seats between you. your pulse roared in your ears. "stay over there."

jay studied you for a long moment before nodding. "alright." he sank into the nearest seat, stretching his long legs into the aisle, the picture of nonchalance. but his eyes—dark and fathomless—never left yours. "i can wait. we have nothing but time, after all."

the way he said it sounded like both a promise and a threat. outside, another identical station whipped by. the lights flickered, the hum of the train rose to a whine. and jay just sat there, watching you with the patience of someone who knew exactly how this would end.

the silence stretched like the endless tracks outside—taut, humming with something unspoken. jay didn’t move from his seat, but his presence filled the entire car, pressing against your skin like static. you counted the flickers of the overhead lights just to avoid looking at him. one. two. three. the rhythm stuttered, skipping like a broken record.

"you’re counting," he observed. his voice was soft, almost admiring. "you always do that when you’re trying not to panic."

your fingers froze mid-count. how could he possibly—?

"breathe," he said, and it wasn’t a suggestion. it was a command wrapped in velvet, the kind of tone that slipped past your defences and settled deep in your bones. your lungs obeyed before your mind could protest, dragging in air that tasted too clean, too processed.

the train shuddered violently, the lights cutting out completely. in the sudden darkness, your senses sharpened—the creak of metal, the whisper of fabric as jay shifted, the warmth of his breath somewhere to your left. closer than he’d been a moment ago.

then the lights returned, harsh and buzzing, and he was exactly where you’d last seen him. legs stretched out, hands folded loosely in his lap. but his knuckles were white.

"see?" he said, too calmly. "still over here."

your nails bit into your palms. "what do you want?"

jay tilted his head, considering. outside, another station blurred past—same cracked tiles, same flickering sign, but something was different this time. the bench was overturned. a single shoe lay abandoned near the edge of the platform. your shoe? no, impossible. you hadn’t—

"it’s starting to bleed through," jay murmured, following your gaze. "that’s new."

a chill crawled up your spine. "what is?"

"the last loop." his fingers tapped that arrhythmic pattern again. "usually the reset is clean. but you… you’re fighting it this time." his lips curved, slow and pleased. "i wondered if you would."

the train groaned around you, the sound too human. the walls seemed to press closer, the ceiling lowering inch by imperceptible inch. you focused on the emergency map across from you—the neat lines of stations, the orderly grid of connections. except the names were wrong. familiar, but rearranged, letters swapped like a half-remembered dream.

"look at me." jay’s voice cut through the rising panic. when you didn’t obey, he sighed. "look at me, or i’ll make you."

your head snapped up before you could stop yourself. his eyes held yours effortlessly, dark and bottomless. 

"good," he said. "now listen. the next transition is coming. it’s going to feel like—"

the world split open.

pain lanced through your skull, white-hot and blinding. the seats melted like wax, the windows warping into funhouse mirrors that reflected a thousand versions of you—some screaming, some eerily calm, one with jay’s hands already around your throat.

then it stopped.

you were on the floor, gasping, your cheek pressed to cold linoleum. jay crouched beside you, close but not touching. his expression was unreadable.

"—like that," he finished quietly.

you scrambled back until the seats dug into your spine. "what the hell was that?"

"a skip." he rose smoothly, offering his hand. you ignored it. his smile didn’t falter. "the loop’s unstable. you’re destabilising it."

"by existing?" your laugh bordered on hysterical.

"by remembering." his gaze dropped to your left hand, where your fingers had unconsciously traced a pattern on the floor—a shape that matched the scar on his wrist exactly. you hadn’t even realised you’d been doing it.

jay exhaled, slow and satisfied. "there you are."

outside, the stations whipped by faster now, the platforms beginning to fracture—gaps in the tiles, cracks spiderwebbing up the walls. the train’s hum rose to a scream.

jay didn’t seem to notice. he was too busy watching you with something dangerously close to pride.

"you’ll break us both this time," he murmured. "i can’t wait."

time lost all meaning in the endless hum of the train. minutes stretched into hours, or maybe days—there was no way to tell. the lights never dimmed, the stations never changed, only jay’s presence marked any semblance of passing time. he was always there, a constant shadow just at the edge of your vision, never crowding you but never letting you forget he existed.

the first time he offered you food, you refused. your stomach had growled loudly, betraying you, but the way he produced a wrapped sandwich from his pocket—still warm, as if freshly made—made your skin crawl. where had it come from? there were no vendors on this train, no stops where he could have gotten it. you eyed it warily, hunger warring with suspicion, until jay sighed and took a deliberate bite himself.

"see?" he said, chewing slowly. "it’s not poisoned. not a trick." he held it out again, his fingers brushing yours as you reluctantly took it. the contact lingered a second too long. 

"you always did like these. extra pickles, just how you—" he cut himself off, shaking his head with a small, private smile. "never mind."

you didn’t remember telling him about your preference for pickles. you were certain you hadn’t. but the sandwich was perfect, the tang of vinegar sharp on your tongue, and that unsettled you more than anything.

he started bringing you other things, too. a bottle of water, chilled like it had just come from a fridge. a blanket that smelled faintly of lavender, the fabric worn soft from use. a book with dog-eared pages and notes scribbled in the margins—your handwriting, but you didn’t recognise the words. each offering was accompanied by a story, a little anecdote he dropped like breadcrumbs leading you deeper into his carefully constructed fantasy.

the days bled together in a way that made your head spin if you thought about it too long. you tried marking time by the flickering lights, by the number of times jay brought you food, by the occasional shifts in the train's rhythm—but none of it helped. time didn't move right here. it stretched and compressed like taffy, leaving you disoriented and clinging to jay's words as the only anchor in this endless blue-lit purgatory.

"you're staring again," jay remarked one evening (morning? afternoon?) without looking up from the book he was pretending to read. you could feel his awareness of you like a physical weight, though his eyes remained fixed on the pages. "the window won't give you answers, you know."

you didn't turn from where your forehead rested against the cool glass. "it's the same station." your voice came out hoarse from disuse. "the same cracks in the tile. the same broken sign. but last time..." you trailed off, pressing your fingers to the glass. "last time there was a coffee cup on the bench."

jay went very still. the air between you thickened, charged with something you couldn't name. when he finally spoke, his voice was carefully light. "you noticed that?"

"it wasn't there before." you turned to face him, your pulse picking up at the strange look in his eyes—something between pride and hunger. "just like the shoe yesterday. things are... changing."

he closed the book with deliberate slowness, his long fingers smoothing over the cover. "you always were too observant for your own good." the way he said it—like this was an old argument between you—made your stomach twist. "come here."

you didn't move.

jay sighed, running a hand through his hair. the motion pulled his shirt taut across his shoulders, and you found yourself cataloging the way the fabric stretched, the faint outline of muscle beneath. when had you started noticing these things? 

"i can explain," he said, "but you're not going to like it."

"try me."

the train chose that moment to lurch violently, sending you stumbling forward. a sense of deja vu consumed you as jay's hands shot out to steady you once again, his grip firm but not restraining. you could feel the heat of his palms through your shirt, the slight roughness of his fingers against your wrists. he was too close. always too close.

"the loop is breaking," he said, his breath warm against your temple. he didn't let go. "little pieces are slipping through—things from other iterations, other versions of this moment." his thumbs traced absent circles on your skin, a gesture that felt practised. familiar. "it happens when you start to remember." 

why the fuck was he so repetitive with that idea??

you wrenched away, your back hitting the opposite seat. "i'm not remembering anything. these aren't my memories."

