⋆𐙚₊raewuᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

Ah, but of course, all of that was just wishful thinking, not logic. After all, Toji Fushiguro never had the best luck, and he certainly was never favoured by the universe, maybe by the Heavens, but everyone knows who’s really calling the shots round here.

The argument, the drinks, the flashing lights, the turned-over car — he tried to forget it all. To move on like he had before. One would think a man like Toji, permanently shrouded in death and grief, would’ve been used to it by then, but it hit the same, maybe even worse, because that time…that time was his fault. So he buried himself in even more alcohol, attempted to follow you wherever you skipped off to, shut his one and only friend out when he stopped him, and continued living as he did before you, albeit reluctantly and complaining the whole way.

It wasn’t easy, but then again, nothing about his life had ever been.

Eventually, he got into a rhythm, a routine: wake up, clock in, kill a bastard or two, bag the cash, drink, eat, drink and drink again, then pass out somewhere in his apartment or on the streets. Simple.

Until it wasn’t.

“Toji, can you eat something other than ramen?” you ask, pestering him from across the dining table. “Eat something green once in a while. Seriously, you’re going to be made of instant noodles at this point.”

Yeah, you came back.

As an annoying, nagging ghost on your first death anniversary. You just popped up, making a face of disgust at the state he’d left his apartment in. He damn near had a heart attack. At first he thought he was hallucinating — that happens after a drink too many — though when your voice reached his ears, he knew it was something else entirely. Naturally, he lunged straight for you, arms reaching out to cradle your body, to lay kisses upon your lips and inhale your scent.

None of that happened.

Because you aren’t back, not really.

Since then, he’s been pretending you don’t exist. You’re just a figment of his imagination, or some cruel joke by the universe. Well, he won’t play into it. Not when that same universe took you from him in the first place.

“Oh, okay, sure, keep acting like I’m not here, asshole. While you’re at it, go take a shower, you reek of beer.”

Toji slurps on his noodles extra loud.

His days continue like that — you yap and yap, and he ignores every single word. It’s easy considering all you ever say are complaints: he drinks too much, sleeps too often, doesn’t go out enough, doesn’t eat healthily or regularly, and whatever else. Constant and incessant, you drive him mad with your nagging and the exasperating fact that you follow him everywhere — to the bedroom, kitchen, living room, bathroom, and to the damn liquor store.

There’s nowhere on this planet he could go to get away from you, and he’s tried.

“When was the last time you saw Shiu?” you wonder. “You never go anywhere or get any texts.”

No way in hell is he answering that question. He can’t get into it. How can he explain that the bastard meddled in his plans? That somehow he wasn’t quick enough to do something about your accident but was right on time when he grabbed a gun and aimed it at his own head?

After that, all he could recall from that night were the landing of fists, the trickling of blood, and something about how you’d never want that, ‘not like this,’ or some equally bullshit thing.

Groaning, you wave a hand in front of his face. “Hello? Come on, hon. Go see him. Don’t you miss your best buddy?”

Who the hell told you that was his best buddy?

Sure, he didn’t have others, but he could, if he wanted to. That hardly makes that bastard deserving of the title of ‘the best.’ Regardless, he’s not going anywhere near him. Who even knows where the son of a bitch is?

But he should have known you wouldn’t give up.

Once again, you follow him everywhere, this time with a mission — standing by as he pisses, hovering when he sleeps, yammering when he’s on the job, ranting whilst he smokes or chugs a beer, and pleading even when he’s trying to take a shit.

“Please, Toji? This isn’t healthy,” you moan. “You’re cooped up here. And you don’t talk to anyone. This is just like how I met you. Go out there. Say hi to Shiu. Get something to eat. Please? Please, baby?”

His eye twitches.

Hesitantly, he opens his mouth. The voice that comes out is unfamiliar, raspy and gravelly. He winces. “I-if, ahem, if I go, will you get the fuck out of the bathroom?”

You squeal in glee. “Yes! Yes, I promise. Thankyouthankyouthankyou!”

He hides the microsecond quirk of his scarred lips with a hand rubbing down his face and kicks the door shut as soon as you leave.

.

.

.

Being outside is weird.

Things have stayed the same in a lot of ways, but changed in so many others. The tables at the restaurant down the road are new, but the chairs are the same. They’ve swapped a few pictures on the walls, got a new bartender, but the manager’s still here. The speakers have moved, but the playlist’s still the same — shitty and cheesy.

Wearing the least stained clothes he could find, Toji shifts uncomfortably, the scratchy material of his sweater bothering him. He even brushed his hair, which had grown longer than he’d realised. His scraggly beard, though, remains untouched.

Everything irritates him — the noise, the increase in vegan items on the menu, the PDA of couples, the bright lights, and worst of all, the sight of that same suit worn by the man he’d once cried in the arms of like some fucking baby.

“How you been doing, Fushiguro?”

He grunts. “Fine. You?”

Shiu nods, drawing idle shapes into the condensation on his glass. “Good. Was surprised you called. Thought you disappeared or died…” He clears his throat. “Or something.”

The man looks mostly the same — slicked-back hair, tailored suit, polished oxfords, sly smile. He hadn’t changed his number. That surprised Toji, although not as much as the fact that he’d answered on the first ring.

Despite Toji’s attempt to hide the call from you, you still noticed the pink on his ears and the awkward clearing of his throat when he asked if Shiu wanted to hang out. Good thing the bastard didn’t push or crack a joke about it; Toji would’ve hung up the second some wise-ass comment came out of his mouth.

“God, you look like shit.”

With a huff, he responds, “Still better looking than you, that’s for sure.”

Shiu chuckles, eyes trailing the passing girls. “Lemme know when you’re ready to stop cosplaying Gandalf and I’ll hook you up with my barber. Free of charge.”

“Take him up on it, Toji! Pleaseeee.”

At the restaurant, you sit beside Shiu, opposite Toji, making silly faces to grab his attention, and he has to fight the urge to roll his eyes or drown himself in more alcohol. Instead, he steers the conversation away from anything that might lead back to you.

Picking at his fries, feeling no real hunger, Toji asks, “How’s the market looking these days?”

That sparks something in Shiu. “You looking to do some work for me? I’ll find you the highest-paying bounties. You know I’m the best handler in town.”

Soon the heavy tension dissolves, the drinks flow, and the banter follows. They talk about sports and cars and new guys on the job — empty things, small talk they can hide behind. Meanwhile, you’re quiet, just watching.

It doesn’t hit him until later, how easy it feels to be okay, to let himself get carried away. Catching up is good. Talking is good. Food that isn’t microwaved is good. Really good. He scarfs his plate down, and another order after that, shrugging off Shiu’s impressed whistle.

Like this, it’s almost too easy to pretend nothing went wrong a year ago, that there isn’t still a permanent fracture in his life, and in Shiu’s. Every so often, when the suited man glances at a certain corner or when a familiar song plays, he grimaces, remembering too. Toji takes a swig of beer, and so does Shiu — two men, same scene, different stories.

“Hey,” you speak up once Shiu excuses himself to the toilet. Toji doesn’t look up, but he’s listening. That’s all he can do anyway. “Why’s he ignoring me? Did I do something?”

