wolfee ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

The rest of the guys had flown out two days ago for a string of ambassador appearances, some luxury brand deal that had them bouncing between Seoul, Tokyo, and Shanghai. No staff, no managers on-site, just you and Jeongin. He’d begged you to stay over while they were gone, promising it would be “just us, no chaos for once.” You’d laughed and said yes, because saying no to Yang Jeongin was basically impossible.

Now you were tangled up on his bed, the one shoved against the far wall of the room he shared with Chan. The lights were off, only the faint glow of the city skyline leaking through the half-closed blinds. Jeongin’s mouth was warm and slow against yours, one of his hands sliding under the hem of your hoodie like he had all the time in the world. His other hand cupped the back of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw in that gentle way that always made your stomach flip.

He murmured against your lips, smiling. “I swear every time you kiss me back like that I forget how to breathe.”

You laughed softly, tugging him closer by his shirt. “Good.”

His grin widened and he rolled you under him, kissing you deeper, until the sound cut through the air like a blade.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Three firm raps on the bedroom door.

Your heart slammed to a stop. The front door was locked. Triple-locked. You’d both checked it twice before coming back here. No one had a key except the members, and they were literally on another continent.

Jeongin froze on top of you, eyes wide. The smile vanished. Another knock. Louder.

You both stayed perfectly still, barely breathing. His hand was still under your hoodie, but neither of you moved an inch.

Then the voice came through the wood, warm and familiar and impossible. “Innie? You in there? Open the door, it’s me.”

Chan.

It sounded exactly like Chan, same gentle tone, same little laugh at the end of the sentence. But Chan was in Japan. You’d seen the group chat photos of him eating convenience store ramen at 2 a.m. Tokyo time less than an hour ago.

Jeongin’s eyes met yours. For a second he looked like he might actually answer.

You grabbed his wrist hard, yanking him back down beside you. “That’s not Chan,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Jeongin, that’s not him.”

He stared at you, pupils blown with sudden fear. The knock came again, sharper.

“Innie-yah, come on. I left my charger in there. Just open up.”

Jeongin swallowed. He slid off the bed silently, bare feet padding across the floor. You watched in horror as he reached for the lock, then you lunged, grabbing the back of his shirt and hauling him backward with every bit of strength you had.

“No,” you hissed. “Do not open that door.”

The voice outside changed. Still Chan’s, but edged now. Impatient.

“Innie? Why aren’t you answering? I can hear you in there.”

Jeongin’s hand hovered over the lock, trembling. You shook your head frantically.

The knocking grew harder. Thud. Thud. Thud.

“Yang Jeongin. Open the door right now. That’s an order.”

The tone was wrong. Too sharp. Too demanding. Chan never spoke like that.

Jeongin backed away from the door like it had burned him. He scrambled back onto the bed and pulled you against his chest, arms locking around you so tightly it hurt. You could feel his heart hammering against your cheek.

The voice outside started to crack.

“Why are you ignoring me? I’m your leader. I said open the door.”

It laughed, but the laugh warped halfway through, dropping into something low and wet and wrong.

“Come on, Innie… I just want to see your pretty girlfriend up close.”

Your blood turned to ice. Jeongin’s arms spasmed around you. The voice kept going, getting louder, pressing right up against the crack under the door like it was breathing through the wood.

“She smells scared. Let me in and I’ll be gentle. I promise.”

It wasn’t Chan anymore. The accent was slipping. The warmth was gone. The words stretched and twisted, vowels elongating into something guttural and hungry.

You fumbled your phone out of your pocket with shaking hands, thumbed open the camera, and hit record. Jeongin buried his face in your hair, breathing fast and shallow.

The thing outside slammed its fist against the door so hard the frame rattled.

“OPEN THE DOOR, JEONGIN. OPEN IT OR I’LL COME THROUGH THE WALL.”

The voice splintered, layers on top of layers, Chan’s tone mixed with something demonic and ancient and starving. It screamed your name in a pitch that made your ears ring, then laughed again, the sound bubbling like it was underwater.

Then… silence.

No more knocking. No footsteps. Just the low hum of the dorm fridge in the kitchen and the frantic beat of Jeongin’s heart against yours.

You kept recording for another full minute before your thumb finally slipped off the button.

Jeongin’s voice was barely a whisper. “Is it gone?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You just clutched the phone like a lifeline.

Ten minutes later you were both still on the bed, fully dressed now, backs against the headboard, legs tangled together for comfort. You video-called the group chat with the sound off, hands shaking so badly you almost dropped the phone twice.

Chan picked up on the second ring, face filling the screen. He was in a hotel room, hair messy, eyes wide with worry the second he saw your expressions.

“What’s wrong? Why do you both look like you’ve seen a ghost..”

You didn’t speak. You just hit send on the video you’d recorded.

The call went dead silent as the eight of them watched it on their end. You heard someone curse, Minho, probably. Someone else made a choked sound.

Then Han’s voice came through, small and shaky.

“…That’s a mimic.”

Jeongin’s head snapped up. “A what?”

“A mimic,” Han repeated, voice cracking. “Like… the things that copy voices to lure people out. Old Korean folklore stuff. They don’t usually come inside buildings but, shit, the dorm’s been empty except for you two. They get bold when it’s quiet.”

Chan cut in, all leader-mode now, even though his face was pale. “Do not open that door. Do not leave the room. We’re calling the managers right now. They’re twenty minutes away, max. Stay on the line with us. Both of you. We’re not hanging up until they get there.”

Seungmin’s voice floated in from the background, tight with fear. “Innie, you okay?”

Jeongin swallowed hard and pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. His voice was hoarse but steady when he answered.

“Yeah. We’re… we’re okay. Just, hurry.”

You kept the phone propped on your knee, the group chat a chaotic mix of worried voices and rapid Korean. But you didn’t look at the screen anymore. Your eyes stayed fixed on the bedroom door, on the thin strip of darkness beneath it.

Outside, the hallway was quiet again.

Too quiet.

You didn’t let go of Jeongin’s hand once. Not even when the managers finally started pounding on the front door twenty-three minutes later, shouting your names in normal, human voices.