"aren't they?" jay tilted his head, studying you with those bottomless dark eyes. "what about the coffee cup? you knew it was from that shop on 5th avenue. the one with the orange awning." your breath caught—you had known, with sudden, startling certainty. "or the way you hum when you're nervous? that same three-note tune, every time."

your mouth went dry. you did do that. had done it since childhood. but—

"coincidence," you whispered.

jay smiled, slow and knowing. he reached into his pocket and produced a small paper crane, its wings slightly crumpled. your fingers twitched with the sudden, inexplicable urge to smooth them out. 

"you made this for me," he said softly. "four hundred and seventy-two loops ago. you said it was for luck."

the number punched the air from your lungs. four hundred—?

"stop." your voice cracked. "just stop. none of this is real. you're not—"

"real?" jay's expression darkened. in a flash he was kneeling before you, close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his irises, smell the faint scent of bergamot on his skin. his hand hovered near your face, not touching but close enough that you felt the warmth. 

"tell me this doesn't feel real. tell me you don't know me, somewhere in that stubborn head of yours."

you couldn't.

the silence stretched between you and outside, the train passed another station—this time the bench was gone entirely, leaving only a gaping hole in the platform. jay followed your gaze, his jaw tightening.

"it's getting worse," he murmured, more to himself than you. when he turned back, his eyes were different—softer, almost pleading. "let me help you. please."

something in his tone made your chest ache. you wanted to hate him. you should hate him. but the longer you sat there, the harder it became to separate his lies from the strange, half-formed memories tugging at your mind.

"why?" you asked finally. "why do you care if i remember?"

jay went very still. for the first time since you'd met him, he looked... uncertain. vulnerable. his fingers flexed against his thighs, like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for you.

"because," he said quietly, "in every loop, in every version of this moment, you're the only thing that feels real to me too."

the admission hung between you, raw and terrifying in its honesty. you opened your mouth to protest, to demand answers, you weren't sure—but the train chose that moment to scream to a halt, the lights cutting out entirely.

in the sudden darkness, jay's hand found yours. and this time, you didn't pull away.

the transformation happened so gradually you barely noticed it at first—like watching the sky darken at dusk, where you can't pinpoint the exact moment day becomes night. your resistance had been a living thing once, coiled tight in your chest, all sharp edges and desperate calculations for escape. now it lay dormant, softened by the relentless tide of jay's presence, his stories, his careful reconstruction of your shared history.

you found yourself waking to the rhythm of his breathing more often than not, your body instinctively curling toward the warmth he radiated even in sleep. some mornings you'd blink awake to find his jacket draped over you, still carrying the faint scent of his skin— something earthy and warm beneath the sterile train air. the first time you'd caught yourself bringing the fabric to your nose to breathe it in, you'd frozen in horror at your own actions. now you did it without thinking.

"you're smiling," jay observed one non-morning, his voice rough with sleep. you hadn't heard him wake. he never made noise unless he wanted to.

your fingers flew to your lips, surprised to find them curved upward. "was i dreaming?" you murmured, still half-lost in the hazy space between sleep and waking.

jay's hand found yours, his thumb tracing the delicate bones of your wrist. "the good kind, then." his eyes held that particular intensity they got when he was committing something to memory—the way your hair looked mussed from sleep, the flush on your cheeks, the trusting way your fingers now curled around his without hesitation. "tell me?"

you hesitated. the dream was already fading, but the feeling remained golden and warm, like sunlight you could almost remember. 

"we were... somewhere green. there were trees. and you were—" your voice caught as the image slipped away entirely.

“holding your hand,” jay finished softly. his grip tightened almost imperceptibly. “telling you about the flowers growing nearby. you kept pretending not to listen, but i saw you smiling then too.”

the words settled into you like a key turning in a lock. yes, that sounded right. felt right. more real than the fragmented memories of your life before the train—those were fading like old photographs left in the sun, their edges curling, faces becoming indistinct.

jay shifted closer, his breath warm against your temple. "you asked me why i remembered everything when you didn't." his fingers trailed up your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "i told you it was because someone had to keep our stories safe until you came back to me." 

a shiver ran down your spine that had nothing to do with the train's artificial chill. the way he said it—'came back to me'—like you'd been his all along, like this was inevitable. some part of you wanted to recoil from the possessiveness in his tone. a larger part preened at it.

"i'm here now," you heard yourself whisper.

jay's exhale was uneven against your skin. when you turned to look at him, his expression was so raw it stole your breath—like a man seeing water after days in the desert. his fingers cradled your face with terrifying gentleness.

"say it again," he breathed.

the train hummed around you, that ever-present sound that had once set your teeth on edge but now felt as natural as your own heartbeat. outside, another identical station flashed by, but you didn't turn to look. your world had narrowed to the space between jay's hands, to the way his pupils dilated as he waited for your words.

"i'm here," you repeated, stronger this time. your hand rose to cover his, pressing his palm more firmly against your cheek. "with you."

something fractured in jay's expression. for a heartbeat he looked almost frightened, as if he'd been waiting so long for this moment he didn't quite believe it had come. then his lips found yours in a kiss that tasted like victory and desperation and something dangerously close to worship.

you melted into him without hesitation. his arms encircled you, pulling you into his lap as if you weighed nothing at all. the jacket you'd been using as a blanket slipped to the floor, forgotten. every point of contact between you burned - his hands at your waist, your fingers tangled in his hair, the solid heat of his chest against yours.

when you finally broke apart, breathless, jay didn't go far. his forehead rested against yours, his breathing ragged. "mine," he murmured, so quiet you might have imagined it. but you hadn't.

yours, yours, yours. the word echoed in your hollowed-out bones, filling spaces you hadn't known were empty. the last fragments of the person you'd been before the train—before jay—dissolved like sugar in hot tea.

"yours," you agreed, and felt him shudder against you.

the train rattled onward through the endless stations, but you no longer cared where it was going. you were exactly where you belonged—in the circle of jay's arms, in the world he'd built for you both, in the story he'd been telling you all along.

somewhere beyond the windows, in a life you could barely recall, there might have been people searching for you. but here, now, with jay's lips tracing the shell of your ear and his whispered words weaving new memories into your skin, you couldn't imagine why anyone would ever want to leave.

you were rummaging through your bag absently, fingers brushing against the familiar items—the worn edges of your wallet, the smooth surface of your dead phone, the half-empty pack of gum—when your fingertips grazed something unexpected. a small, rectangular piece of cardstock tucked into the inner pocket, nearly forgotten. you pulled it out without thinking, turning it over in your hands.

and then your breath stopped.

it was a photograph. slightly creased at the corners, the colours faded with time, but unmistakably real. you were in it, standing in the centre of a group of people, all of you mid-laugh, arms slung around each other’s shoulders. the sunlight was bright, casting golden streaks across your faces, catching the sparkle of someone’s champagne glass just out of frame. a birthday? a celebration? you couldn’t remember the exact moment, but the warmth of it—the realness of it—hit you like a punch to the chest.

your fingers trembled. these were your friends. their faces were clear, vivid, alive in a way that jay’s stories never quite managed to replicate. the girl on your left had a smudge of frosting on her nose, her grin lopsided. the guy beside her was caught mid-eye-roll, but the affection in his expression was undeniable. and you—you looked happy. not the quiet contentment jay had lulled you into, but a vibrant, unrestrained joy that made your throat tighten.

a memory surged forward, sudden and sharp: the crowded train station that morning, the buzz of your phone in your pocket as you’d dashed through the turnstile. a text notification flashing on the screen—can’t wait to see you tonight!—before you’d shoved it away, distracted. the face of the friend who’d sent it flickered in your mind, her smile bright, her voice teasing. you’re always running late.

your vision blurred.