Toji stills.

Briefly, he thinks he heard you wrong or that you misspoke. You don’t correct yourself.

When he finally dares to look, his eyes fixes on you, unmoving. You’re smiling, confused but waiting, head tilted slightly. A large lump lodges itself in his throat. You look just as beautiful as the day he lost you, and just as broken and beat up.

You didn’t come back from wherever you were. You never left. You’re frozen in time.

“You…” His pint trembles under his grip. “You don’t know, do you?”

Laughing nervously, you ask, “Know what?”

“What happened to you.”

The words strike something inside. Mouth opening and closing, you struggle for something to say. The plates and glass shake, rattling against the wood only for a second. You go quiet, gaze drifting to the distance, a frown softening your face. His hand habitually twitch forward. 

Before he can press, Shiu returns, smirking and offering him a smoke. “Let’s get outta here.”

Toji leaves you there — a lone figure, unseen and overlooked. The picture looks all kinds of wrong, but he can’t do a damn thing about it.

You don’t follow him home that night.

.

.

.

“Wake up, already. God, are you just gonna sleep the day away?”

Toji grumbles, forcing his bleary eyes open. “Quit yammering.”

You roll your eyes. “I will when you get up and clean up around here. It’s a pigsty.”

Not even he can deny that. The place had gone to shit — empty bottles and takeaway wrappers everywhere. Dirty socks lying around, not paying rent. Trash piled high. Even fruit flies for company. Curtains drawn shut, pictures faced down, TV always buzzing with something grim on the news. You point it all out: the dust on every surface, the mould growing in mugs, the stale stench punching the senses.

Neither of you glance at the corner where your clothes still hang neatly beside his, untouched.

“Leave me alone,” he grouches.

“Oh, come on! I thought you’d be in better spirits after seeing Shiu. Why don’t you ask him about that barber? Maybe see him again in a few days? Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Toji throws an arm over his eyes. “I’m not a child. I don’t need you setting me up on playdates.”

“You always say that,” you hum. “Every time I tell you to hang out with him. God, you used to drag your feet, but you’d have a great time. And don’t deny it.”

It’s true. He used to prefer your company over anyone else’s. When did that change? When did he start being so eager to leave you, to hang out at some dingy bar instead of curling up with a blanket and you beside him?

Why hadn’t he realised that every time the door closed behind him, he was pushing you further and further away, until you ended up somewhere he couldn’t follow?

A headache starts to build at his temples.

With a laugh, you say, “If you don’t get up soon, I’ll start singing…” That gets him up fast. A heavy sigh leaves his lips. He pushes his hair back, mutters something under his breath, and stretches, shirt riding up his torso. You whistle. “Hot damn.”

He snorts. “It’s too early to be flirting with me, wo—”

He cuts himself off. Fuck. He’d gotten carried away.

You waking him up, teasing him, riling him up — it’s all a taste of the normalcy he used to have, that domestic bliss he woke up thankful for every day except on the one that mattered. For a second, it’s easy to get lost in it. Dangerous, even. It threatens to undo everything he’s tried to bury.

Tense, jaw flexing, he throws out, “What will it take for you to go, huh? When will it be enough?”

“Go? Where would I go? Toji, what’s going on with you? You know I’d never leave you.”

His scoff cuts through the air, sharp and hollow. “Is this some Hallmark bullshit? Something about needing to see me do better? Clean myself up or some shit?” He doesn’t wait for your response before he’s moving, snatching clothes off the bed, throwing them into the basket, bottles clanging as he gathers them. “Is this what you want?”

“Toji, I— what are you doing? Be careful.”

Eyes closed, he rips open the curtains, cursing at the sudden heat and sunbeams that touch his skin. In the light, his destruction becomes glaringly mocking. 

How far he’d fallen.

When did your home become his rotting hole?

Drawers slam open, trash shoved into bins. It’s chaos. A comical sight — a hulking man sweeping the floor aggressively in just his boxers and measuring detergent with expert precision. Just like before, your nagging goes ignored.

For a man, there’s no greater motivation than spite. He’s punishing himself, punishing you by cleaning up. It’s so stupid, so ridiculous, so utterly him that you can do nothing but watch, stepping out of the way when he nears you to pick something up.

Stomping around, the whole day is spent cleaning up — the empty takeaway boxes and plastic are swept away, dust wiped clean, plates washed and clothes fresh and folded.

A whole year of shit left untouched had piled up. He hadn’t realised how bad it’d gotten. Every time he picked something up, there’d be another thing to throw and then another and another. It never seemed to end. 

And his back and knees were paying for his sloven sins. 

Groaning and moaning, he got into a rhythm of being a homemaker, all while he continued to pretend you weren’t there. 

When he’s done, well past midnight and way too sore, he falls onto the sofa with a heavy grunt, no bottles clinking around with his shuffles. 

In truth, he expected to feel a wave of satisfaction, a sense of clarity, a lightness in his chest. In lieu of any of that bullshit, he feels nothing but emptiness. It takes form in a cavernous hole right where his heart used to beat. One second of self-reflection is all it takes for his regret, that bitter old companion of his, to materialise.

Why the fuck did he do that?

Why did he fall for your shit?

Why, fucking why, did he wash the clothes that kept your scent, cups that had your lipstick stain, tissues you used, and everything that was proof you lived here with him?

“Doesn’t that feel better?” Your sickly sweet voice breaches the hushed air. 

How could he forget you aren’t the woman he held close every night? The woman he has on his phone screen? The one that patched his wounds up, that told him off for getting hurt, that’d kiss them to heal faster?

You’re not his girl. You’re a fragment that won’t let go. A fragment that’s missing your whole, wherever you are.

“Just fuck off,” he huffs, chest puffing.

Suddenly his long-forgotten splitting headache returns, a sharp ringing paired with it. He’d gotten carried away; the sting of the bleach he’d been so generous with left an irritating tang on his tongue. All the washing had rendered his fingers pruny and dry, and the cleanliness of his apartment was creating an itch on his skin. “Fuck.”

And where the hell is his ring?

“Jeez, can you stop being so rude to your wife?”

Jaw clenching, he snaps, “My wife’s dead.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he wishes he could take them back. Silence, all too familiar to you both now, falls across the room. It’s thick, suffocating, and unforgiving.

Moments pass, the tick, tick, tick of the clock whirring in the air. Even before he married you, he vowed never to use his past like a weapon — and yet he just did. Dug it deep and twisted, as if it wasn’t enough that you’re already long gone, because of him. Still, he can’t rein back the deep anger festering in his chest, the one that pleads to be unleashed, to be confronted. 

Misting in front of him, you stand with an expression of complete and utter devastation. He looks away. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“I,” he begins, then stops. “Fuck. Forget it. I’ve done what you wanted, you can go.”

“Where the fuck am I going?”

On his feet, he quickly scans the nice, polished living room. Where the hell is his damn ring?

There’s nothing on the coffee table except a remote and a lavender incense he’d dusted off from the pantry. Not a hint of anything metallic on the TV stand or the window sill. Maybe it dropped between the cracks of the sofa. He checks each crevice once, twice, and a third time for good luck. Not there either.