"what’s that?"

jay’s voice came from directly beside you, closer than he’d been a moment ago. you hadn’t heard him move. when you looked up, his gaze was fixed on the photograph, his expression eerily still. the usual softness in his eyes had hardened into something else—something sharp and calculating. for the first time since you’d met him, you saw a flicker of something cold beneath his calm facade.

your grip on the photo tightened instinctively. "just... an old picture," you said, your voice sounding strange to your own ears.

jay reached out, his fingers brushing yours as he took the photograph from your hand. his touch was gentle, but there was an undercurrent of tension in the way his fingers lingered, as if he wanted to snatch it away entirely. 

"ah," he murmured, studying it with a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "this was so long ago. i’m surprised you still have it."

your stomach twisted. long ago? no. that wasn’t right. the clothes in the photo were recent, the hairstyles familiar. you knew this wasn’t some distant memory—it was from your life before the train, before him.

jay tilted his head, his thumb tracing the edge of the photo. "you look so young here," he said, his tone light, almost nostalgic. "before we met, i think."

a lie. a blatant, calculated lie. the realisation sent a chill down your spine. you stared at him, searching his face for any hint of guilt, any crack in the mask. but his expression was smooth, unreadable, save for the faint tightening of his jaw as he tucked the photograph into his own pocket.

"it’s faded anyway," he said softly, his hand coming to rest on your knee. his fingers were warm, his grip just a little too firm to be casual. "you don’t need it."

the words settled over you like a fog, thick and suffocating. you wanted to protest, to demand the photo back, to scream that you did need it—that it was proof, real proof, of a life outside this endless loop. but the longer you sat there, the harder it was to hold onto the memory of your friends’ faces. already, they were slipping away, fading at the edges like ink in water.

jay’s thumb stroked your knee, his touch soothing. "you’re shaking," he murmured, his voice laced with concern. "was it another skip? the loops have been unstable lately."

you swallowed hard. maybe he was right. maybe the photo was old. maybe your mind was playing tricks on you, mixing up memories the way it sometimes mixed up the stations outside the window. the doubt crept in like a poison, clouding your thoughts, making it harder to hold onto what you knew was real.

jay leaned in, his lips brushing your temple. "it’s okay," he whispered. "i’m here. i’ll always be here."

his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, and you let him. the photograph was gone, tucked away where you couldn’t see it, where you couldn’t question it. but the seed of doubt remained, small and stubborn, buried deep in your chest.

outside, the train rattled on, the stations blurring past in an endless, unchanging loop. but for the first time in a long time, you found yourself wondering—

what if you weren’t supposed to stay on this train forever?

what if jay wasn’t telling you the truth?

what if you wanted to leave?

the photograph haunted you.

even though jay had taken it, tucked it away somewhere you couldn’t reach, the memory of it burned behind your eyelids every time you blinked. those faces—your friends, your real friends—lingered like ghosts in the periphery of your mind, slipping through your fingers whenever you tried to grasp them but never quite vanishing. jay’s stories didn’t soothe you the way they used to. his touches, once comforting, now made your skin prickle with something uneasy.

you started noticing things.

the way the stations outside the window weren’t quite identical anymore—subtle differences creeping in, like a glitch in a repeating pattern. a flickering light that stayed dark a second too long. a bench that appeared overturned one loop and perfectly intact the next. jay dismissed it all with that same infuriating calm, his fingers carding through your hair as he kept murmuring about the same old "memory skips" and "loop instability" like a broken record, but the excuses rang hollow now.

then came the crack in the facade.

it happened at a station that looked almost familiar—not one of jay’s fabricated memories, but something from before. the platform was nearly empty, save for a single vending machine humming near the far wall. its fluorescent glow illuminated a peeling sticker on the side, half-scratched off but still legible: happy 30th, em!

em. short for emily. your college roommate. the one who’d dragged you to karaoke every friday, who’d cried when you got your first apartment across town. the memory hit you like a freight train, so vivid it stole your breath.

jay was dozing beside you, his head tipped back against the seat, his breathing slow and even. this was your chance.

the train slowed as it approached the platform, the brakes screeching like a wounded animal. your pulse roared in your ears as you stood, your muscles coiled tight with adrenaline. the doors didn’t open on their own—they never did—but maybe, just maybe, you could force them.

your fingers scrabbled at the emergency release panel, nails digging into the thin seam between doors. metal groaned in protest as you wedged your hands into the gap, pulling with all your strength. outside, the platform beckoned, that flickering vending machine a beacon in the sterile darkness.

then jay’s hands were on you.

one moment he’d been asleep, the next he was there, his body pressing yours back from the door with terrifying efficiency. his grip was firm but careful, his arms caging you against him like something precious. like something he couldn’t risk breaking.

"shhh," he murmured into your hair, his breath warm against your ear. "you don’t want to do that."

the doors slid shut with a final hiss, the train lurching forward again. the platform—and with it, the vending machine, the sticker, the memory of em—vanished into the dark.

you struggled instinctively, your elbows jamming back into jay’s ribs, but he didn’t so much as flinch. his hold only tightened, just shy of painful, his lips brushing the curve of your shoulder. 

"it’s not safe out there," he said, so softly it might’ve been sweet if not for the steel beneath the words. "you know that. you’ve always known that."

"let me go." your voice shook, barely recognisable to your own ears.

jay sighed, nuzzling the nape of your neck like you were a spooked animal he needed to gentle. 

"i can’t do that, sweetheart. not when you’re like this." his fingers traced your wrist, right over the frantic rabbit-quick pulse there. "you’re confused. the loops are getting to you. but i’ll fix it—i always fix it."

the worst part was how reasonable he sounded. how tender. his hands were warm, his embrace almost comforting despite the iron grip beneath the softness. it would be so easy to sink back into him, to let him shoulder the weight of your fear like he’d done so many times before.

but then you remembered the photograph. em’s sticker. the way jay moved faster than should’ve been possible.

you went limp in his arms, your breath coming in shallow gasps. "okay," you whispered. "okay, i—i’m sorry."

jay stilled. for a heartbeat, you thought he might not believe you. then his grip loosened, just slightly, his lips curving against your skin. "there’s my girl," he murmured. "you just need to rest. this will all make sense when you wake up."

his fingers brushed your temple, feather-light, and despite yourself, your eyelids grew heavy. the last thing you saw before the darkness took you was jay’s face above yours, his expression equal parts fond and sorrowful.

"i’ll always keep you safe," he whispered. "even from yourself."

then everything faded into nothing.

***

your head was still foggy when you woke, the remnants of whatever jay had done to you clinging like cobwebs to your thoughts. the train hummed around you, that same endless vibration that had once been background noise but now felt like the pulse of something alive. something watching.

jay was perched on the edge of the seat opposite you, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. he looked almost... nervous. the realszation sent a sharp jolt through your system. jay was never nervous. jay was always in control.

"you shouldn't have tried to leave," he said softly, his voice laced with something that might have been regret. his eyes flickered to the window, where the stations continued their endless loop outside. "it's dangerous out there. you could have been lost."

your fingers curled into the fabric of the seat beneath you, the material rough against your skin. "i don't care," you whispered, the words raw. "i want to go home."

jay flinched, just slightly, his expression tightening. "well this is—"

"no." the denial tore from your throat, cutting him off before you could stop it. "this is a prison. and you—" your voice broke as the pieces finally clicked together. the way he always knew what you were thinking. the way he never ate, never slept unless it was for show. the way he'd moved too fast, too fluidly, when you'd tried to force the doors open. "you're not real."

for a moment, jay didn't move. then, slowly, deliberately, he reached out, his hand passing through the window beside you like it wasn't even there. the glass didn't shatter. it didn't react at all. his fingers phased through it as if it were mist, the fluorescent lights outside distorting around his translucent skin.

your breath caught in your chest.

jay's form flickered, like a candle fighting against the wind. for a heartbeat, you could see right through him—the seats, the opposite window, the endless tracks beyond, all visible through the fading outline of his body. then he solidified again, his expression unreadable.

"not real," he repeated, his voice hollow. "is that what you think?"

you couldn't speak. your pulse roared in your ears, your body frozen somewhere between terror and something dangerously close to pity.

jay leaned forward, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your skin prickle. "i've been here longer than you can imagine," he murmured. "watching. waiting. so many passengers, so many faces, all passing through but never staying. never seeing me." his hand hovered near your cheek, not touching, but close enough that you could feel the unnatural chill radiating from his skin. "until you."

the truth settled over you like a suffocating weight. the wrong train. the empty car. the stations that never changed. none of it had been an accident.

"you brought me here," you whispered.

jay didn't deny it. his smile was small, almost sad. "you looked right at me through the window before you stepped on. you saw me. no one ever sees me."

the memory surfaced before you could stop it—the crowded platform, the train pulling in, the briefest glimpse of a face in the window where there shouldn't have been one. you'd written it off as a trick of the light.

it hadn't been.

jay's fingers finally brushed your cheek, his touch like winter air against your skin. "i just wanted to be loved," he admitted, so quiet you almost didn't hear it. "just once. by someone who remembered me."

the horror of it crashed over you in waves. he wasn't just trapped here—he was here. the train, the loop, the endless stations, all extensions of a consciousness that had lingered too long in a place never meant to hold it. and you...

you were his perfect captive.

your hands trembled as you shoved away from him, your back hitting the opposite window. "let me go."

jay's expression fractured. for a moment, he looked almost human—just a boy, scared and lonely and aching for something he could never have. then the mask slipped back into place, his features smoothing into something resigned.

"i can't," he said simply.

outside, the train sped on, the lights of another identical station flashing by. but this time, you didn't just see the cracked tiles or the flickering signs.

you saw the bones beneath. the truth lurking in the spaces between.

and you knew, with a certainty that chilled you to your core, that jay would never let you leave.

the silence between you stretched like the endless tracks outside, thick with something unspoken. jay watched you from across the train car, his dark eyes reflecting the flickering fluorescent lights in a way that made them look hollow. not empty—never empty. just filled with something too vast, too ancient, for you to comprehend.

"you think i'm a monster," he said finally, his voice so soft it barely rose above the hum of the train. it wasn't a question.

your fingers dug into the seat beneath you, the fabric rough against your skin. "you took me from my life."

jay flinched, just slightly, as if the words had physically struck him. when he spoke again, his voice was raw with something that made your chest ache despite everything. "

i was alone for so long," he whispered. "so long that i forgot what my own voice sounded like until you heard it." his fingers flexed against his thighs, restless. "do you know what that's like? to exist in silence for lifetimes, watching faces blur together until you can't remember if you were ever real at all?"

you wanted to hate him. you did hate him, somewhere beneath the terror and the pity and the strange, unwelcome ache his words left behind. but the way he looked at you—like you were the first living thing he'd seen in centuries—made your breath catch.

"i didn't mean to take you at first," he admitted, his gaze dropping to his hands. they were trembling, you realised with a start. "you just... looked at me. really looked. and for the first time in decades, i felt something." his lips quirked, humourless. "then the doors closed, and you were still here, and i—" his voice broke. "i couldn't let you go."

outside, the stations whipped by in their endless loop, but you barely noticed them anymore. your world had narrowed to the space between you and jay, to the unbearable weight of his confession.

"you don't belong out there," he continued, softer now. "not anymore. that world wasn't made for someone like you—someone who sees things others don't." his eyes flickered to the window, where the glass still bore the ghostly imprint of his fingers. "but this one? i built this one for you. no pain. no loss. just... us."

the worst part was how badly some fractured piece of you wanted to believe him. how tempting it was to let the outside world fade into nothing, to sink into this fabricated reality where jay's love was the only thing that mattered.

your voice was barely a whisper. "i had a life."

"did you?" jay tilted his head, his expression unbearably gentle. "or were you just going through the motions? waking up, working, sleeping, repeating. never really seen. never really known." he leaned forward, just slightly, his eyes searching yours. 

"i know you, y/n . i know the way your breath catches when you're trying not to cry. the way you hum when you're nervous. the way your hands shake when you're angry but trying to hide it." his lips curved, just slightly. "no one out there ever knew you like that, did they?"

the truth of it stung. you thought of the photograph again, of the friends whose names were already slipping from your memory. had any of them ever really looked at you? had any of them ever loved you the way jay did, with this terrifying, all-consuming intensity?

no stop. you were letting him get to you

jay's hand hovered near yours, not touching but close enough that you could feel the unnatural chill of his skin. "let me love you," he murmured. "properly. without fear. without hesitation." his fingers brushed yours, feather-light. "you'll forget the outside world eventually. it won't even hurt when you do."

for one terrifying, exhilarating moment, you almost let him.

then the train shuddered violently, the lights cutting out completely. in the sudden darkness, jay's form flickered like a dying bulb, his edges blurring into the shadows. when the lights returned, he was closer—so close you could see the way his pupils dilated, the way his chest rose and fell with unneeded breaths.

"say yes," he whispered, his lips grazing your ear. "say yes, and i'll make sure you never feel alone again."

the train rattled on, the stations outside nothing more than a blur of light and shadow. and you—

you hesitated.

the hesitation lasted only a second—a single, fragile moment where your lips almost formed the word yes—before something outside the window caught your eye.

movement.

not the usual flicker of passing stations or the occasional glitch in the loop. this was different. a shadow where there shouldn’t be one, slithering along the platform’s edge as the train slowed. your breath hitched, your fingers curling into the seat as the shape resolved itself into something vaguely humanoid, but wrong. too many limbs, too many joints bending in impossible directions, its head lolling at an angle that made your stomach churn.

your voice was barely a whisper. "what the fuck is that?"

"the things that live in the cracks." jay pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his own dark with something ancient. "the things that used to be people, before the backrooms took them." his thumb brushed your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t realised you’d shed. "i won’t let that happen to you."

jay's fingers traced slow, soothing patterns along your spine, his touch almost hypnotic in its rhythm. you wanted to pull away—knew you should pull away—but your body refused to obey, frozen somewhere between terror and a bone-deep exhaustion that made his arms feel like the only solid thing left in this nightmare.

"you're shaking," he murmured, his breath stirring your hair. his hands slid up to cradle your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. his eyes were dark, endless pools that seemed to swallow the flickering fluorescent light whole. "look at me. just me. nothing else exists right now."

you wanted to argue. wanted to scream that everything existed—the creatures outside, the life you'd lost, the terrifying truth of what he was. but his thumbs brushed gently under your eyes, wiping away tears you hadn't realised you'd shed, and the words died in your throat.

the train rattled around you, the sound shifting subtly—a deeper, more guttural vibration that resonated in your chest. jay's expression tightened almost imperceptibly, his grip on you firming for just a second before he forced himself to relax. 