Impatiently, you snap, “I asked a question!”

In the back of his mind, deep in that darkness, he’s acutely aware that the panic coursing through his body and rendering his vision blurry is a symptom of something else entirely. Perhaps guilt or shame, both of which he’s long been acquainted with — but not quite like this, not when he’s being forced to face the ghost of his past, and not figuratively.

“For fuck’s sakes, why won’t you look at me?”

Toji breathes through his nose. Rolling his shoulders back, he fights the urge to wave you away, to smother himself in alcohol and forget he’d ever tried to be something he wasn’t, something he hadn’t been in a long time. But your voice…it’s grating…demanding…

His headache throbs.

“I’m trying to help, Toji.”

The words hit wrong in his ears.

“Help? You want to fucking help?” He scoffs, shaky hand combing through his hair, shoving the overgrown locks away from his face. The cause of his downfall, the root of all his misery, serving itself up to right the wrongs it caused. How laughable. Utterly laughable. “Then fuck off back into the afterlife or wherever the fuck you went. You have no damn business lingering here, trying to fix things, fix me like I’m some toy.”

Sighing, you reach for him out of instinct. “Stop talking nonsense.”

He jerks away. “Don’t. Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Why?” You ask, hand reaching again, insistent despite the steps he’s taking further and further from you. “Why won’t you look at me? Why won’t you let me touch you? Why do you avoid me?”

“Because you’re not here!” Toji bellows.

Vein popping, he shoves a hand forward. It shoots right through you, yet you stumble back as though it made contact nonetheless. That only urges him on, eyes darkening, a madness consuming the green of his irises.

“You’re dead. I can’t fucking touch you because you’re not real. What’s fucking hard to get, huh? Have you even looked in the mirror? Can you fucking do that? Well, let me spell it out for you — there are cuts all over your face, blood dripping down your clothes, shit, ma,” he exhales, “I barely recognised you.”

He’s not screaming now, but it’s all the same, like he’s yelling daggers at you. Each syllable cuts deep, burrowing inside and festering. “No one but me can even see you. Didn’t you figure that out at the restaurant? You fucking died in a car crash, chasing after me.” He laughs. “I’m a worthless piece of shit bastard, and you never had the smarts to work that out. And ‘cause of that, you’re dead. Have been a long time now, doll. Is that not clear? Are you gonna keep pretending? Keep lying to yourself? Acting like you’re not a fucking ghost?”

Step by step, he gets closer, jabbing you with his words until you’re cowering beneath his wrathful gaze. “Toji, y-you’re scaring me.”

Your own words are deflected by the sheer torment restraining his muscles. This entire farce is driving him insane. It’s like he’s talking to a brick wall, desperate to be heard, to be left alone. He’s tired of being a joke to the universe. It’s tortured him enough. It’s wrung him through too much. It took and took until there’s nothing left to take. No more hope to wake, no piece of his heart left to shatter. You took it all with you.

“Well, don’t,” he whispers, breath blowing right through you. Not a single hair is rustled. “You ain’t that good of an actress.”

Disbelieving, you shake your head. “Toji, this again? I t-told you, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Just look at me, baby. You’ll see I’m your wife. Always. See?”

“You don’t look nothing like my girl,” he scoffs. “You’re just her walking corpse.”

You gasp, stumbling back.

The mirror on the wall catches your attention, and when you look — really look — you see it. The glass shards embedded in your skin, the gaping wounds refusing to close, the bloodshot eyes, and the ripped-up clothes. You see it.

The truth.

You really are dead and have been for a long time now.

Stuttering and stammering, you grasp for a lie to hold onto, reaching for him with wide, panicked eyes. You’re hyperventilating, shivering and shuddering, whimpering.

Things in the apartment begin to shake — picture frames, the TV, tables, cups, and plates. A quake runs through the rooms, vibrating through the floors and threatening to swipe his legs from under him.

A scream tears through your body. It’s haunting, deafening, and silencing. He flinches. The tremors intensify, growing more violent and volatile with every harrowing note that pierces the air. He falls back onto a wall.

In the middle of the chaos, you stand, blood-soaked and crying.

Toji steps forward, hand outstretched out of instinct. “Baby, shit. I’m sorry. I—”

“I’m dead,” you mutter, face crumpling. When your knees meet the wooden floor, the apartment falls into a stifling void, everything returning to its place and remaining so still he thinks, for a second, he dreamt it all. “I’m dead. Oh, god. I’m dead. I’m dead. I’m dead.”

His chest caves in, hands quivering. “No, forget what I said. Come here. I’m sorry. Alright? I’m sorry.”

“This isn’t right, Toji. This isn’t right.”

The truth is inescapable, undeniable, all-consuming: you were never meant to be here. Your presence on this plane is unnatural. It’s an abomination. Your selfish desire to cling onto something — someone — who had been desperate to move on warrants punishment, and you can’t outrun it. Not your fate, not the way that night was always supposed to end, and certainly not the last trickling of sand, that last stubborn granule.

Just one look at him and it’s all so clear — in your subconscious attempt to ease his suffering, you’ve only made it so much worse.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry.”

Toji’s heart stops.

“No. No,” he breathes out. “Not again. N-not again. Baby, please. I’m sorry.”

Tears trail down your cheeks, stained pink, and when your eyes meet his for the first time in forever, your features soften. For the briefest moment, he’s struck by how peaceful you look now — clean, whole, as precious as he’d always leave you in the mornings before work. Attempting a shaky smile, you murmur, voice tender, “You really should shave, Toj. I like you clean-shaven.”

He roars, body lurching forward to grab onto you, to sink his claws in the way he should have all those months ago.

But it’s too late.

You’re gone.

Leaving Toji collapsing to his knees, digging into the wood for the last remnants of you he can hold onto. Wetness coats his cheeks. It blurs his vision.

“I never learn,” he laughs, pulling at his hair. “I never fucking learn.”

The apartment is as you left it a year ago — clean, homely, and just as suffocatingly empty. Current running through the rooms, the air howls as if mocking, or maybe it’s gasping with him.

Toji doesn’t know how much time passes, only that it surely marches on, his only proof the drying of his tears and the fading of the scent of bleach.

There, as he lies on the floor, cheek pressed to the cold surface, he spots his ring, hidden under the sofa. It was there all along. Of course it was. When he slides it onto his finger, his eyes fall shut and stay like that. His body feels like lead, sinking lower and lower, and he fights not to stay afloat. He wouldn’t even know what to do at the surface.

Maybe he fell asleep there. Maybe he dragged himself to bed. Whatever the case, he wakes the next day with the curtains wide open, sunlight tickling his skin, and a picture of you facing up, angled perfectly so it’s the first thing he sees.

For the first time since, Toji feels an urge to visit your grave.

He should shower, put on that expensive shirt you bought him two Christmases ago, and stop by the flower shop on the way.

.

.

.

“Happy birthday, ma,” he says.