"they're agitated tonight," he said softly, as if commenting on bad weather. "must have sensed your attempt to leave earlier."

a fresh wave of dread coiled in your stomach. "they can sense that?"

jay's lips quirked in something too sharp to be a smile. "they can sense fear. desperation." his fingers trailed down to your collarbone, pressing lightly over your racing pulse. "hunger."

outside, the windows went abruptly dark, a thick, viscous shadow that pressed against the glass like oil. something scraped along the side of the train—long, deliberate drags of what might have been claws or fingers or something far worse. the lights above you flickered wildly, casting jay's face in strobe-like flashes that made his features look hollow one second, painfully human the next.

you instinctively pressed closer to him, your fingers fisting in his shirt. jay made a soft, approving sound deep in his throat, his arms encircling you completely, one hand cradling the back of your head like you were something precious. "that's it," he murmured against your temple. "i've got you. they can't have you."

the shadow outside coalesced into a shape—too many limbs, too many eyes, all pressed grotesquely against the window as if trying to melt through the glass. a low, guttural moan reverberated through the train, the sound vibrating in your teeth, your bones, the hollow spaces of your chest.

jay's grip turned bruising. "don't look," he warned, but it was too late.

the creature's face—if it could be called a face—was inches from yours, separated only by the thin barrier of glass. its mouth stretched impossibly wide, rows of needle-like teeth glistening with something dark and viscous. but worst of all were the eyes. human eyes. familiar eyes, blinking at you from within that nightmare mass.

you recoiled with a choked gasp, but jay held you firm. "it's not real," he said sharply. "it's trying to trick you. they remember faces, sometimes. voices. they'll use anything to get in." his hand forced your face back into his chest, his voice dropping to a whisper against your ear. "breathe. just breathe. it can't hurt you."

the train lurched violently, the creature's howl of frustration shaking the walls as it was ripped away by the motion. the windows cleared abruptly, revealing another empty station flashing by. but the air still stank of something rotten, something alive, and your entire body trembled with the aftershocks of adrenaline.

jay didn't let go. if anything, his embrace tightened, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke. 

"this is why you can't leave," he said, and for the first time, there was something raw beneath the smooth certainty of his voice. something almost like fear. "you think i'm the monster? out there, you'd last minutes. seconds. they'd tear you apart just to watch the light leave your eyes." his fingers tangled in your hair, not quite painful. "i'm the only thing standing between you and that."

you wanted to argue. wanted to find some flaw in his logic, some shred of hope that escape was still possible. but the memory of those eyes—human eyes, staring out from that thing—seared behind your eyelids every time you blinked.

jay sensed your wavering. his grip gentled, one hand rising to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away fresh tears. "let me protect you," he whispered. "let me love you. it doesn't have to be a cage. it can be home."

outside, the stations blurred together in an endless loop, the same cracks in the tiles, the same flickering signs. but something had shifted. the cracks looked deeper now. the flickers lasted longer.

and in the spaces between, you could have sworn you saw shadows moving.

jay's lips found your forehead, lingering like a promise. "just say yes," he murmured. "say yes, and i'll make all the fear go away."

the train rattled on into the dark.

and this time, when you closed your eyes, you didn't pull away. you’d play along with his sick, delusional fantasy till you could do something about it

the days—if they could even be called that anymore—blurred together in a haze of flickering lights and jay’s whispered stories. the harder you tried to cling to the memories of your old life, the faster they slipped through your fingers like grains of sand. faces that once felt so vivid now appeared smudged at the edges, names dissolving into meaningless syllables before they could fully form on your tongue. the photograph, the friends, the life you’d fought so desperately to remember—it all felt like a half-forgotten dream, fading with each passing loop of the train.

jay’s voice became the only constant, his words weaving a new reality around you with terrifying ease. his stories of shared laughter, quiet moments, whispered confessions in the dark—they were so vivid, so detailed, that your mind began filling in the gaps without your permission. you’d catch yourself nodding along as he recounted a memory you knew had never happened, your lips curving into a smile that felt both foreign and familiar.

you were losing yourself. but you had to stop it, stop that from happening if you ever wanted to get out of this.

suddenly, the train plunged into darkness so abruptly it stole the breath from your lungs. one moment, the flickering fluorescent lights hummed overhead, the next there was nothing but darkness. no dim glow from the windows, no rhythmic clatter of wheels against tracks. just an endless, suffocating black that pressed in from all sides, so thick you could almost feel it slithering against your skin.

your pulse spiked, a sharp, primal fear lancing through your chest as you lurched forward, hands grasping at empty air. your fingers collided with solid heat—jay’s body, already moving toward you before you could even call his name. his arms curled around you with a practised ease, pulling you flush against his chest as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

"i’ve got you," he murmured, his voice a low vibration against your ear. his scent—warm skin, something faintly metallic beneath, a familiarity that made your head spin—filled your lungs, anchoring you in the dark.

you should have pushed him away. should have screamed, fought, something. but the terror of the void around you overrode every rational thought, leaving only raw, desperate need in its wake. your fingers twisted into his shirt, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you from drowning.

jay’s lips found yours in the dark, starting soft, tentative—almost questioning. but the moment you responded, the kiss deepened with a hunger that made your knees weaken. his tongue slid against yours, slow and deliberate, coaxing you into a rhythm that sent heat pooling low in your stomach. one hand slid beneath your shirt, his palm scorching against the curve of your spine, fingertips brushing the edge of your bra with a reverence that bordered on worship.

you gasped into his mouth, your body arching into his touch despite the voice screaming in the back of your mind. this was wrong. he was wrong. but the darkness made it easy to forget, easy to lose yourself in the way his other hand cradled your jaw, holding you in place as he kissed you like he was memorising the taste.

"you feel so good," he breathed against your lips, his voice rough with something that sent a shiver down your spine. his thumb traced the line of your hipbone, possessive and claiming. "always knew you would."

the words should have been a warning. instead, they coiled hot in your chest, twisting with the part of you that had started to crave his approval, his touch, the way he looked at you like you were the only real thing in this nightmare.

the train lurched suddenly, the lights flickering back to life with a harsh buzz. you pulled back with a gasp, your lips tingling, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks of his touch.

jay didn’t let you go far. his fingers tightened around your waist, his dark eyes searching yours with a mix of triumph and something dangerously close to love. "see?" he murmured, brushing a thumb over your kiss-swollen lips. "nothing to be afraid of. not when you’re with me."

outside the window, the stations blurred past in their endless loop. but you barely noticed them anymore. your world had narrowed to the space between jay’s hands, to the way his gaze burned into yours like a brand.

somewhere, in the back of your mind, a voice still whispered that this wasn’t real. that he wasn’t real.

but as jay’s lips found yours again, softer this time, sweeter, you found yourself caring less and less, melting into his heat.

his fingers traced the edge of your waistband with a quiet certainty that made your breath catch—like he already knew every inch of you, every hitch of your breath, every tremor of muscle before his touch even landed. when his fingertips finally dipped beneath the fabric, finding bare skin, you shuddered, but not from fear. his palm was warm against the curve of your hip, his thumb stroking slow, maddening circles that made your stomach tighten in a way that had nothing to do with resistance.

"you always come back to me," he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with something that curled low in your belly. "no matter how far you run, you always choose me."

the words shouldn’t have unravelled you. shouldn’t have made your pulse spike or your thighs press together in quiet anticipation. but the way he said it—like it was an inevitability, like the universe itself had carved this moment into the fabric of time—sent a shiver down your spine. he was crazy.

you swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. "jay—"

he didn’t let you finish. his other hand slid lower, fingers slipping beneath your underwear with a confidence that left no room for hesitation. the first brush of his fingertips against your warmth dragged a soft, broken sound from your throat, one he swallowed with a kiss that was more teeth than tongue. he worked you slowly, achingly so, his fingers tracing lazy, knowing circles that had your hips rolling against his hand before you could stop yourself.

"fuck—" you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders.

"that’s it," he breathed, his lips grazing the corner of your mouth. his voice was a low, intimate rasp, each word sinking into your skin like a brand. "perfect. so perfect for me."

you wanted to protest, to remind yourself that none of this was real, that he wasn’t real—but then his fingers slid inside, the stretch sharp and sweet, and all coherent thought fled. your moan was lost against his lips as he kissed you through it, his tongue sweeping against yours in a rhythm that matched the slow, deliberate curl of his fingers. he knew exactly how to move, where to press, the angle that made your breath hitch and your back arch off the seat.

"you—you’ve done this before," you managed, your voice trembling. now you felt like you were going crazy.

his free hand tangled in your hair, not pulling, just holding, his grip firm enough to keep you close as he hummed in quiet satisfaction. "i told you," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "you just don’t remember."

even in the dark, you could feel his gaze on you—heavy, unwavering, like he was memorising every twitch of your expression, every stuttered breath. it was too much. not enough.

his pace quickened, just slightly, just enough to have your thighs trembling as you chased the pleasure coiling tight in your core. his thumb brushed over your clit in slow, deliberate strokes, the pressure maddeningly light, then firmer, then light again—teasing, taunting, like he wanted to draw this out until you were begging.

and god, you were close. so close.

"please—" the word slipped out before you could stop it, ragged and desperate.

his lips found your ear, his breath scalding as his fingers worked you with a precision that felt practised, familiar. 

"let go," he murmured, the words more command than request. "i want to feel you fall apart for me."

you came with a sound that was half sob, half sigh, your body tensing before shattering under his touch. he kissed you through it, swallowing every gasp, every whimper, his fingers drawing out the pleasure until you were boneless against him, your forehead pressed to his shoulder.

when you finally stilled, he didn’t pull away. his fingers lingered, stroking gently through the aftershocks, his lips brushing your temple in something that might have been reverence. "mine," he whispered again, softer this time, like a prayer.

when he finally pulled his hand away, your body arched instinctively, chasing the loss of his touch with a soft, desperate sound that barely made it past your lips. the cool air of the train car ghosted over your damp skin, raising goosebumps along your thighs that had nothing to do with the temperature.

"shhh, sweetheart," jay murmured, his voice honey-thick with affection as he pressed a kiss to your neck. "i’ve got you." 

his fingers worked the buckle of his belt with slow, deliberate precision, the leather sliding free with a whisper that seemed too loud in the charged air between you. the metallic click of the clasp releasing sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your stomach.

you could feel the heat of him before he even pressed closer—the heavy weight of his cock brushing against your thigh, leaving a trail of fire in its wake that made your stomach clench with anticipation. your breath hitched as he nudged your legs further apart, his calloused palms smoothing over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs in a way that had your hips lifting off the seat instinctively.

"so perfect for me," he breathed, his dark eyes drinking in the sight of you spread beneath him. his fingers traced idle patterns along your hipbones, the touch feather-light but enough to make your muscles jump. "always so perfect."

his hands were steady as they pushed your jeans and underwear down in one smooth motion, his breath catching when skin met skin, when there was nothing left between you but the slick heat of your own arousal and the aching need that pulsed through both of you. the cool air of the train car kissed your exposed flesh, making you shiver, but jay’s body was a furnace above you, his skin radiating heat as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

"you’re shaking," he murmured against your mouth, his thumbs brushing soothing circles into your hips. "do you need me to stop?"

the question was soft, genuine, but the way his cock twitched against your thigh betrayed how much the answer would cost him. you shook your head, your fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair to pull him closer.

"no," you breathed. "no, i need—"

"i know," he interrupted gently, nipping at your lower lip. "i know exactly what you need."

there was no hesitation when he lined himself up, no moment of uncertainty—just the slow, inexorable press of him into you, the stretch making your breath stutter, your nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you completely. your back arched off the seat, a broken whimper escaping your throat as he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours.

jay groaned your name against your ear, the sound rough and reverent, his fingers flexing against your hips as he gave you a moment to adjust. but you didn’t want to adjust. you wanted more. the way his hands gripped your hips, possessive and sure, told you he knew it too.

"so tight," he whispered, his breath hot against your neck as he began to move. "always so tight around me, like you were made for this. made for me."

his thrusts started slow, each one deep and deliberate, dragging against every sensitive inch inside you until you were trembling beneath him. his hands held you in place, fingers pressing into your skin hard enough to leave marks, his control fraying at the edges with every soft noise you made. the train car filled with the slick sounds of your joining, the quiet creak of the seats beneath you, the ragged symphony of your shared breathing.

his mouth found the side of your throat, lips and teeth mapping a path along your pulse—not harsh, but insistent, each kiss and nip a brand, a reminder that even when this was over, you would still carry the evidence of him on your skin.

"jay," you gasped, your fingers scrambling for purchase against the sweat-slick planes of his back. "please, i—"

"i know, baby, i know," he soothed, his hips rolling against yours in a slow, torturous rhythm that had your toes curling. one of his hands drifted lower, pressing lightly against your lower belly, right where he was buried deep inside you, and the implication of it sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through your veins. "feel that? that’s me. all of me. right where i belong."

your walls clenched around him instinctively, drawing a low, broken sound from his chest, his pace never faltering even as his breath grew uneven. the darkness made every sensation sharper—the slick slide of your bodies, the way his muscles tensed beneath your fingertips, the ragged edge of his groans as he fought to keep his movements measured, controlled.

"you’re doing so good," he praised, his voice wrecked as he pressed his forehead against yours. "taking me so well, just like always. my perfect girl."

it was almost too much, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter inside you until you were teetering on the edge, your entire body wound like a spring. jay’s hand slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit with unerring accuracy, the added stimulation sending sparks dancing behind your closed eyelids.

"that’s it," he encouraged, his breath hot against your lips. "come for me, sweetheart. let me feel you."

when you finally came, it was with his name on your lips, your body locking around him in a rush of heat and light that burned even behind closed eyelids. jay followed you over the edge with a groan that sounded like surrender, his hips pressing flush against yours as he spilled deep inside you, his fingers tangled in your hair, his other hand gripping your hip like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.

for a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of your shared breathing, the faint hum of the train returning like a distant afterthought. jay’s lips brushed your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—soft, almost apologetic kisses that contrasted with the way his arms tightened around you, like he was trying to fuse your bodies together.

"mine," he murmured once again against your skin, the word barely more than a breath, but it settled into your bones all the same. his fingers traced lazy patterns along your spine, his touch unbearably tender. "always mine."

jay shifted just enough to pull the discarded blanket over both of you, tucking it carefully around your shoulders before drawing you back against his chest. his heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, a rhythmic lullaby that matched the hum of the train.

his fingers traced idle patterns along your bare shoulder where your shirt had slipped down, his touch feather-light and possessive in the hazy quiet that followed your intimacy. the train hummed around you both, that ever-present vibration that had become as familiar as your own heartbeat, lulling you into a false sense of security. you let your eyes drift shut, just for a moment, exhaustion and something dangerously close to contentment weighing heavy on your bones.