Your stone had some dried-up leaves on it, but a single swipe clears them away. Toji replaces the rotten bouquet with a fresh one — bright, colourful, made up of your favourite flowers. Along with it, he places a clumsily wrapped box on the grass. Only you and he knows what’s inside.

Sat beside your stone, your name engraved in a font he didn’t choose but doesn’t hate, he watches the trees rustle and people pass. The scene is soothing. “Great view, huh? Lucky you.”

Someday he’ll join you. If possible, he’ll ask to be placed beside you or better yet, with you. If not, he’ll pull some strings, dig up his own grave if he has to. You’d probably like that; you always did ask him to be more romantic.

“Not been doing great without you, doll.” Scarred lips quirking up, he speaks, “Sorry I took so long. You know me, always gotta be fashionably late.” He chuckles. “Ah, but I’m here now. Hope you don’t mind my company. Just be glad I actually showered for you. Even shaved so you can quit nagging. Was thinking of going to the barber’s. Got any recommendations for a haircut, gorgeous? No, I remember — no buzz cuts, right? Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about that. I know you like me pretty.”

It’s easy talking to you, always has been. You were patient, attentive, generous with your time and attention. Never judging, never interrupting, always just happy to hear his voice. He was like that too, though only with you. So he sits there, leaning against your stone, waiting until sunset to begin the story he’s eager to share.

“You won’t believe the dream I had.”

he wasn't from your school. and by the looks of it, his opponent was already down. two more stood at a distance, too afraid to move.

the man lifted his head once, cracking his neck. then his eyes landed on you. you didn't flinch. just stared with narrowed eyes.

"go start your fight somewhere else," you said evenly. "you're not from around here."

he raised his brows and stared like he hadn't heard you right. then he smiled, crooked and wild. the kind that says, 'you've just made things interesting.'

you turned your back on him and walked off, not giving him another glance.

he stared after you. not many people talked to him like that. even fewer walked away before he decided the conversation was over.

you didn't run, but didn't linger either. just walked like you had somewhere to be, like he wasn't worth wasting another second on.

his eyes remained on you, tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. a faint cut on his knuckle stung, but barely noticed.

'go start your fight somewhere else.'

'you're not from around here.'

not a scream. not a plea. not even a threat. just pure irritation. like he was some dumb dog that pissed on your shoes.

his grin curled slowly, something unhinged hiding just beneath it. he pulled a cigarette from his pocket, stuck it between his teeth, and lit it. the flame briefly flickered across his face before he took a drag and blew the smoke out lazily.

he'd seen people cry, scream, and beg. he'd seen how most people either froze or ran when they saw him, faces tight with fear, eyes darting around. but you?

you looked at him like he was an eyesore.

his laugh came quiet. brief. half-laugh, half-breath.

feeding a stray cat, he thought, like it was some ridiculous joke the universe threw at him. you looked too soft for your own good, too normal, too boring.

so why did you stick?

he leaned his shoulder against the wall, just for a second. watched the street where you disappeared. his blood was still warm from the fight, but that moment? that edge in your voice?

it was the first time he felt interrupted.

not threatened, not challenged. just... like someone reached into his noise and pulled something to the surface.

he didn't know your name. but that was fine. he had time.

it wasn't the next day, or the day after. but seongje still found himself wandering near that same alley. always around the same time. leaning against walls with a cigarette between his lips, smoke curling above his head like a restless thought that wouldn't burn out.

he wasn't waiting, he told himself. he just happened to be here, just passing time.

he was mid-drag when he caught a flash of familiar movement. dark hair, a recognizable bag slung over one shoulder. you were crouched near the alley's corner again, opening a can of tuna. next to your feet was the same stray kitten from before, now a little less wary, its ears twitching.

you didn't notice him at first. he said nothing.

he watched you feed the kitten. your expression wasn't anything special, just calm, focused, lips pressed together in a straight line. but he stared like it was the most peculiar thing in the world, like you were something unreal.

then you sighed and sat back on your heels, that's when your eyes flicked up, and landed right on him. you tensed slightly, like you were trying to figure out if it was him or just some other delinquent in a maroon uniform.

it was definitely him.

"you again? you muttered, standing slowly, brushing off your knees. "don't tell me you're here to start trouble again."

seongje let the cigarette dangle loosely between his fingers, gaze half-lidded. "don't flatter yourself. this is my spot now."

you snorted. "your spot? pretty sure this alley existed before you."

a grin pulled at his lips, slow and amused. that sharp glint in your eyes was still there. that same irritation, not fear, not interest. just a girl who didn't give a damn who he was.

"you always talk this much when feeding cats?" he asked.

"no. just when someone interrupts." he laughed, quiet but real.

you moved to step past him, clearly done with the conversation. but before you could, he flicked his cigarette to the ground and said slowly, "you don't scare easy, do you?"

you paused. "i don't like getting caught up in situations like this."

you walked off before he could say anything else. same calm steps. same complete disinterest in him. he stared at the kitten as it ate.

for the first time in a long while, he didn't feel bored.

you were coming out of the convenience store with a yogurt drink in hand when you felt someone matching your pace beside you.

you didn't even need to look. you felt it, like the air shifted, a shadow slipping in just a bit too close.

"miss cat-feeder," came the drawl, smug and lazy.

you rolled your eyes and kept walking. "seriously?"

"you remembered me," he said, hands in his pockets, leaning slightly sideways to peer at your face.

"no. i remembered your stupid voice."

"ouch," he grinned. "you wound me."

"what do you want?"

"just walking. not allowed to exist now?"

"not next to me, preferably." he chuckled at that, keeping stride with you anyway.

he walked like he owned the sidewalk, like even the cracks made space for him. he kept glancing at you, amused by how hard you were trying not to look.

"don't you have school?" you muttered.

"skipped."

"of course you did."

there was a beat of silence before he casually reached out and tugged at the hem of your sleeve. "what flavor?"

you jerked your arm away. "touch me again and i'll pour this on your head."

his grin widened, eyes gleaming with delight. there it is. "you're fun."

"i'm really not."

"exactly."

you stopped in your tracks. he looked at you, curious. "look," you said, eyes flat. "i don't like hanging out with loud people. so if you're looking for someone to flirt with, pick someone else."

seongje stared at you for a second, unreadable. then he smirked.

"i'm not flirting."

"good."

"i just like watching you get pissed." and with that, he turned on his heel and walked away, hands back in his pockets like he didn't just drop a live wire into your day.

you watched him go, jaw tight.

god, he is annoying.

and worse, he knew it.

your shoes pounded against the pavement, too loud, too fast. the voices behind you were still getting closer. slurred words, the kind that came with guys who had too much time and nothing to lose. you'd told them off when they first approached, sharp and dismissive like always. but these ones didn't like hearing 'no'.

you darted around a corner, trying to cut into a side street you didn't usually take, and slammed straight into a body.

you stumbled back from the force, hands catching yourself on the person's chest, eyes wide and breath caught in your throat.

"whoa there," a familiar voice started, light and teasing.

your eyes shot up.

geum seongje.

of all people.

he was in his usual disheveled uniform, cigarette tucked between his fingers, a faint smirk already creeping up like instinct. "you really can't stay away from me, huh?"

but you weren't listening. you glanced over your shoulder, eyes scanning the street you just came from, anxiety tightening your features.

seongje's smirk faded, just a bit. his eyes narrowed.

"what happened?"

"none of your business. i need to go."

you stepped to the side, trying to move past him but his arm shot out fast, catching you by the wrist. not hard. not enough to hurt. but firm.

his voice lost all its humor.

"who."

you jerked against his grip, frustrated. "just let me go. jesus christ."

he didn't. instead, his eyes flicked toward the corner you came from. and for a brief second, something flickered through him, that thing he tried to keep under the surface unless it was time to let it loose.

then he heard footsteps and voices getting closer. the guys rounded the corner, laughing, loud, eyes scanning.

and then they saw you.

and then him.

one of them started to speak, some dumb threat halfway out of his mouth when seongje stepped forward and flicked his cigarette.

"alright," he said, eyes gleaming now. "which one of you thought chasing her was a good idea?" his tone didn't rise. he didn't shout. but it was enough.

the shift in the air was immediate, like a wire pulled taut. the guys slowed, uneasy.

"you with her?" one of them muttered, trying to size him up. seongje's lip curled in amusement.

"nah," he said, rolling his shoulder. "but she ran into me. so now you've got a problem."

one of them laughed nervously, already starting to backpedal. but it was too late.

you didn't say a word. his posture changed, loose and wild, but sharp, like the crackle before a fire starts.

"stay behind me," he muttered without looking at you. you almost snapped at him.

i didn't ask for help.

but something in the way he said it—flat, final—made you stay put.

he didn't do it for gratitude. he did it because someone pissed him off. and right now, that someone was anyone who looked at you wrong.

they didn't get the chance to react further. not really, because seongje's already on them.

the first one barely managed to raise his arm before seongje slammed his fist into his jaw, the sound cracking through the alley like a gunshot. he didn't stop, he grabbed the guy by the collar, slamming his head against the wall once, twice, three times until he crumpled like dead weight.

the second guy tried to pull something, maybe a pocketknife, but he was too slow. seongje grabbed his wrist and bended it the wrong way with a sickening snap. the guy howled, dropping the knife, and seongje grinned wider.

the last one tried to run. he got maybe five steps before seongje tackled him from behind, dragging him down like a wolf ripping through prey. there was nothing clean about the way he beat him. just pure rage unleashed in fists, knees, elbows, and feet.

the alley was quiet again. the three guys were groaning, two on the ground and one stumbling away. none of them dared to look back.

seongje stood in the center of it, breathing a little heavier, the scrape on his knuckles raw and fresh. blood trickled slowly down his arm, but he didn't seem to care. not even a glance at it.

you stared. not because you were scared of the violence. you'd known what he was capable of. you'd just never seen it up close. not like this.

there was a kind of stillness around him now, but it wasn't peace. it was the kind of stillness right after lightning hits the ground. charged, dangerous, humming under the surface.

he turned toward you, running a hand through his hair. eyes sharper now, less unhinged than before, but still wild.

"you good?" you hesitated.

"you didn't have to do that." he shrugged.

"i didn't do it for you." you frowned, annoyed.

"then why-"

"they looked at you like they could touch you," he said, voice low and quiet. "i didn't like that."

it came out too calm. like he was just stating a fact. like it was that simple.

you stared at him. "that's not normal."

he tilted his head. "i'm not normal."

you stood there in the silence again, tension thick between you both. then he looked down at his hand, flexed his fingers once.

"you gonna keep staring, or you gonna say thank you?"

you exhaled sharply. "i didn't ask you to help."

his lip twitched. "you didn't have to."

you started walking past him, brushing your shoulder lightly against his arm. "don't follow me."

he didn't. but he watched you go. watched like a wolf who'd just caught the scent of something that didn't run fast enough.

and this time, it wasn't about teasing you for attention anymore. it was something else. something worse.

something's changed. it had been days. you hadn't seen him near the alley, near the store, nowhere. and honestly, you were glad. the fight had left a sour taste in your mouth. not fear exactly, but it reminded you of the line he walked. the kind of line that most people never went near.

so when you saw him again leaning against the vending machine right outside the store, your steps faltered.

he noticed, eyes tracking you immediately. not grinning, not talking. just watching.

you stiffened, but kept walking. no use turning back now. you passed him without a word.

"you're avoiding me," he said. you didn't stop. "smart," he added after a beat.

that did it. you turned slightly, arms crossed, tone flat. "what do you want now?"

he looked you over, slower this time. less playful. like he was measuring something invisible.

"you said don't follow you," he said. "so i didn't."

"and yet, here you are."

"i was here first."

you hated that he had a point.

he pulled out a soda from the vending machine and cracked it open, taking a lazy sip. "i scared you."

"no you didn't."

his head tilted. "but you looked at me different after that day." you didn't reply. "you don't like people like me," he went on. "you don't like what i do. the way i fight. the way i look at you."

your throat tightened. "you make it sound like i'm supposed to like it."

he smiled, small, almost secret. "you're not."

you sighed and turned away again, but this time, his voice became lower. less teasing.

"you're not scared of me," he said. "but you're careful now." you paused. "i get it," he added. "but you should know something."

"what?" you asked warily.

"i'd kill for you without thinking."

the words didn't sound romantic. they didn't even sound intense. they were just real.

heavy. simple. dangerous.

you looked at him. at the bruised knuckles, the lazy posture, the eyes that never stopped watching you. and for the first time, you didn't see an annoying prick. you saw the storm behind his grin.

you didn't say a word as you walked away. but you walked slower this time.

the sky was gray, and the wind carried that dry chill that always came with autumn.

you didn't mean to come this way. really, you didn't. but this street was quieter than the main road, and your head was already aching from a whole day of voices, noise, and pressure from everyone around you.

your friends had found out. not just about anyone, but him. a certain delinquent hanging around you. not just anyone either, but someone from the union.

they kept telling you the same thing. stop meeting him, cut him off, stay away before things got worse. that's all you've been hearing for days. from different mouths, but the same message, over and over. as if you hadn't thought about that already. like you hadn't been trying.

you were tired. bone-deep, soul tired.

and there he was.

same place. same vending machine. like he'd been waiting, but not really. like he knew you'd come eventually.

seongje glanced up, surprised, but only a little. his cigarette burned lazily between his fingers, his jacket loose, like he didn't care how cold it was getting.

you stopped a few steps away and didn't say anything.

he raised a brow. "lost?"

"no," you said, too flat, too fast.

he stared. then blew out smoke in a low exhale. "you look like shit."

you snorted faintly. "thanks."

he nodded toward the chair beside him. "sit if you want."

"i didn't come to hang out with you."

"didn't say you did."

still, you sat. not close, just near enough to feel the warmth of someone else existing beside you. near enough to not feel completely alone. you stayed like that for a while. nothing said.

then, without looking at him, you muttered, "why are you like this?"

his brow quirked. "like what?"