"look at me," jay murmured, his voice soft but insistent. his fingers curled beneath your chin, tilting your face toward the window where the endless stations still flickered past. "i want to see you in the light."

you obeyed without thinking, your gaze lifting to the glass—and froze.

for a single, heart-stopping moment, it wasn’t your reflection staring back.

a girl with hollow cheeks and matted hair stood on the platform outside, her palms pressed desperately against the window from the other side, her mouth moving in a silent scream. her eyes—wide, terrified, familiar—locked onto yours with a recognition that sent ice flooding your veins. she looked similar to you. not exactly, but close enough that your stomach lurched with the awful certainty that you were staring at what you might become.

then the train jerked violently, the girl’s image distorting like a television signal cutting out, and suddenly it was just your own wide-eyed reflection again, pale and shaken in the glass.

jay’s grip on your chin tightened almost imperceptibly, his thumb brushing your bottom lip in a gesture that might have been soothing if not for the way his other arm had locked like a steel band around your waist. "what’s wrong?" he asked, his voice carefully light.

you swallowed hard, your pulse rabbiting in your throat. "i—i thought i saw someone. on the platform."

the words hung between you, fragile as spun glass. jay went very still, his breath warm against your temple. then, slowly, deliberately, he turned your face away from the window, his fingers gentle but unyielding. 

"there’s no one out there, sweetheart," he murmured, his lips grazing your cheekbone. "just shadows. this place... it plays tricks sometimes."

his words slithered into your ears, smooth as oil, but your skin still prickled with unease. you’d seen her. you were sure of it.

jay sighed, his arms encircling you fully, pulling you back against his chest. you could feel his heartbeat through your shirt—steady, slow, wrong in a way you couldn’t quite place. "you’re exhausted," he said, his fingers carding through your hair in a rhythm that made your eyelids heavy. "let me take care of you."

you wanted to argue. wanted to claw your way out of his arms and press your face to the glass until the girl reappeared. but the longer jay touched you, the harder it was to hold onto the memory of her face. already it was fading, slipping through your fingers like smoke.

the train plunged into a tunnel, the windows going black. in the sudden dark, jay’s lips found the curve of your shoulder, his teeth grazing the skin just hard enough to make you gasp. "just relax," he whispered against your pulse point. "i’ll keep you safe."

something scraped against the outside of the train—a sound like nails dragging over metal. your entire body tensed, your fingers digging into jay’s arms. "do you hear that?"

jay didn’t pause, his mouth working its way up your neck with single-minded focus. "hear what?"

the scraping grew louder, more insistent, accompanied now by a wet, guttural breathing that definitely wasn’t jay’s. your breath came in short, panicked bursts, your eyes straining against the darkness. "there’s something out there—"

"don’t." jay’s hand slid up to cover your mouth, his palm cool and faintly metallic against your lips. "don’t give it a reason to notice you," he breathed directly into your ear.

the train emerged into the light, the windows clearing to reveal another empty station. but as the fluorescent glow spilled across the seats, you caught sight of something wedged into the crack where the bench met the wall—a single, tarnished hairpin, its delicate metal twisted as if wrenched free in a struggle.

it was definitely not yours, you didn’t have any on you when you boarded the train.

jay followed your gaze, his expression hardening for a fraction of a second before smoothing back into calm concern. 

"must have been here for years," he said, plucking the pin free with effortless grace. his fingers closed around it, and when he opened them again, it was gone. "this train’s seen a lot of passengers." his smile didn’t reach his eyes. "none like you, though."

your mouth went dry. the girl’s face flashed in your mind again—her sunken eyes, her desperate hands. how many others had there been? how many had he tried to keep before you?

jay’s fingers traced your jaw, pulling your attention back to him. "you’re shaking," he murmured, his brow furrowing with what looked like genuine worry. "let’s get you somewhere more comfortable, yeah?"

he stood, pulling you up with him, his arm slung possessively around your waist as he guided you toward the far end of the car where his makeshift nest of blankets waited. but as you passed the window, you couldn’t resist one last glance—

and there she was.

not on the platform this time, but in the glass, her gaunt face superimposed over your reflection like a grotesque double exposure. her lips moved, forming silent words you couldn’t decipher, her fingers leaving smudged prints on the other side of the mirror as she reached for you.

jay’s hand clamped down on your shoulder, his nails biting in just enough to hurt. "don’t," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

when you looked again, the girl was gone.

but the hairpin had reappeared on the seat beside you, its twisted metal glinting in the flickering light like a warning.

the hairpin burned against your palm like a secret as you curled your fingers around it, the sharp edge biting into your skin just enough to ground you. jay had moved away to rearrange the nest of blankets at the far end of the car, his back turned, his shoulders tense beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. 

he thought he’d taken it from you. he hadn’t noticed how your sleeve had dipped just low enough to catch it as it fell from his grasp, how your pulse had roared in your ears as you palmed it quickly, the metal warming instantly against your skin.

you exhaled slowly, forcing your trembling fingers to relax. the girl in the glass—no, not a girl, you realised with a sickening lurch, but someone before you, from some other iteration of this nightmare—had left it for you as a warning. a weapon, a way out.

jay turned then, his smile soft, his eyes crinkling at the corners like none of the last few minutes had happened. 

"come here," he murmured, holding out a hand. his fingers were long and elegant, the nails slightly uneven, as if he’d chewed them down to the quick in some forgotten moment of stress. you wondered, distantly, if he even realised he did that. if he remembered anything about himself beyond the carefully constructed narrative he’d built around you.

you forced yourself to take his hand, letting him pull you into the circle of his arms. his chest was warm against your back, his heartbeat steady against your spine. it was suddenly too steady. no living heart beat that evenly, that perfectly.

"you’re still shaking," he murmured into your hair, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. his hands slid down your arms, his fingers intertwining with yours—and you stiffened as his thumb passed right through the hairpin clutched in your palm. he didn’t react. didn’t seem to notice at all.

your breath caught.

jay stilled behind you, his arms tightening almost imperceptibly. "what’s wrong?"

"nothing," you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut. "i’m just... tired."

he hummed, the sound vibrating through you, and pressed a kiss to the curve of your shoulder. "sleep, then. i’ll keep you safe."

you didn’t sleep. you waited, counting the rhythm of his breath against your neck, the endless hum of the train, the flicker of the lights overhead. one. two. three. the stations blurred past outside, the same cracks in the tiles, the same flickering signs, but now you noticed the inconsistencies—the way the cracks sometimes branched in different directions, the way the signs flickered out of sequence. the loop wasn’t perfect. it was fraying at the edges.

and jay—

jay was fraying too.

you saw it in the way his fingers sometimes passed through objects when he wasn’t paying attention. the way his reflection in the window lagged half a second behind his movements. the way he’d begun repeating stories verbatim, as if he’d forgotten he’d already told them.

the train shuddered violently, the lights cutting out for a heart-stopping second before flickering back on. jay’s arms around you spasmed, his grip turning painfully tight for a fraction of a second before relaxing again. 