"crazy. violent. all of it."

a beat. then a shrug. "it's fun."

you sighed, frustrated but not surprised.

and then, so softly that he almost didn't hear it, you said, "you make everything worse. but today... i don't know. you don't feel loud." that caught him off guard.

he turned to look at you, cigarette paused halfway to his lips.

you didn't meet his eyes. you just sat there, face turned to the street. like this, quiet and tired and not trying to prove anything, you looked different.

more fragile. not weak, never that. but human.

seongje flicked his ash away. "stay, then," he said. "if it helps."

you didn't answer. but you didn't leave either. and for once, he didn't push you to speak. he just let you be. which, for someone like him, was a kind of affection.

the unspoken kind.

the kind that doesn't ask for anything back.

another day, and there he was again. it wasn't often that you saw him alone like this. really alone. no noise. no laughter. no fights.

just seongje, slouched low on the steps behind an old building, elbows on his knees, head tilted back like he was trying to drown in the grey sky. he didn't notice you at first, too wrapped in whatever chaos lived behind his eyes.

you should've kept walking. you meant to keep walking. but something stopped you. maybe it was the stillness. maybe it was the fact that for the first time since you met him, he didn't look like someone trying to stir shit up. he looked tired.

you approached slowly, footsteps soft. he heard you eventually, turning just slightly to glance your way. his usual grin didn't show up.

"you stalking me now?" he said, voice low, like he couldn't be bothered to make it sound playful.

"i was just walking by."

"uh-huh."

you didn't sit beside him. you stood a little off to the side, arms folded, eyes scanning his face. there was a bruise on his cheekbone, not fresh but healing, and a split on his lower lip.

"what happened this time?"

"some idiot." he muttered. "deserved worse than what he got."

you rolled your eyes. "that doesn't narrow it down."

he smirked faintly. but it didn't last. he looked back up at the sky. "ever feel like you're stuck in a room that's too small, and the only way to breathe is to break something?"

you blinked. that wasn't the answer you expected. you said nothing.

he let out a low breath. "yeah. never mind."

you hesitated, then stepped closer. not sitting, just standing near him.

"i don't get you." you said finally.

"good."

"but i care."

that made him look at you again. not with that lazy, cocky grin. not with the sharp glint he gave the people he was about to wreck.

just... eyes. dark, unreadable, confused.

"you care?" he repeated, almost mocking, but there was no real heat in it.

you nodded. "i don't want to, but i do."

the silence that followed was heavier than anything he could've said.

you rubbed at your sleeve, eyes darting away. "it's stupid."

he stared a second longer, then tilted his head. "i'm not gonna be good for you," he said flatly. no apology in it. just fact.

"i know."

"i'll hurt people."

"i know."

"i might hurt you."

your gaze snapped back to his. "then i'll leave."

a pause.

and for the first time, his expression shifted, something sharp flickering behind his eyes, like the idea of you leaving physically bothered him.

but you held his stare. "i don't deserve to be hurt by you."

he didn't answer. when you turned to go, he didn't stop you. he didn't grab your wrist. he didn't make a scene. he just watched you leave like someone who'd been left too many times before to call out now.

and that was how you knew it wasn't just some sort of game to him anymore.

it was supposed to be just another normal day. you were going to meet up with a friend from a different school. but somehow, word got around that you'd said something snappy to the wrong group of boys the other day, boys who thought they could intimidate you into taking it back. you didn't.

but now they were standing in front of you in the alley near the rear exit of the building. three of them, too close, too smug, and too stupid to understand that they were walking into something far worse than your sharp tongue.

because seongje had seen.

he wasn't supposed to be there. you didn't even know why he was around this part of the city. but the second his eyes locked on the scene, on you cornered, arms crossed tightly, jaw clenched, something dark lit behind his expression.

he didn't run. he didn't shout. he just walked, calm as anything, like he had all the time in the world. the sound of his steps echoing on the pavement made all three boys turn.

"oi," he said, voice low and slow.

the boys stiffened. one of them scoffed. "the hell are you?"

seongje grinned cockily. "me? i'm geum seongje. you dumb fucks."

his name dropped like a dead weight. the air shifted. one of them paled a little, while another took an unconscious step back.

"oh—shit—" one of them muttered under his breath, recognizing it too late.

then his eyes flickered to you. "you okay?"

you swallowed. "i've got it."

"wrong answer."

he passed the boys like they weren't even there, stepping between them and you, like drawing a line they couldn't cross anymore.

"you wanna explain why the hell you're trying to corner mine?"

the word slipped out like instinct. your breath caught.

the boys hesitated. one of them backed up. the dumbest one laughed nervously.

"you serious, man? you dating this chick or something?"

seongje didn't answer right away. instead, he pulled out his glasses, the metal catching the light for a second. then, without a word, he took your hand gently, almost unnervingly so, and placed them in your palm.

"i don't repeat myself."

and that was the only warning they got. it wasn't a fight. it was a statement.

a clear, brutal, one-sided reminder that you were off-limits. that if they so much as looked at you again, they'd wake up in pieces.

he didn't let it last long. he didn't need to.

when it was over, and the three of them were groaning on the pavement, he turned to you, no grin now, just quiet breathing. without a word, he took the glasses from your hand and slid them back on.

"you didn't need to do that," you said quietly.

"they shouldn't have looked at you like they could."

"that's not how this works."

he glanced at you, sharp. "it is now."

you looked away, jaw tight. "you act like i'm yours."

another beat of silence. the only sound was the wind through rusted fences. and then,

"you are," he said simply.

you stared at him, your heart thudded too loud.

"you can't just—claim people."

"i can."

"why?" he held your gaze, something unreadable flickering in his.

"you're the only thing i don't want broken."

he said it like it bothered him. like the truth of it irritated the hell out of him.

you didn't know what to say. so you didn't. you just walked beside him as he left the alley, silent. but this time, you stayed close.

and this time, he didn't grin. he just walked with you like he always meant to.

the day had been long. longer than you thought it would be. school, people, life. everything felt suffocating. your body ached, your mind was frayed, and every little thing seemed to pile on top of you until you could barely keep your head above water.

but then, through the haze of exhaustion, you saw him.

seongje, leaning against your school gate. unbothered and detached. his posture was casual, his eyes scanning the crowd of students coming out of school. but the moment your gaze locked onto him, your heart gave a small jolt of relief.

there. him. the one person who, for reasons you still couldn't fully understand, made you feel safe. your body seemed to move on its own, your feet carrying you toward him without a second thought.

and then before you could even process what you were doing, you were already running toward him, arms outstretched, chest tight from the strain of everything you'd been holding inside all day.

the moment you reached him, you didn't stop. you wrapped your arms around him, burying your face against his chest.

you hummed. the noise was quiet, like a soft sigh of contentment, and for the first time all day, your muscles finally relaxed.

his scent, the familiar warmth of him, it was like home. a feeling you hadn't known you were missing until it was there, pressing against you in a way you couldn't explain.

for a split second, everything felt peaceful. you could rest now. let everything melt away. with him, it felt like nothing else mattered.

seongje froze. his first instinct was to step back, to pull away, because this wasn't how things were supposed to be. but when you stayed against him, not saying anything, just holding him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded, something inside him twisted.

what the hell?

he couldn't breathe for a second. your arms around him, your face buried against him like you needed him. like he was something more than just some crazy bastard. he didn't know what to do with it.

you were so soft against him. so warm. his heartbeat, which had been steady, quickened as your arms tightened just slightly. and his body, despite the automatic urge to pull away, instinctively responded, his hands hovering at his sides, unsure of where to put them, but not wanting to make you pull away.

his reaction was slow. he was staring down at you, his usual detached expression gone, replaced with a mix of confusion and something closer to... discomfort. he didn't know how to handle it.

finally, after what felt like an eternity, he placed his hand awkwardly on your back, barely enough to return the gesture, but it was something. just a gentle pressure, like he was trying to let you know he wasn't going to push you away. but he wouldn't pull you in either. not fully.

his voice came out rough, not because he was angry, but because he didn't have the words to make sense of what was happening. "you... okay?" he asked, his voice low. it was like he was trying to understand you better. trying, in his strange way, to care.

and when you hummed again, your body still pressed against him like you needed nothing more, he couldn't deny the warmth that spread through him. subtle, but undeniable.

he didn't say anything else, but he did one thing he never thought he would. he let you stay there, his hand still on your back, just enough to show that maybe, just maybe, he didn't mind you being this close.

thoughts had been swirling around your head. people already knew who you were, and the kind of connection you had with geum seongje. you'd been hearing disapproving remarks from people you knew, left and right.

but that wasn't what was bothering you. it was when one of your friends asked, "when did you even start dating geum seongje?"

you didn't know how to answer that. you weren't dating. were you even together? you'd been so focused on how you felt about him, so content with the time you were spending together, that you'd forgotten to ask the most important question.

where do you stand in his life?

so you finally asked, quietly. on a cold night, after one of his disappearances. you looked at him and said, "what are we, seongje?"

he didn't look at you right away. he just lit a cigarette, sat back like you didn't just ask something that's clawing at your ribs.

then, after a long pause, he said, "you don't need a label for something i'd kill over."

still too vague. so you pressed. "so that's it? you can show up and disappear and wreck people and i'm just... what? someone you know?"

now he's irritated. not because you're wrong, but because his feelings itch under his skin worse than blood.

he dragged you close by the wrist, eyes burning, voice low and rough. "you're mine. you're not like the others. you don't walk away from me. and i'll kill anyone who touches you."

it became even clearer in actions. he doesn't flirt with others. he doesn't sleep around. he shows up when you're hurt, when you need help, or even just when the silence gets too heavy. his violence becomes more controlled around you. his chaos pauses for you.

and if you ever try to walk away, not out of fear, but heartbreak, he doesn't beg. but he follows.

he shows up in the dark and says, "you don't get to leave. you're the only thing i don't want to break."

so no, you don't get a title. but you get certainty. the kind that claws into you and never lets go.

you were at seongje's place, curled up in the corner of his bed, wearing one of his hoodies, watching something on your phone. occasionally, you laughed, your brow twitching, your mouth tugging in little ways. you probably didn't know he was watching.

he was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall. a cigarette rested between his fingers, forgotten halfway through.

it should've been just another moment. just another afternoon with you near. that's all it was. but it wasn't.

something cracked. it was quiet. internal. sudden.

he looked at you, really looked, and it hit him like a pipe to the chest. he'd always known you were different.

you didn't scream like the world did, you didn't beg to get closer to him, or flinch when he tore the world apart with his bare hands. you didn't reach to fix what couldn't be fixed.

you just were. and he couldn't fucking breathe.

he'd thought what he felt for you was already obsession. he thought the way he needed you around—the way his days didn't start right unless he saw your face—was already too much.

but this? right now? it was worse.

because you weren't even doing anything. you were just there, in his space like you belonged. and he couldn't stand it.

he didn't blink, didn't move. his heart was beating too fast, too heavy. like it was trying to get out of his chest, like it was trying to claw its way toward you.

you looked up at him, catching the stare.

"what?" you asked, your voice soft, lazy with comfort.

that was the final hit. his cigarette dropped to the floor. he stood and crossed the room in two strides.

you blinked and sat up, shifting to the edge of the bed. confused, then mildly concerned, because he wasn't saying anything. just looking at you like he was on the edge of something ugly.

"what is it?" you asked again.

he dropped to his knees in front of you, hands braced on the mattress like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

"you," he muttered, low, dangerous, barely holding back the quake in his chest. "you don't even fucking know, do you."

you blinked in confusion, "know what?"

"that i'm already gone."

he leaned in close, breath warm against your skin. his hands were clenched on the sheets beside your thighs.

"i didn't think it could get worse," he said, tone ragged. "but it did. just now. just looking at you."

"seongje-"

he didn't let you finish. his voice came out lower. hoarser.

"i'd burn down everything. rip open anyone. just to keep this. you. whatever the fuck this is—"

he pressed his forehead against your knee. his voice dropped, barely a whisper now, like it hurt him to say.

"—it's mine."

your fingers moved before your words did. you reached out, slow and certain, and slipped your hand into his hair, like you knew something inside him was coming apart at the seams, and you needed to keep it from unraveling further.

you didn't flinch. didn't pull away from the sharpness in his voice or the weight behind his words.

instead, you curled your fingers gently against his scalp and said, soft but steady, "you don't have to break things just to prove you want to keep me. i'm not going anywhere."

that did something to him. his breath hitched, quiet, jaw clenched. you didn't treat his madness like something to be pitied or feared. you didn't try to fix it. you didn't flinch from the wreckage. you just understood it was there and touched it anyway.

his arms wrapped around your waist almost without thinking, head still pressed to your knee like it was the only place he could breathe.

then you said it, quietly. not to tease, not to demand. just honest. like it had always been true.

"you are my home."

and that was the thing that shattered him. because he didn't have a home. not really, never did. he was a creature built from chaos and flame and blood. the idea that someone could look at him and find rest?

it wrecked him in a way no fist ever could. his grip tightened. not out of fear of you leaving. but because you just gave him something he didn't know he'd been starving for all his life. and now that he had it, he'd kill the whole world before he let it go.

he didn't know what to say yet. so when you gently pulled him toward the bed, he didn't resist. he didn't say something cocky or crass like he usually would. he just let you.

you lay down first, guiding him beside you. he collapsed next to you like a man thrown off balance. arms still around your waist, his head buried against the curve of your neck. as if he could crawl inside your skin just to get closer.

your fingers ran through his hair, slow, rhythmic, soothing. the storm inside him didn't vanish, but it quieted. simmered.

your voice cut through the quiet, soft and careful. "do you love me?"

he froze. he didn't pull away, but he did stop breathing for a second. his gaze locked on yours, heavy and unreadable. then he took a slow breath, jaw tightening.

love? what the hell was that supposed to feel like? that was too unfamiliar. too soft.

he didn't know. he'd never had it. not from anyone. not for anyone. all he'd ever known was survival, pleasure, and pain. wanting things so badly he broke them just to feel something. hurting because it was the only way to know he was alive.

but this? this thing in his chest, this raw, aching, burning thing that only grew worse the longer you touched him, it was something else.

so he didn't lie. he didn't pretend. he spoke against your skin, voice hoarse and quiet.

"i don't know what love is. but i know i can't fucking stand the thought of you not being here."

another breath. he pulled you closer.

"you're the only thing that makes me feel calm and insane at the same time. you—" he exhaled, shaky now, like it hurt to say, "—you make me feel too much. and i can't stop it."

his fingers dug into the back of your shirt. possessive. desperate.

"i don't know if it's love, but i know this—you're mine. you've been mine since the moment i saw you. doesn't matter if you run, or scream, or try to tear me out of your chest. you're still mine."

"you're the air that i breathe," he said, voice dropping to a whisper, like a confession no one else was meant to hear. "and i'd tear the world apart to keep you. no hesitation. no mercy."

"when i look at you, it hurts." he said. "but i want that hurt. over and over again. you're the only thing i'd bleed for without thinking twice."

he let the silence stretch, like he wanted the weight of his words to press against you. crush you, mark you, bind you to him in the only way he knew how.

it was not a confession, but a surrender.

your chest tightened. your eyes stung. and you hated that they did, because you weren't sad. you weren't broken.

you were just... full. full of him. of this.

a shaky breath escaped you as you cupped his face, your thumb brushing just beneath his eye, like you needed to touch something solid to believe any of this was real.

you smiled. small, trembling, but true.

"whatever it is you feel for me, let it consume you." your voice was steady, despite the trembling in your chest. "break for me. burn only for me. want no one else—because i don't want anyone but you."

he stared at you like you'd just taken the air out of his lungs.

"i don't care if it's wrong, or selfish, or if the world thinks i've lost my mind." your hand slid back into his hair gently. "you're mine, geum seongje. just as much as i'm yours."

his hands were already on your waist, but they tightened at those words, like something inside him finally snapped.

and he kissed you. it wasn't soft. it wasn't careful. it was desperate, like he needed to feel everything at once, like if he didn't press every inch of you into him, he might fall apart.

you kissed him back just as hard, just as aching, fingers curling in his hair like you could anchor the both of you with the weight of your want.

and in that moment, nothing else mattered.

not the danger in his eyes. not the chaos in his soul. not the way the world would look at you.

because you knew him. and you would choose him—still. every time.

for you, he would bleed himself dry a thousand times—willingly, completely, because he didn't know how not to.

When he arrived at school, Ohyul couldn't help but look around frantically, earning a few weird gazes from his friends. But he didn't pay them any attention, instead, he tried to spot a familiar girl—you. But he failed miserably to find you, the bell had already rang and Ohyul couldn't spot even a single hair strand of yours. It was laughable, really. Ohyul felt like an idiot, of course you won't make this easy for him, especially that the campus was pretty big.

Maybe the only place he could see you again would be at the school cafeteria, almost all the students go there. Ohyul waited (im)patiently for breaktime, and once the bell rang, he didn't waste any time and sprinted all the way to the cafeteria.

"What got you so excited for class break?" Ryul asked, catching up on Ohyul, the others, who just got out of their classroom, caught up as well.

"Seriously. You've been acting weird since the other day." Woojin said, nudging his older friend.

Ohyul shook his head, muttered a small 'nothing' as they all went inside the cafeteria. It wasn't as full like during lunch time, but there were still a lot of students. Louis and Woojin had already gone and find a place to sit on, while Ohyul still had his eyes roaming around the whole place.

Before he could examine the whole cafeteria, Ryul had already pulled him to their table, pushing him slightly, making him sit on the chair. While the other three were talking about what food to get, Ohyul, for the first time in forever, wasn't paying attention even if the topic was about food. He still had his eyes roaming around, trying to spot a familiar girl he looks forward on seeing.

"Hey, are you even listening?" Ryul nudged him on the side, but Ohyul couldn't care less as he finally saw you, right at the end of the cafeteria, you were sitting alone, with a tray of food in front of you while you scrolled lazily on your phone. Even from a far, Ohyul could feel how bored you are. Were you waiting for someone?

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be back." Ohyul brushed off his friends as he stood up, his eyes locked on your figure as he quickly went towards you, almost tripping on a spare chair in the process.

When Ohyul finally arrived at your table, he quietly sat beside you, his arm immediately rested on the table with his chin on top of his palm, trying to appear cool for you.

"Found you." Ohyul said, startling the daylight out of you. You quickly darted your gaze at him, slamming your phone down, you were about to shout at him for startling you, when you suddenly remember him from before.

A chuckle of disbelief left your glossy lips, eyeing him up and down once again— something you did the first time you saw him. The corner of Ohyul's lips rose up.

"Did you seriously look for me?" You said in a mocking way, like you were letting him know how dumb he was for trying to find you just to get your number.

"Why not? The campus was huge, so it took me awhile." Ohyul said, shrugging like his reason didn't make him look like a guy who's desperate for a girl's number.

"Just for my number?" You asked, in disbelief. You thought he'd definitely give up and stop pursuing you. But somehow, his persistence in getting to know you more did something in your poor, cold heart.

"What can I say? You're a goddess, babe." Ohyul said, sending you a wink on your way. You'd be lying if you said the wink didn't make you feel something, not even someone like you can resist a good-looking face.

To cover up the flustered look that was about to appear on your face, you waved your hand at him—as if dismissing him before you immediately averted your attention on your phone once again.

"Oh, please. I've heard that phrase a lot of times. Do better." You said, not giving him the satisfaction of your mere glance.

Ohyul's grin grew big, like the last two words you let out was an indication that he has a chance with you.

"I'll show you better once you give me your number." Ohyul exclaimed, not giving up despite your harsh tone.

You placed down your phone, glanced up at him and gave him a glare.

"Are you that desperate?" You asked, a little too harshly that you intended. But Ohyul didn't flinch, and instead leaned a little closer.

"If it's you, then yeah." Ohyul whispered, just enough for you to hear as he tilted his head to the side, as if he was facing you head on at your game.

Before you could come up with something to say against him, your friends already arrived with their own tray of food. They were giggling with each other, when they suddenly stop upon seeing someone they don't recognize.

Your friends are pretty, popular, just like you. So of course you expected Ohyul to glance at them, probably eye them up and down, so you observed him. But alas, you were mistaken as Ohyul didn't even spare them a single glance, even as a polite greeting, he never did it. His eyes were only glued on yours, with that stupid smile of his that you're starting to like.

"Oh?" Your friend started, her eyebrow raised as she looked at Ohyul.

"Who's this cutie you have here, Y/N?" Your friend asked, and you didn't like her tone one bit. It was like she was planning to steal something that wasn't even yours to begin with.

A little irritated, you grabbed Ohyul's phone from his grasp, startling him a bit. You then started typing on his phone, you pressed the call button and your phone started ringing, Ohyul watched the whole process, a triumph look present on his face as he finally got your number. You pressed the end button and threw Ohyul's phone on him.

"No one." You answered your friend, a little harsh, your friend realized something, which made her laugh as she slowly back down. Ohyul caught on your tone, and a smirk appeared on his face as he leaned closer to you.