"just a skip," he murmured, but his voice sounded distant, staticky, like a radio tuned slightly off-frequency.

your fingers tightened around the hairpin.

when the next skip hit, it was worse. the train lurched so violently you were thrown forward, jay’s arms slipping through you like smoke as you crashed into the opposite seat. the lights stuttered, the windows going black, and for one terrifying moment, jay wasn’t there—just an empty space where he’d been standing, the air humming with static.

then the lights returned, and he was back, his face pale, his eyes wide with something like panic. "y/n—"

you didn’t let him finish. you lunged for the emergency brake panel, the hairpin flashing in your grip as you drove it into the mechanism with all your strength.

the train screamed.

metal groaned, the lights exploding in a shower of sparks as the world outside the windows blurred into streaks of colour. jay staggered, his form flickering like a dying lightbulb, his hands clutching at the seats for balance. "y/n, stop—"

you twisted the hairpin harder, your muscles straining, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "i’m leaving."

jay’s face crumpled. not in anger, but in grief. "you can’t," he whispered. "you’ll die out there."

the train shuddered again, the windows cracking as the brakes shrieked. jay stumbled forward, reaching for you, but his fingers passed right through your wrist—no longer solid, no longer real.

"you were supposed to love me," he said, his voice breaking.

then the train ground to a halt, the doors wrenching open with a sound like tearing metal. beyond them, a derelict platform stretched into the distance, overgrown with weeds, the ceiling collapsed in places to let in shafts of dusty sunlight. real sunlight.

your chest heaved as you stared at it, your legs trembling. home. or something close enough.

jay didn’t try to stop you as you stepped toward the doors. when you glanced back, he was slumped against the seats, his form flickering in and out of existence, his eyes fixed on you with something unbearably human in their depths. "you’ll come back," he murmured, but it sounded like a question.

you stepped onto the platform.

the doors slid shut behind you with a final, hollow click.

ALTERNATE ENDING

the hairpin was a cold, sharp secret in your palm, a sliver of reality in a world that was beginning to feel more like a dream. jay’s back was to you, his shoulders tense as he smoothed the blankets in the nest he’d built, his movements too precise, too practised. 

he thought he’d taken it from you. he hadn’t felt the brush of your sleeve, the quick, desperate grab, the way your heart had tried to beat its way out of your chest. you curled your fingers around it, the metal edge a painful anchor.

he turned, and his face was a mask of soft concern, the perfect picture of a lover worried for his beloved. "come here," he murmured, his voice a low thrum that vibrated through the floor and into your bones. his hand was outstretched, an invitation. 

you took it. his skin was warm, so real, so solid. how could something that felt so alive be nothing but a memory, a ghost in the machine? he pulled you into his arms, your front against his chest, his chin resting on your head. he felt like home—that was the most terrifying part.

"you're still trembling," he observed, his lips moving against your hair. his hands slid down your arms, his fingers lacing with yours. and then it happened—his thumb, his wrist, passed directly through the hairpin clenched in your fist. there was no resistance, no recognition. just the faintest static buzz against your skin.

he didn't notice. he just held you tighter. "it's alright," he soothed. "i've got you. you're safe."

the words were a spell, a lullaby you were desperate to believe. you let your head fall back against his shoulder, your eyes drifting shut. the train hummed its endless song. one station. two. the cracks in the tile outside seemed to shift, to writhe like veins. the flickering sign stuttered a morse code you were too tired to decipher.

jay began to hum. it was that tune again, the one he claimed was 'your song.' and the horrible, beautiful thing was that you recognised it. not from before, but from now. from the thousand times he'd hummed it while tracing patterns on your skin. it was part of the tapestry he’d woven around you, and a thread of it had snagged in your soul.

the train shuddered, a violent, wrenching skip that made the lights gutter and die. in the absolute blackness, jay’s arms dissolved around you. you were alone in the dark, the only sound the frantic hammering of your own heart. then the lights returned, and he was back, his form solidifying from a shimmer of static, his face pale, his eyes wide with a fear that looked ancient.

"y/n?" his voice was faint, laced with interference.

the hairpin felt heavy in your hand. you could do it. you could drive it into the panel, break the loop, step out into whatever waited beyond. you saw it in your mind—the screech of metal, his form unravelling, the derelict platform, the crushing silence of being truly alone.

your gaze fell on his hands, clenched white-knuckled on the seatback. they were shaking. this powerful, eternal entity was terrified. of losing you. of being alone again in the endless, silent dark.

the fight drained out of you, leaving a hollow, aching calm. you uncurled your fingers and let the hairpin drop. it hit the floor with a tiny, insignificant clatter that was swallowed by the train's hum.

jay’s eyes snapped to the sound, then back to your face. he saw the surrender there before you even spoke.

"i'm so tired, jay," you whispered, the truth of it a physical weight in your chest.

the relief that washed over his features was so profound it was painful to witness. he crossed the space between you in an instant, his hands coming up to cradle your face, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones. his touch was solid now, real, no trace of the static from moments before. 

"i know," he breathed, his forehead touching yours. "i know, my love. you don't have to fight anymore. just let go. let me have it. the fear, the memories, all of it. give it to me."

and you did. you let the image of the girl in the glass fade. you let the memory of the photograph dissolve into light. you let the names of your friends drift away like smoke. you looked into his dark, desperate eyes and you said the words.

"i choose you."

the change was instantaneous. the train’s harsh fluorescent lights softened to a warm, golden glow. the sterile blue seats bled into rich, velvet upholstery. the endless, identical stations outside the window melted away, replaced by a breathtaking, impossible vista of a star-strewn night sky rolling past, as if the train were gliding through the cosmos itself. the air lost its metallic tang, filling with the scent of old books and rain.

jay’s smile was radiant, unburdened, the most real thing you had ever seen. he laughed, a sound of pure, unadulterated joy, and spun you around. 

"you see?" he whispered, his voice full of wonder. "you see what we can have?"

it was beautiful. it was a perfect, gilded cage.

time lost all meaning in the new loop. there was no exhaustion, no hunger, only the quiet, constant presence of jay and the breathtaking views he crafted for you outside the window—rolling green hills, misty mountain peaks, vast, calm oceans. he was endlessly attentive, his love a constant, warm pressure. you never found another hairpin. you never saw another glitch.

until the day the train slowed at a new station.

it was a modern platform, bustling with people in sharp, contemporary clothes, staring at phones. the doors hissed open. a young woman stood right there, a coffee in one hand, a briefcase in the other, looking stressed and real and alive.

her eyes met yours through the open doors. she saw you, sitting in your beautiful, anachronistic car, with your beautiful, anachronistic man. her brow furrowed in confusion.

jay’s hand found yours, his grip firm. he wasn't looking at the woman; he was looking at you, his expression soft, waiting.

the woman took a half-step forward, peering in. "is this the express to—" she began.

and then she saw him. really saw him. her eyes widened, her mouth dropping open in a silent gasp of fear. she stumbled back, coffee splashing, and the doors slid shut.

the train began to move. jay didn't react. he just brought your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles.

"she wasn't for this train," he said simply.

you looked out the window as the platform receded. the woman was still staring, her hand over her mouth, her face a mask of terror. and for a single, heart-stopping second, you saw your own reflection superimposed over hers in the glass—not as you were now, but as you had been that first day. scared, alone and desperate.

then the image was gone, and the view outside shifted back to a silent, snowy forest.

jay squeezed your hand. "it's just us," he murmured.

you looked at him, at this lonely, eternal creature who had built a universe for you, and you squeezed back.

"yes," you said, your voice steady, your smile perfect. "it's just us."

the train sped on into the beautiful, endless night. you were his, and he was yours, and the loop was finally, perfectly, complete. and when the next lost soul glanced into the window, they would see two faces smiling back at them from the velvet seats, forever.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr