“Good afternoon, Aurora County! It seems that our region has been hit with an unexpected storm. Get your umbrellas and raincoats out, everyone—especially if you're in the KQ University area—we’ll be in for a very wet evening,” came the voice of the news anchor from the local channel. It was broadcast on the small flatscreen hoisted up in the corner of the corridor behind you. He sounded all-too jolly for the current state of your world.

You let the front door to the sociology building slam shut behind you—not before it whipped one last gust of air conditioning at your back—leaving you to the storm, the heat, and your own devices. How the hell were you supposed to walk home in this?

The day had commenced rather uneventfully, as most mundane days in the middle of the week did. Spring quarter was in full swing with midterms creeping up faster than you could run out of this obscene amount of rain.

You racked your brain for any friends with a car who might have still been on campus. There was a decent chance there was someone around who could give you a ride back to the house, right?

BEEP BEEP!

You nearly flew out of your skin at the sound of a car honk going off down the steps from where you stood. In this small back street on campus, there weren't many cars that passed by who weren't instructors or TAs.

You squinted out into the heavy downpour as the passenger window to the silver sedan rolled down. “Oy! Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna let me drown before you get in here?”

“Wooyoung?” you shouted back, disbelief stark on your face. If he was in the passenger seat, then who was…

There was a blur of dark hair behind Wooyoung's head in the driver's seat, and you cursed under your breath. It didn't matter; all that mattered was that you got out of this rain. Any friend of Wooyoung's was a friend of yours.

You made a mad dash down the stairs and out to the street with your hand shielding your eyes and your head ducked to keep from being blinded by the fat splotches of rain. You crashed into the backseat of the car, hair slightly damp, skin a little damper. The AC was blasting from the front vents, blowing back a mixture of Wooyoung's signature oak and vanilla-bourbon, as well as a hint of something softer and sweet from the driver's side. AOA's Miniskirt shimmied out from the speakers under the loud accompaniment of the rain drumming overhead as you clocked the C-3PO Lego figurine on the dash.

“Hey, thanks,” you exhaled out sharply as you maneuvered around to deposit your backpack at your feet and get yourself strapped into the seat. Your eyes went to the driver's side, eyeing the dark hair at the back of his head. He looked familiar—

“If you don't buckle your seatbelt in ten seconds, the car will start yelling at you,” drawled a voice that made your stomach drop.

Swiftly, that realization shifted into a hot flash of annoyance, one that made your nose wrinkle and the corner of your mouth dig into your cheek with disdain. The C-3PO made sense all of a sudden. “Oh,” you droned as your seatbelt clicked into place, “it's you.”

Wooyoung's head hit the back of his seat with a loud groan. “Please, God.”

“The rain is waiting for you if you'd prefer that to me,” Park Seonghwa said to you through the sharp slant of his eyes in the rear view mirror. You didn't need to see his face to hear the saccharinity lacing his words like venom. “It wasn't my idea to—”

“Enough!” Wooyoung screeched, fingers digging into his hair. “You two are so loud sometimes, and that's coming from me!”

You folded your arms over your chest in the manner of a petulant child. You had been in the backseat of Seonghwa's car a total of five times—and you would attest to everyone you knew that it was at least somewhat unwilling each time.

“Sorry,” both you and Seonghwa grumbled under your breaths. At this rate, you knew how annoying yours and Seonghwa's pettiness could be to your friends. It was something that couldn't be helped, even at the ripe age of twenty-something—some things just could not be forgotten. And some people were just meant to ruin your day.

Wooyoung loosened a sigh from his breath that sounded so akin to your mother's. “Yeah, yeah. Let's go, I'm hungry.”

Seonghwa tugged the car into drive and the wheels peeled away from the curbside.

The drive from campus to where your house was located wasn't a long one by any means. Walking took far longer than driving, and if it wasn't raining like the world was ending, you wouldn't have minded the walk. You stared out the window to your right, watching the university district pass by behind a curtain of raindrops chasing one another down the glass pane.

“So I'm guessing this means the car wash fundraiser is gonna be cancelled,” Wooyoung piped up after the last song ended. The synthesizer of the next song began to drift out from the speakers.

You turned to look at the back of his head in front of you. “Oh shit, you're totally right,” you said. “I mean, the rain kind of beat us to it.”

There was a click of a tongue from the driver's seat. “Sucks,” he muttered. “I was looking forward to raking in more cash than you, Ln.”

You didn't bother to hold back a roll of your eyes. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Park,” you shot back. A spare raindrop rolled down from your hairline, and you reached up to swipe it away just as it dribbled down the side of your face. When you glanced up to meet Seonghwa's eyes in the rearview mirror, he darted back to look out the front windshield, as if burned by the eye contact—or from being caught.

“Aish,” Wooyoung muttered. “I think we all know I'm the moneymaker of our society.”

A snort fell from your lips, and Wooyoung let out a squawk of indignation. “What was that?” He twisted around in his seat, hands clutching the back of the headrest as he scowled back at you. “Say it to my face, Ln.”

You grinned. “Yeesh, so much of my last name today. You know you boys would have lost, right?”

The three of you had all been a part of the same pre-health student society since the beginning of your college careers. In kind, that meant that you also orbited similar social circles. You and Seonghwa had known each other the longest out of everyone here, having hailed from the same high school, the same community, and the same goddamn neighborhood block. (The universe had it out for you, truly.)

As the end of the school year was rolling around, your society was due for its standard round of fundraising. The idea that the leadership came up with before Spring Break had been that of a car wash fundraiser in bathing suits, and a competition between whether the guys or the girls could raise more money. One could always count on the male gaze, right? But now that this unexpected and early summer storm hit your county this week, it was doubtful that the fundraiser would still go on.

You could hear Wooyoung rolling his eyes through his voice. “I guess leadership is gonna pivot to that speed dating idea then, huh?”

“Changing the subject now, are we?”

“Shut up!”

Your mood remained afloat the entire rest of the drive.

When the car began to slow as it neared the apartment complex Wooyoung lived in, you began to gather your things along with him. The rain had yet to let up, but your educated guess told you that you could make it down the street without your backpack flooding.

Seonghwa slid into an empty space along the front curbside, and Wooyoung was already hollering his gratitude, shoulder shoving his door open.

“Hey, where are you going?”

You stopped just before you opened your own door, your backpack half on and making you sit at an awkward angle. You turned slightly toward the man who had spoken up and met his eyes in the rearview mirror. “I'm leaving?” you replied.

His eyebrows furrowed. “But you don't live here.”

Even Wooyoung stalled outside the car as the rain pummeled the top of his hood. “Yeah, Yn, you don't live here—”

“Wooyoung, can you please close the door before half the car gets wet” —SLAM— “thank you.” Seonghwa saluted to his friend through the passenger window as Wooyoung shouted something unintelligible from outside. The rain made it impossible to hear him, but he didn't wait to repeat himself, and ducked his head while sprinting for the apartment door.

The driver returned his attention to the front. “I'm driving you to your house,” he said, and signalled to get out onto the street again.

“You don't have to do that. Your place is, like, the opposite direction—”

“It's just a block away,” he countered. “Do you not want to be dropped off right outside?”

You deflated slightly. You definitely did, but was it not inconvenient to drive further up the street when his own living situation was back the way you just came? You could understand stopping at Wooyoung's apartment because it was in the middle, but enduring not one, but two U-turns in the congested, stormy university streets was not something you were wishing on anyone. Even Park Seonghwa.

He took your hesitation as your answer. “That's what I thought.”

Whatever. If he wanted to drive the extra block, the extra two U-turns, and spend the extra time in the congested rain with people who didn't know how to drive, then that was his prerogative.

The car was silent for the next three minutes, barring the radio being played at a low volume. Just as he said he would, Seonghwa pulled his car right up into the driveway of the house you shared with six other girls.

He let the engine stall as you maneuvered your second backpack strap over your shoulder. “Thanks,” you said quietly, hand lingering on the door handle.

Seonghwa carded a hand through his hair absentmindedly. “Yeah, sure. I'll see you at Trivia Night then, I guess.”

“See you when I wipe the floor with you again, you mean?” you asked as you climbed out of the car, holding an arm over your head.

“Close my goddamn door, Yn—”

Your laughter was interrupted by the slamming of his backseat door and muted by the downpour.

Trivia Night was held every Thursday evening in the basement of the anthropology building. It was the only classroom available at your required hours equipped for all of the society's needs; plus, its projector was still in working condition and it certainly beat the chemistry laboratory building's No Eating policy.

As a handful of the society's members gathered once again, it was beneath the dense storm clouds of the region's recent summer-like showers. This evening's theme was Homeostasis, an apt topic to study when the temperatures lately were far greater than any this city had ever endured in mid-April. When the sky wasn't unleashing the floodgates of Hell over KQ University, it was inflicting a diabolically humid atmosphere.

“Do I really need to know the technical term for your hair standing erect?” Choi San groaned as he waved a hand at the screen, while the traumatic rhythm of the Kahoot theme song distressed everyone in the room.

Society President, exhausted fourth-year, and medical school-hopeful Kang Seulgi had her boots propped up on the desk at the front, crossed at the ankles. She tossed a chip into her mouth. “Hey,” she said and pointed at him, “don't come cryin’ to me when you see 'piloerection’ on your MCAT and you can't remember why it's relevant.”

From the back row of the desks, Song Mingi hollered out, “Can we switch to physics yet?”

A wave of groans swept through the room in a unanimous objection. The third-year math major widened his eyes at the reaction to his words, expression screaming, 'What'd I do?’ His desk neighbor and best friend, Jeong Yunho, wheezed and slapped a hand onto Mingi's shoulder.

“The only person who actually prefers the physics questions is you, Mingi,” Seonghwa teased from where he sat a few desks to your left. As the only person who had ever ventured past calculus, Mingi was, in turn, the only person in the room who favored math-based topics and was also good at them.

Mingi shrugged his shoulders helplessly and gesticulated wildly between Seonghwa and you. “I can't help that you and Yn suck at math.”

You whirled around in your chair. “Hey! Why am I being pulled into this?” you asked, mouth agape.

“Because you and Hwa have been neck-and-neck for first place for the past twenty questions!”

“It's only 'cause I'm letting her catch up,” came Seonghwa's flippant reply, feigning boredom as he glanced down at his phone screen.

Your head snapped over him so fast, you nearly gave yourself whiplash. “Oh, you're letting me catch up?”

He met your gaze like a challenge, mouth curling into the kind of smirk that made your heart pump (with absolute malice, of course). “I said what I said.”

“Alright.” Kim Hongjoong clapped his hands from the seat beside Seonghwa while sending his own friend a pointed look. “Seulgi, if you'd please just—let’s move on.”

Seulgi blinked, her chip-equipped hand freezing mid-air. “My show was just getting started.”

“You're so messy,” snorted Soyeon as she slapped a palm over her mouth. She turned to you and placed a placating hand on your arm. “Sorry, babe.”

Your mouth pursed together in an unamused pout, but you were far from being actually offended. Any agitation you might have felt would only be aimed at the guy a few desks down from yours who had yet to wipe that audacious smirk off his face. As your friend and housemate Ronnie liked to remind you, sometimes it felt as if you and Seonghwa bickered like cats for fun. You could not disagree more; the pettiness between you was far more serious than you were proud enough to admit.

Seulgi smiled to herself and shook her head, then clicked something on her keyboard. “Oh, before we move on, I thought we'd take a brief commercial break and talk about our upcoming fundraiser.” She muted the Kahoot theme, and the entire room seemed to deflate, all tension seeping out of your postures.

The tab switched to the one on the far left, revealing a PNG of a graphic copy-and-pasted into a document. You leaned back in your seat, loosely folding your arms over your stomach, as you picked out the words “bracelet-making” and “matchmaking.” The idea was not something you had seen or heard of on campus yet, and you found yourself nodding absentmindedly. Bracelet-making was cute.

“Leadership has decided,” said Seulgi as she wiggled her salty fingers at the screen, “that since the weather has so graciously ruined our plans for this weekend, we would move onto phase two of our fundraising and postpone the car wash idea.”

“So we're not going forth with the speed dating thing?” Wooyoung piped up from somewhere near San, Yeosang, and Jongho's seats.

Madam President shook her head. “Nah. Well, we're just not advertising it as speed dating; it's more like 'friendship matching’ and making friendship bracelets. The student association doesn't like the idea of actual matchmaking for some reason. We'll just be pairing everyone who decides to participate through this” —she scrolled down to highlight a hyperlink— “form. Anyone can join for an entry fee of eight dollars, which includes all of the bracelet-making materials, too.”

Lee Chaeryeong lifted her hand slightly to catch Seulgi's attention. “And this is not happening this weekend, right?”

“No, it'd be too fast of a turnaround, so it'll be hosted two weeks out. Any other questions?”

“What’re your pairing criteria?” Seonghwa posed.

Seulgi shrugged. “That's for me to know and you to never find out. And Hongjoong is sworn to secrecy, so don't even try.”

You chuckled to yourself, glancing over in the pair's direction. Hongjoong was shaking his head and smiling as Seonghwa nudged him in a joking attempt to coax an answer out of him.

When there were no more questions for the moment, Seulgi nodded her head and switched back to the Kahoot host screen. “Remember to repost the announcement on your Instagram stories, or I will make you suffer during our next Trivia Night. Okay! Next question…”

The remainder of Trivia Night went as anyone could predict: you and Seonghwa tied for first place. No one was surprised.

As members began to trickle out of the room following adjournment, it left only a select few. Soyeon, Seulgi, Yunho, Mingi, and Jongho remained; all five of whom surrounded the instructor's desk at the front of the room that Seulgi occupied to share her bag of chips.

Seulgi gestured at Soyeon with a vague wave of her chip. “I’m surprised you didn't go home with Yn. Don't you guys share a house?”

“Yeah, but my friend Miyeon's got this rehearsal she's wrapping up soon,” said Soyeon, “so I told Yn to go back before me since she has some things to do.”

“Oh, wait. Don’t you guys have that biochem exam coming up?” Jongho chimed in.

Those around him, barring Seulgi, groaned altogether and Jongho snickered. Though most of the third-years in the society were actively enrolled in a biochemistry course, not all of you were in the same section. You, Soyeon, and Seonghwa were in an earlier section, while everyone else had a later section. Both sections were taught by the same professor, though, so both sections’ pain was quite similar.

“Don't remind me,” Yunho grunted and he slipped another chip past his lips. “That’s what I'll be working on all weekend now that we don't have the car wash fundraiser.”

“Speaking of,” Mingi piped up, nodding to Seulgi, “how are you planning to make pairs for the bracelet-making thing?”

The president narrowed her eyes at him and shook her head. “Just because you brought me muffins last week, Song Mingi, does not mean I'm gonna let you pull anything out of me.”

“Okay, but” —Yunho raised his palm, tongue jammed between his grin— “can you at least tell us if you're gonna put Yn and Seonghwa together?”

“So you want whoever's near them to suffer?” Jongho asked incredulously.

Yunho's smile only widened. He lifted both hands now in a gesture. “C'mon! I can't be the only one tired of their back-and-forth. They can't really hate each other. Soyeon” —he shot a finger gun her way, catching the girl mid-chip— “you have to know something about this. You live with Yn.”

Soyeon finished chewing her bite, her expression screwing up into something both contemplative and frankly, disturbed. “I mean, I don't know what you expect me to say…”

“Well, does she bring him up a lot? Because I feel like Hwa definitely brings her up in conversations.” Anyone who was close to Seonghwa could name at least five instances where the man in question spontaneously inserted your name into the conversation. Outsiders who were unfamiliar with your dynamic would think too naively that he was talking about someone he didn't see as his academic rival since the goddamn third grade. (Yunho still shook his head at that. And they called him Mr. Overcompetitive?)

“Yes, but it's to, y'know, complain about him!”

Jongho cocked his head to the side. “We're not counting that then?”

Both Seulgi and Soyeon replied at once, “It's complicated.” They whipped their heads around to look at each other, then bursted out laughing.

The boys present could only blink at them.

“Okay, okay,” Soyeon said through a last huff of laughter, “I do have to admit that there's no way she engages in these verbal sparring matches all the time with him for fun. Maybe I'm delusional, but she… looks at him.”

Yunho thumped his fist against the desk. “So does he! Look at her, I mean.”

“Third grade until now is a long time for a slow burn arc,” Seulgi mused.

“It's about goddamn time though.”

Soyeon waved her hands around to stop the conversation. “Now wait a minute, I'm not saying that she has feelings for him—”

Yunho grinned. “You're not,” he agreed, “but we're just putting two and two together. If you think about it, if they actually just liked each other, wouldn't that make a lot of sense? All the bickering is just foreplay!”

“Good grief.”

“I'm just saying!” he exclaimed with a laugh. “I think Seulgi should pair them up for the event, so they'll finally realize that the only tension between them is—”

Soyeon put a hand to her brow. “Don't say what I think you're gonna say.”

“I think they need to make out and get it over with.”

“If they can get over their massive egos first,” Mingi pointed out unenthusiastically.

From her president's chair, Seulgi sucked the remaining salt and crumbs off her thumb and forefinger in deep contemplation. Since the moment you and Seonghwa set foot in this society, there was a feeling prodding at the back of her mind about the two of you; one might call it a hunch, a sixth sense. Maybe you claimed to hate each other's guts, but maybe there was a chance to smooth out that wrinkle and get you both to shut up.

There was another smile curling onto Yunho's face as he regarded her from across the desk. “You have a plan,” he said. It wasn't a question.

Seulgi merely shrugged. “Maybe I do.”

When you were first entering into university—and even when you were still in high school—people’s favorite fearmongering tactic when you expressed your desire to go into medicine was that organic chemistry would suck the life right out of you. Truly, you wondered if the fear they ingrained in you was what made you ace the series last year, or maybe if it was just because Park Seonghwa was in your class.

You were beginning to suspect that the latter was the case, considering biochemistry was not even half as bad as you were expecting it to be.

“Your flashcards must be magic or something,” Soyeon grumbled beside you as she peered over your shoulder at the Quizlet deck you flipped through. The two of you were amongst the school of other students in your biochemistry course loitering outside the examination hall, cramming last minute knowledge into your already-packed craniums. iPads, textbooks, and notebooks were splayed out and poured over; you were certain someone had even brought a tea light to pray over.

You finished the deck you were on, drumming your fingers along the seam of your pants to give your nervous energy somewhere to go. “They're not magic; I just become a hermit when exam weeks come around,” you replied. None of this information came natural to you, and the curve of your spine could attest to the amount of hours you spent hunched over your desk, grinding notes and problem sets.

Soyeon hummed, unconvinced, to herself. She had her own notes she was scrolling through on her tablet, a worried furrow between her brows. “Is it weird that I have a bad feeling about this exam?”

Your stomach twisted at just those words. “No, I feel it too,” you muttered. You shivered then, as if an evil breeze just blew against your neck.

Your eyes coincidentally wandered elsewhere in the building lobby and met the gaze of a familiar opponent.

“Nope,” you drawled as the man approached where you and Soyeon lingered, “it's just Seonghwa.”

Soyeon muffled a laugh by squeezing her lips together and she gave your shoulder a light shove. “You're so petty, oh my god.”

Seonghwa lifted one perfect brow when he drew closer, lowering his headphones to hang them around his neck. “Should I even hazard a guess at what you just said about me?” he asked you directly, understanding full well that Soyeon was not the culprit.

You wrinkled your nose at him. “I have faith that you know.”

Soyeon coughed loudly. “So, Hwa, how're we feeling about this midterm?”

A sigh fell from his mouth and it was a haggard sound that you could relate with down to your exhausted bones. He raked a hand through his hair, eyes flitting to you before going back to Soyeon. “It's… hit or miss, I think,” he said, almost as if he were picking the words carefully.

“That's how we're feeling, too,” you added in with an absent-minded bob of your head. “Dr. Chung has been in a bad mood lately.” This statement was paired with a grimace while you hissed through your teeth.

“I hear you've been locking in hours at Quill all weekend, Ln.”

Quill was the colloquial name of KQ University's largest library, a frequent haunt of students during Finals Week because it was open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. It had also practically become like your third home over the last few years of your undergraduate career. Truly, that reading room had seen far too much of you. “Are you asking around about me, Park?” you queried.

He flashed you a wry smile. “Don't flatter yourself,” he quipped. “Everything I learn about you is against my will.”

“But you still listen to it, right?”

“Know thy enemy,” he replied simply.

(Soyeon observed the two of you with a new set of eyes. After the conversation shared between five members of the Yn and Seonghwa Need to Get Over Themselves Club, she hated to admit that she was actually seeing Yunho's point—and she hated to admit when a man had a point. There was always this inkling wriggling at the back of her mind that there must have been something deeper between you two, but she knew what it was like to not be able to stand the sight of someone.

The difference in this case was that, as much as you both claimed you loathed the sight of one another, you could not keep your eyes off each other.)

Soyeon leaned her elbow onto your shoulder and flashed the screen of her tablet at the both of you. As much as she was fascinated by this little observational study, there was an exam she needed to pass. “Can we go over glycolysis again? We have five minutes before they let us into the room.”

You and Seonghwa snapped out of your previous conversation. “Shit,” you muttered while pocketing your phone, “yeah, let's go over it.”

Five minutes later, the doors to the Gwang-Yin Hall opened to allow the flood of students into its bowels. The mass shuffled into the spacious room in an unorderly fashion, a mass of nervous jitters and panic that would eventually tighten into a yarn ball only unwoundable by one's graduation date. Even then, the stress would only continue to mount rather than vanish.

All one could do was trudge on.

Two hours later, your hand was cramping and the digits on the clock projected upon the screen were getting closer and closer to zero. Your knee shook under the tiny wooden desk, palms and fingers sweating as you scanned through your answers and fixed one last response.

“Time! Pencils and pens down.”

A mishmash of curses and thumps rattled throughout the lecture hall. You heard sighs and coughs and calculators slam shut (which was weird because you didn't need a calculator on this exam); paper fluttered as exams were passed to the ends of rows and TAs came by to sweep them up. The professor was yelling at someone to stop writing, but you were already folding the desktop between the seats and shuffling out of the row.

Your brain hurt, fuck.

As you made your way toward the exit, your peers were already finding their friends and exchanging answers. This was arguably worse than the exam itself. You tried not to listen to them—what if your answers were different? What if the answer you got wasn't even in the same ballpark?

Exhaustion weighed down on your body from all the stress you'd accumulated over this past week and weekend. You raised your head to let your eyes surf through the crowd. Where was Soyeon…

Your eyes did not snag on Soyeon, but they did catch the back of a familiar head. He was closer to the exit than you were, and you maneuvered through the masses to reach him.

“Yo” —you appeared at Park Seonghwa's side just as you both shoved out into the disgusting and muggy April morning.

He sent you a look, eyebrows pursed in surprise. “Yo,” he said back.

“Thoughts?”

Seonghwa sucked in a breath that sounded very much like a hiss. “Hit or miss, as I said,” he drawled. “I'm not in the mood to compare answers though, Ln.”

“Me neither. I kind of need caffeine though,” you thought aloud. It was only the beginning of the day, after all. You still had to get through a lab and one more lecture before you were due at the university hospital for a volunteer shift.

“That sounds… super good right now actually.” Seonghwa's eyes went from you to the phone in his hand. “Where are you headed?”

“Physics lab,” you grunted with a scrunched-up nose.

His expression shifted. “Oh,” he said. “The wave simulator one?”

“Yeah, the one they made us learn beginner Python for.”

“It's easy,” he told you with a flick of his wrist. “My group finished early and left with like, an hour to spare.”

You cocked a brow at him. “Easy for you to say. You went to that Comp-Sci camp in high school every summer.” You didn't know what inside you suddenly thought to speak the words in your head, but they were out in the open now. Maybe you really were tired—in what reality did you even suggest that he was better than you at something?

Seonghwa made a sound that was suspiciously akin to a laugh. Disbelief filled his face; he shifted a foot toward you. “You remember I went to fuckass Comp-Sci camp?”

“Don't get ahead of yourself,” you quipped, squinting one eye at him. Maybe you should not have said that, but there were worse places to be stuck. “My mom just would not shut up about it.” Just like how she would not shut up about how much better Seonghwa was doing in his academics, and in general. The comparisons had gotten so out of hand when you were kids.

He bit his cheek. “Don’t worry, Ln, my mom wouldn't shut up about how you tutored first graders after school everyday. If that makes you feel better.”

Your mouth curved into a frown, albeit incredulously. How much did your mom tell his mom? Neither you nor Seonghwa asked to be pitted against each other, but the dynamic had been ingrained in the two of you like a bad habit, and bad habits died hard. “It's whatever,” was all you managed to say. You shouldn't have brought it up.

Seonghwa looked as if he was going to say something. His mouth opened, then snapped shut, his mind changed. “Yeah, it's whatever.”

In seventh grade, Seonghwa's bike broke down along one of the worn trails behind the school that would take him toward the block you both lived on. The situation ended up with bloodied and scraped-up knees, and an equally bloodied and scraped-up ego, because you had watched it happen in real time.

Middle schoolers were not known for their empathy, but you saw the watery silver lining his eyes as he angrily shoved himself to his feet, tugging his bike along with him. He could barely step without his legs trembling.

Maybe your mom had just reminded you that he won the science fair again, but it didn't exactly feel right to abandon him on this trail, of all places. You slowed your bike to a stop next to him and met his glare with defiance.

“Just leave me alone.”

“So you don't want a ride home?”

He scoffed. “Not from you. I don't need help.”

You could have growled with all of that middle school girl rage. “Get on the dang bike, Seonghwa. You're bleeding.”

He glanced down at his shins. Dark red streamed from the open wounds as if he'd just survived some chainsaw murderer, not Mother Nature from the height of a bike. Seonghwa glanced back over at you on your bike, the foot bars on the back wheel. He couldn't meet your eyes as he abandoned his vehicle on the path and propped one foot onto the corresponding bar of yours. “If I hear you talking about this at school—”

“Yeah, whatever,” you interjected, rolling your eyes. His fingers dug into your shoulders and you felt his weight press down on the wheels. You propelled your foot off the dirt trail and pumped your legs to make it up the small hill ahead. He could do his worst for all you cared.

“Good afternoon, Aurora County! It looks like we're in for another stormy week. Forecast says to expect showers through to the weekend with highs of about 86 degrees Fahrenheit—” SLAM.

You brought an umbrella to your sociology lecture this time.

The accessory popped out like a parachute as you launched it above your head, wincing as raindrops went flying in all directions. The outside world remained a living sauna—hot and wet and miserable. Nobody asked for this.

You paused to select a playlist to listen to, then commenced what you expected would be a long trek in the rain. Wednesdays were usually what you considered your break days; they acted as somewhat of a pause during the middle of the week to give you a moment to breathe. In the morning, you had a very relaxed bioethics seminar, and in the afternoon, it was your sociology lecture. There was a reason you loved Wednesdays—

BEEP BEEP!

Déjà vu washed over you like rainwater being splattered by a car racing past. The familiar silver sedan rolling up next to you in the street sealed the deal.

Park Seonghwa lowered the passenger side window only partially. “You need a ride?”

“Are you purposefully driving down this way or…?” This week and the week before were the only times you ever saw him drive on this road. What class did he even have before this?

“The main road that gets to North campus is closed for reconstruction, remember? They roped it off two weeks ago.” He deadpanned at you, unamused. “Of course, I'm driving this way on purpose.”

You made a face at him. “You don't have to be chivalrous.”

“So that's a no?”

“I don't need a ride from you.” As if it would help your case, you waved your hand up at your umbrella with a flourish. “I have coverage.”

His expression somehow seemed to flatten further. “Get in the car, Yn.”

Your reputation as a Seonghwa hater was suddenly in danger if you got into this car. You had an umbrella, good tunes, and a free afternoon. It was Wednesday, a good day.

You got in the car.

“This could be considered kidnapping,” you hummed with no real malice as you wrestled your umbrella into its closed position, then shut the door.

Alright, Drama Queen. He rolled his eyes and pulled the car forward. “I regret everything.”

As soon as you settled properly into the seat, you realized where exactly you found yourself. The AC was blowing a cool and comfortable breeze at you, rustling up the smell of his flowery-coffee cologne. The song playing on low from the stereo was one that settled on the tip of your tongue, a name you could only remember when you saw its title on the navigation screen. And then there was that damned C-3PO Lego figurine stuck to the dash.

Seonghwa was less than a foot away from you with only the center console separating you. The two of you have sat closer to one another—there was that spelling bee tournament in third grade, that school assembly in sixth grade, that Science Olympiad competition in tenth—but all of those had been assigned. This was something you did on your own, just as you had run after him post-exam yesterday, just as he had walked up to you and Soyeon pre-exam.

You fiddled around on your phone and tucked your earbuds into your backpack, antsy to forget where you were and the choices you'd made.

He coughed. “So,” he said, dragging out the vowel, “how was the physics lab yesterday?”

There was a sudden spike of anxiety in your chest from the question, even though the lab itself had gone pretty okay yesterday. It was as if your body was gearing up for another cat fight on its own, as it seemed to do frequently around him. “Fine,” you said. “I really don't know why they made us do a whole workshop for learning Python, though, when all we did was change two numbers around.”

“Yeah,” he chimed in with a sigh, carding a hand through his hair as he made a turn, “me neither. It was helpful if you wanted to make more advanced adjustments though.”

“Oh.” You couldn't help but think: how much more was Seonghwa learning or gaining from each lab because he had a slightly better foundation than you did in code? There would undoubtedly be future lab situations where you would need to know some kind of code in more depth, but… You dashed the thought away; you could look into an online course later. It would be fine. “You have your physics midterm next week, too, right?”

He grunted, the corner of his mouth pressing into his cheek. “Unfortunately. You?”

“Same.” You glanced out the passenger side window. “Seulgi's probably gonna give into Mingi's demands tomorrow night—for physics questions, I mean.”

Seonghwa chuckled something low. “Yeah,” he agreed with a grimace, “a nice reminder of what we're in for. Maybe this time, I'll even let you beat me.”

You arched a brow at him, unimpressed. “You'll be so low on the rankings tomorrow, you'll never forget what gravity feels like.” A bold statement from someone who could barely punch the right buttons on her calculator. Then again, while Seonghwa went to Computer Science camp, it didn't necessarily mean he was good at math… or computer science. He just knew slightly more than you.

(Maybe it was time to actually look into coding classes.)

“Speaking of gravity.”

Curious, you lifted your head to look at him.

His eyes darted off the road briefly to meet your gaze, before settling on the rain-slicked streets, the car's wipers swishing back and forth over the windshield. “My mom keeps asking about you,” he said, the words coming out terse as if he had to rip them out of his vocal cords.

What did that have to do with gravity?

“Ah,” you vocalized. His mom asks about you, too? You didn't necessarily find yourself in too many situations like this—situations wherein you had time for a full-length conversation. Truth be told, your mom enjoyed asking about Seonghwa, too. “Tell her what I tell my mom about you.”

His brow flicked up when he glanced at you this time. “And what's that?”

“That you're fine—I mean, doing fine.”

The car paused at the red light, the rain continuing to drum overhead. His stare bored into the side of your head, and you couldn't understand why your pulse suddenly leapt. Your heart was doing sprints—no, cartwheels—as his lips pulled into a cheeky sort of grin. You chalked up your racing heartbeat to annoyance. He did have an infuriating face. “How fine am I, Ln?”

Was it hot in here? You could have sworn the air conditioning was on.

You looked back at him blankly and held your poker face for as long as physically possible. “Check your ego, Park.”

The only reason he broke away was because the traffic light turned green.

As a responsible pre-health student with an impending physics midterm, you were stuck in the library on a Friday afternoon. The weeks seemed to tear by fast in the spring quarter, and you weren't sure you could keep up. Rain, as forecasted by the oh-so-helpful Aurora County weatherman, battered the windows of Quill Library, creating a comfortable white noise that nestled between the gaps of your headphones’ shoddy noise cancelling function.

You stretched your arms over your head and pulled your spine up toward the ceiling. That was another practice problem set completed, and yet, you still felt worlds away from where you wanted to be.

With your head raised, you made a cursory scan of your surroundings. In this area of Quill, the tables were slightly larger, big enough to fit four people comfortably, as well as any and all work those four people might find themselves tackling. You were this table's lone occupant, but there were other tables lining the window down the length of this wall of the library, too, all taken up as well. Midterm season made this place popular, no matter the time of day.

It only made sense then that when you turned your head in the direction of the hallway, you made direct eye contact with a pair of fellow students who were undoubtedly in search of an open table, as well.

Kim Hongjoong seemed to physically float at the sight of you—or rather, the sight of your nearly empty table. Seonghwa didn't so much as smile. (You had been seeing a lot of him recently.) The latter had no choice but to follow the former over to where you sat, their wet sneakers tracking over the grey carpet.

You shifted one ear of your headphones. “Hey?”

Hongjoong had his palms pressed together in a prayer position. “Please tell me no one else is sitting here.”

You were tempted to say that Seonghwa might have to go find alternative seating, but even then in this seating climate, that might be too harsh of a joke. “I'm doing well, too, Joong. How are you?” you teased him with a small smile. You made a flourishing gesture to the empty seats across from you. “Yeah no, be my guest.”

“Thank you,” he said, waving Seonghwa over before squeezing into the seat closest to the window. “And sorry, we just had the worst time going through the tables in the reading room. I had no hope.”

You and Seonghwa made brief eye contact as he slid into the seat across from you. “I figured by the defeat on your face,” you mused to Hongjoong. “I just got lucky 'cause my bioethics lecture got out early, so I thought I'd find a place to plant for the afternoon.”

Hongjoong bobbed his head as he rummaged for his iPad in his messenger bag. “Sounds like a plan. I'll probably only be here for a couple hours, really, and then I've got this club meeting to go to.” He nudged Seonghwa with the back of his hand, forcing the man to take out one of his earbuds. “Your plans: go.”

Seonghwa's eyes widened slightly as Hongjoong caught him off guard. His eyes darted to you, then back to his friend. “Uhh,” he said and scratched the side of his jaw, “not sure. I'll see how this goes.” He gestured to the notebook and laptop he'd just pulled out, the notebook cover labeled with a Post-It note that read Phys upside down.

“Yeah,” you drawled with a nod, eyeing him.

“Oh, Yn” —Hongjoong caught you before you moved your headphones back into place and you were lost to the world of fluid mechanics— “Seulgi's hosting a house party tomorrow night. Are you coming?”

Your face lit up with surprise. “That's a little last minute, isn't it?”

He shrugged with a sheepish grin. “You know her,” he replied helplessly. “I know a handful of people from the society will be there—plus, a lot of other people she knows. You should bring your housemates!”

“I dunno, Joong… I do have that midterm on Monday.”

“I already know you'll be studying all weekend,” he parried. “It'll just be for a few hours. You can swing by for a little, catch up, and then head home in time to get enough sleep to cram on Sunday.”

You abhorred that he knew your habits, sleeping and studying. Attending a house party the weekend right before a physics midterm was not a word to the wise, but if people from your society were going to be there, then perhaps they weren't too worried about their exams. It would be a nice, little break from all of the studying you'd been doing lately, as well as a reward for locking in.

Instead of giving Hongjoong a direct response, your eyes flickered to Seonghwa who was pretending like he wasn't listening. “Is he going?” you asked, jabbing the end of your pen in his direction.

“I'm right here,” he muttered.

Hongjoong shrugged. “Don't let a man stop you from having fun, Yn.”

Now that was a word to the wise. You felt your mouth pull into a smirk. “You are so right,” you said to him. “But I'll still have to let you know. If today goes well, then maybe you'll see me.”

A couple of hours came and went, and so too did Hongjoong. He rushed off to his club meeting, wishing both you and Seonghwa luck with your studying.

And then there were two.

You both continued to study independently and silently for a few more hours, coexisting in the same space of the library. At some point, the rain outside had quieted to a misty hush and the majority of the crowd had filed out to spend their Friday evening doing something less depressing.

By the pulsating at your temples, you figured your brain had enough for one afternoon. This session hadn't gone too terribly, you decided, as you drummed your fingers against your notepad. Your eyes lifted up to the man still seated across from you; Seonghwa's cheek was pressed against his fist as he scribbled something out into his notebook before checking it against his calculator.

He felt your flighty gaze, eyes ensnaring yours before you could look away again. “Need something?” he asked, voice slightly hoarse from lack of use.

“Not from you,” was your automatic quip.

He made a show of looking around at the sparsely-populated area of the library. “Well, then you must be looking at a ghost,” he said back with a saccharine sort of smile.

You wrinkled your nose at him before deciding to actually close the lid of your laptop. “I'm going to go now.”

“No one's stopping you.”

“You're not leaving?”

He cocked a brow at you, the hand with his pen stopping on his page. “Just because you are? What do you think I am—obsessed with you?”

The scoff fell out of your mouth before you could stop it, but the heat swarming your cheeks and neck also appeared without permission. “No one mentioned anything about being obsessed with me. I was just asking a question; it's a Friday night, after all.”

“Well, I'm currently on a date with physics.”

“Oh, so you do get action.”

Seonghwa smiled. “More than you, that's for sure.”

“And you say you're not obsessed with me.” You had no idea how the conversation unfolded in this direction, but you were throwing your things into your bag with fervor—anything to get away from him and whatever you were talking about now.

When you picked up your bag, you tucked the chair close to the table. Seonghwa kept his eyes on his laptop screen, cheek against his fist, pen tick-tocking against his finger.

You were only a couple steps away when you heard him say, “See you at the party.”

You whirled around with your mouth open in retort, but you didn't actually know what to say. How could five words evoke such a visceral reaction inside your chest? He heard your response to Hongjoong earlier; he couldn't just assume you would go.

You turned back around without saying anything, and you swore you heard him snicker under his breath as you left. You would not be going to that party, just to make a point.

So maybe you were going to the party.

In your defense, it was not your idea. You were doing it in support of your roommate and good friend Ronnie, who heard her current campus crush was going to be there; thus, the seven of you in the house were going to all attend for a few hours in solidarity.

“It's warm tonight” —a skirt flew at your face, faster than you could realize or catch— “so wear this. You've only worn it, like, what? Once?”

You sputtered as you whipped the skirt out of your eyes and mouth, your expression screwed up in disdain as Ronnie tore your half of the closet apart in search of a suitable top to match. “It’s not like I’m the one about to see my crush,” you said as you lifted the skirt up in front of you to inspect it. Indeed, you had only worn the simple, pleated black garment a total of one time, and you had forgotten it existed ever since.

Ronnie eyed up a big graphic tee in her hand, stripped it from its hanger, then tossed it at you.

“Veronica Shim, I swear to god—”

“Sue me for being nervous,” she squawked. She walked over and grabbed you by the shoulders. “I just need to busy myself before my hands shake so hard, they fall off.”

You peeled the T-shirt she had thrown at you off of your head. “I’m going to get dressed,” you promised, “and then I will let you do my makeup—”

“I love you.” Before you could respond, she was already halfway across the room again, tearing through your makeup box instead. When Ronnie was nervous, there wasn’t very much that could calm her down unless she was physically doing something. It was what made her such an adept physical media artist—the ceramics studio saw her face as often as the library saw yours. The bedroom you shared was covered from ceiling to floor in the origami she folded, from little paper stars to intricate flowers that had taken her days to make.

You were exceptionally fond of her, but if she threw another clothing item at your head, you might lose it.

In about an hour, the seven of you were piled into Lillian's minivan on the way to Seulgi's house. Each passenger, sans Lillian, had each taken a shot of soju Soyeon had found at the back of the kitchen pantry. Suffice to say, Ronnie was ready to actually talk to her crush and you were all prepared to have fun for the first time since midterms started.

You could already hear the music bleeding out from Seulgi's place, accompanied by the warm buzz of laughter and chatter. It was a smaller house at the end of a cul-de-sac a few blocks from where you lived. The driveway and surrounding streets were already chock-full of cars, so Lillian dropped everyone off in front of the house while she and Seeun went to find an open parking spot.

You, Ronnie, and Soyeon had your arms hooked together as Seulgi's housemate Irene let you in. The party was well under way—with it being a little past nine o'clock—and you could already spot some familiar faces in the crowd.

“Wow, it's hot in here,” you shouted over the addicting bass kick of some early 2000s song. There were far too many bodies shoved into the living room; in no way was this within the building’s occupancy capacity.

Ronnie squeezed your hand before letting go. “I just saw my friend Renjun from my design principles class!” she exclaimed, throwing her thumb in the direction of the kitchen. “I'm gonna go say hi.”

“Okay, have fun!”

Soyeon tugged you in the direction past the kitchen, toward the stairs. “Mingi just texted—apparently they're in the basement and they have tequila shots.”

“You had me at shots,” you replied back with a grin.

Soyeon let out a hoot of approval, and the two of you turned the corner to take the stairs down into the basement below. As you descended into the bowels of the house, you unconsciously tugged the hem of your skirt down. You were definitely not tipsy enough to be unaware of your flashing risk.

There was still a handful of people in the basement, but it was considerably less congested than upstairs. There was even a fan hoisted up into the nearby corner blowing a draft of wind—not cool wind, but wind nonetheless—down over the basement occupants. Closest to you were a few people surrounding a pool table, while the far end was outfitted with a relaxed layout of rugs, blankets, bean bags, and pillows for people to lounge about in. The latter was where your society members were, their voices and laughter already familiar to you.

Wooyoung was the first to notice yours and Soyeon's entrance. He waved his arm at the two of you, careful not to knock off a very flushed San from his other shoulder. “Oy! Look who finally decided to show up.”

“Had to wait for this one to get home and eat dinner first,” Soyeon said with a thumb pointed in your direction, her lips blowing a raspberry.

You threw her a look of betrayal. “If someone had just called me, I would have been home faster!” You made a cursory scan of the people currently present, eyes looking for no one in particular, or maybe just someone to sit next to.

You happened to make eye contact with Seonghwa at one end of the loosely-formed circle, his legs crisscrossed, hands braced behind him. Hongjoong was on one side of him, but the other side was occupied by a girl you did not recognize. She was not from the society and she wasn't someone whom you had seen at a social function before either.

Before your face could visibly show your confusion, you were tugged down next to Wooyoung.

A clear shot glass was handed over to you, equally clear liquid sloshing over the rim, and it came as a packaged deal with a roughly sliced lime wedge. “Here” —Wooyoung placed one in each of your hands— “you can finish San's shot.”

“I can finish it!” San cried from his other side, lips pouty and face red as tomato soup.

Both you and Wooyoung gave him the same expression. “No way.”

You took one for the team (San), and dunked the shot back, following it swiftly by the lime between your teeth. You grimaced at the initial burn, but it subsided the longer you sucked on the lime wedge.

“Yah, both Soyeon and Yn need extra shots,” Yunho hollered from his seat between Mingi and Lia. He grinned as he liberally poured two more shots, one in a teacup and one in a miniature beaker.

You took the lime out from your mouth. “Says who?”

“Says me!” Seulgi chimed in, clapping her hands. “Minimum two shots to stay in the circle—”

“Unless you're driving,” Jongho called out.

“Truuue,” Seulgi agreed with a nod in his direction. “So drink up, ladies.”

Who were you to argue with your host? You were already technically two shots in, thanks to your light pregaming, but you weren't about to complain. The shot glasses were passed around the circle to where you and Soyeon were seated, and you both dutifully paid your toll.

Just as you finished, you felt Wooyoung sling one of his arms over your shoulders. The movement seemed to make your world spin just a little bit more. “Guys, we should play Hot Seat!”

“Ooh, like the game we played in middle school?” Chaeryeong asked.

“But I don't want my seat to be hot,” San muttered, lips curving into a frown.

You cooed at him, reaching around Wooyoung to pinch San's cheeks together in one hand. “Oh my god, you're so cute. How many drinks have you had?”

(From across the circle, Seonghwa's nose wrinkled. He leaned over toward Hongjoong's ear, muttering, “He's not that cute, is he?” He had certainly thought it to himself a few minutes ago, but that was before you said it out loud.

Hongjoong turned his head, face contorted into pure incredulity. “You're… kidding, right?”)

San’s frown deepened as he slurred, “Only two.”

“And that's the way it's gonna stay,” Wooyoung declared, patting his friend on the head with pursed lips. “Personally, I think Hot Seat is befitting of our current situation. You know, apparently, we're supposed to get a heatwave these next few weeks?”

Soyeon tipped her head back in a groan. “Dude, I cannot take any more of this! I can't even tell if I'm sweating or if it's from the rain.”

“Tell me about it,” Seulgi grumbled. “At this point, we'll need to start planning for the postponed car wash fundraiser on top of the bracelet-making one.”

“Why are we talking business at a party?” Mingi cut in. He had one elbow resting on Yunho's shoulder while the other hand raised a red Solo cup of his poison for the night to his lips. “Let’s play Hot Seat.”

“Take a shot for every question you don't want to answer?” you asked, glancing around the circle.

Only murmurs of agreement met your ears, and someone chimed in with a suggestion of three questions per person.

As the one who proposed the game, Wooyoung had the honor of going first. The only issue was that Wooyoung was the closest thing to an open book out of the entire group; it was hard to find a topic he would feel hesitant to answer out loud. Wooyoung's turn on the hot seat slipped by as fast as a summer breeze, and the baton was passed onto you (to give San a fighting chance, of course).

“Well, this should be good,” you chuckled, hoping your nervousness didn't shine through too much. Maybe an additional shot would actually help you.

Soyeon's grin lit up her face. “Ooh, I've got one!”

“Oh no.”

“If Kim Hongjoong and Jung Wooyoung were each being dangled over a pit of lava—”

Both Hongjoong and Wooyoung jerked to life at the same time from opposite ends of the circle as everyone else erupted into laughter. “Now wait a second!”

“—who would you choose to save?”

You covered your smile with your hand and ignored Wooyoung's eyes burning two holes into the side of your head as best as you could. “Well, that's not fair; I need context!”

Soyeon shrugged. “To save the world, I guess.”

“To save the world?” You let it sink in. “Can't I drop both of them in?” you jested, guffawing at Wooyoung playfully shaking your shoulders and Hongjoong shouting his dissent from across the circle. “Okay, okay! Sorry, Hongjoong—you’re going in the pit!”

“I knew I was your favorite,” Wooyoung sighed and draped himself over your shoulders.

“Her answer was coerced!” Hongjoong flashed you a wry and petulant smile as Seonghwa placated him with a pat on his back. It said everything you needed to know: you would pay for this. “You should've taken the shot, Yn.”

“I've got a question” —Yunho cut in, and there was this boyish sort of smile on his face with an impish twinkle in his eyes. You knew him well enough not to trust that look— “do you actually hate Seonghwa?”

Half the group shot wide-eyed stares at Yunho, with Mingi shoving him in the shoulder, while the other half had their attention darting curiously between you and Seonghwa. There was a smile of disbelief that crawled onto your face as your immediate reaction; your sympathetic nervous system had jumped into high gear, as well, making your heart pound and palms sweat.

What kind of question…?

You tried not to glance in Seonghwa's direction. “Hate is a… strong word,” you drawled, dragging out the syllables of the latter half. Your fingers played around with the empty shot glass sitting on the rug in front of you, index tracing the rim.

“You’ve gotta answer the question, Yn,” Yunho prompted, the smile on his face only widening.

“Yeah, answer the question, Ln.”

That had your head turning. Seonghwa did not look away when you met his gaze, and you couldn't tell from this distance if that was pure stoicism in his face, or if there was something else hidden there. The blood in your veins thrummed, simmered. His tone was so annoying though. This question was so annoying. Who asked this kind of thing in a group setting, let alone when you were barely even drunk?

You picked up the shot glass and wiggled it in the air. “Pour me one.”

A group-wide groan erupted in this corner of Seulgi's basement, cleaving the tension wide open. You ignored everyone’s playful shouts of dissent, their urges for you to hurt Seonghwa’s feelings and bruise his ego with your honesty; you insisted on the shot, and because Yunho was a little butthurt, Mingi took over the role of Keeper of Tequila and poured you one.

You drained the shot with ease—better the bitter burn of fermented agave than the bitter burn of truthful words. (Maybe you just didn’t want to confront the very words you had already spoken, that ‘hate’ really was too strong in describing what you felt for Park Seonghwa.) It was the coward’s way out, but the night was still young and you were still in the hot seat.

The last question you were dealt was dutifully delivered by Kim Hongjoong, as was prophesied by your disservice to him in your earlier answer. He asked if you had really cheated during the Trivia Night three months ago about plant physiology. It had been a point of great contention back then, and it didn’t truly matter in the grand scheme of things; plant physiology night was “for fun,” but everyone here owned at least one competitive bone in their body.

As everyone leaned in, expecting a horrible scandal to be confirmed, you said, “No, but I know who did.”

The group howled once more—you wouldn’t be surprised if the goddamn neighbors could hear you all at this point—as they hounded you for answers. They were answers you wouldn’t give, however, because you had fulfilled your turn on the hot seat.

You leaned back onto your palms and the tension in your shoulders loosened slightly now that you were no longer in the spotlight.

A loud giggle cut through all the noise around you. From across the circle, the girl you did not recognize was laughing into her palm, Seonghwa's mouth still moving as he muttered something under his breath so only the people around him heard.

Your face fell. “He's not that funny,” you grumbled to Wooyoung, since Yeosang was busy answering a question on your left.

Your friend snorted loud enough that glances were thrown his way.

“Just admit you're mad you can't hear what he's saying,” he said to you, keeping his volume low enough this time so only you were privy to his words.

What an egregious take! It was hotter than hot, scalding even. “Why would I be mad that I can't hear him? If anything, I'm pissed he's right in my line of sight.”

Wooyoung only lifted a brow at you, his mouth curving into his cheek while he smirked, unconvinced. ‘Jelly,’ was what he mouthed at you in exaggerated movements.

You huffed and shook your head. No way you were mad or jealous.

Park Seonghwa was drunk. At least, he was pretty sure he was on the cusp of tipsy and drunk—inebriated would be an apt term. The room was spinning; that was one standout symptom he was experiencing at the moment. Dim, amber lights swirling with the faces and basement walls around him, voices he recognized. Hongjoong would have definitely added that he giggled way too much to be Sober Seonghwa. It was settled then: he was drunk.

“Guys, be honest with me” —that was San’s voice… no. No, wait. That was definitely Wooyoung’s. He swore he saw his mouth move— “who do we think is gonna get married first out of all of us?”

The group had dwindled down considerably following the conclusion to the game Hot Seat. Though the space taken up remained the same, the blob was far more deformed now. One could not call it a circle if they had even an ounce of integrity.

Seulgi lifted her beer bottle to her lips. “Not me,” she drawled with a snort.

“I think Lia,” said Soyeon.

There was movement next to Wooyoung, and Seonghwa watched you wag your finger in Soyeon's direction. Your head was on Wooyoung's shoulder, alcohol-induced drowsiness hitting you while it was making him think things. “Mmh,” you agreed, “but I raise you: Jung Wooyoung.”

Hongjoong loosened a sound from his lips that made Seonghwa giggle again. “Yah, now you're just doing it on purpose!”

“I can hype up my bestie, Kim!”

“Yeah!” Wooyoung chimed in. “Let her hype me up, Kim!”

“Alright, but,” Yunho said, mouth already stretched in a grin, “he couldn't even ask out his work crush, remember?”

Wooyoung's eyes shot wide open. “Oy—the work environment at Gap was just not confession-friendly! It was actually anti-romance.”

Cutting through Yunho's snickering, a slightly-flushed Mingi raised his fingers for his turn. “Let's not sleep on the real secret romantic, Mr. Choi Jongho.”

A murmur of agreement swept around the group as all eyes went to the only truly sober member of the blob. Jongho lifted his can of ginger ale to his lips for a small sip, but shook his head as he did. “I don't know where you're getting this misinformation from.”

“Wait, no! Mingi's right,” you piped up, even sitting upright to gesture with your arm at Jongho. (Seonghwa shifted in his spot, jerking as you moved. His inhibitions were… not in the building.) “You would totally be in a long term relationship for years and not tell anyone until you're sending out Save the Dates!”

“Exactly,” Seonghwa suddenly said, nodding his head. Oh—people were looking at him—did he say that out loud? He could agree with you sometimes; he just didn't often agree with you aloud. “What?”

Hongjoong blinked at him, his eyebrows scrunched together, lips parting slightly before he pursed them, as if deciding against whatever thought wanted to breathe air.

You were the only one not looking at him like he'd just sprouted another head. There was that familiar neutrality, a slightly warmer version of the crinkle-nosed brattiness that drove him up the walls.

“You guys are weird,” he muttered and flicked his eyebrows up, then took a swig out of the half-empty soju bottle parked between him and Hongjoong.

“What if I think Yn will get married first?” These were San's first, sober words since he had woken up from a brief nap; but considering what he said, maybe he hadn't quite reached sobriety yet.

Everyone's attention flipped to the opposite side of the group again, Seonghwa included. The question was cold gutter water that splashed over him from the street, and any haziness disappeared in an instant.

“No fucking way,” both you and Seonghwa said at once.

Time stilled.

Yunho reacted first, leaning his chin onto his fist. He used his other hand to gesture between you two. “Interesting. Explain.”

Seonghwa leveled his gaze with yours. "I'm not claiming anything. I just don't think she'll be the first to get married.” He clutched the bottleneck in his hand, the glass hanging midway between the ground and his mouth, his elbow propped on top of his knee while he watched your reaction.

“The feeling's mutual,” you replied tersely, a thin smile spread on your face. “What was it you said the other day? That you were on a date with physics?”

“Well, I definitely wasn't on a date with you.”

Out of Seonghwa's periphery, Hongjoong slapped his hand over his mouth.

There was a warm thrill beneath his skin as your eyes narrowed at him. “Funny, 'cause everyone here knows I would rather retake calculus than even think about going on a date with you.”

“I’m touched, Ln, really.”

“Oh, there they are!” Heads turned in the direction of the voice. It cut through all of the buzz and chatter down here in the basement. Seonghwa's mind was yet to be at its sharpest still, but he was able to recognize the familiar faces of two of your and Soyeon's housemates, Seeun and Lillian. They bumbled over, arms linked and faces flushed with the spirits they had consumed tonight. “Yn, Soyeon—we’re stealing you!”

“Recruiting,” Lillian corrected Seeun with a pointed cough. “We are recruiting you to take over the pool table over there.” She thrust an arm in the direction of the opposite end of the room.

Seonghwa took an absent-minded sip of his drink as your friends tugged you and Soyeon to your feet, then stole you away from the group and whatever this conversation had turned into. The conversation blurred into something about long-term relationships again, drifting further away from the initial marriage inquiry and to something more palatable for a bunch of young 20-somethings.

The liquid in his bottle was drained, then replaced by another. To hell with that physics exam on Monday, he supposed.

Hongjoong passed him a glance. “Are you… gonna slow down soon?”

“Maybe after this,” Seonghwa muttered with his lips at the bottle rim. His eyes kept on wandering over toward the opposite end of the room to where you stood at the pool table; and the more he drank, the harder it was for his consciousness to drag his focus back to the people around him.

Your laugh cleaved through any self-control he had left. He leaned back on one hand, catching how you tugged down the hem of your skirt with an instinctive motion, before taking the pool cue from one of the guys there—

“Hwa” —he heard his name, but his head was slow to turn. Seulgi was smiling at him, and maybe if he hadn't had this last bottle, he would have noticed the knowing tilt of her expression— “what about you?”

“Hm?”

“Anybody you're interested in?”

Seonghwa's skin warmed as if he had just been caught. “Not really,” he answered and straightened from his previous position. He resisted the urge to look, to reveal every single one of his cards with one, stupid look. How he managed to bite his tongue this time was a miracle, but if anybody asked him again, he might admit his answer would be “the girl in the skirt.”

When the Parks moved to your neighborhood in the third grade, your mom and Seonghwa’s mom became fast friends. The comparisons did not start immediately, but they were always there, lurking in the shadows of the upstairs hallways, in the whispers echoing from the kitchen when the “adults were talking.” There was almost an instant competition between your mothers on who could praise the other’s child best.

Subsequently, it was not uncommon to find yourself at your new rival’s house. Dinner or lunch or an afternoon snack was often offered at one another’s houses—oranges and peaches washed and sliced with precision, bikes abandoned on the wooden porch (your house) or at the side gate (Seonghwa’s house).

You had only ever been in Seonghwa’s room once, and that was seven years later, in the tenth grade. He was reluctant to let you into his safe space and you were reluctant to be in his space, but your mothers insisted, and their voices dropped into hushed tones as you both disappeared up the stairs in silence.

Seonghwa wordlessly opened the door to his room, and you were whacked in the face by the amount of things there: on the walls, filling the shelves, tucked away in boxes on the floor. It was an explosion of pop culture paraphernalia you were actually familiar with, but the one that was represented the most was—

“I’m more of a Star Trek person myself,” you said, leaning toward a fully-assembled Lego version of the Millenium Falcon.

Seonghwa hung close at your side, hovering, his arms crossed over his chest while he watched you carefully. “Nobody asked.”

You stuck your hand up at him with the Spock salute, index to middle finger and ring to pinky finger.

That drew a half-scoff, half-laugh from his mouth. He shook his head. “You’re such a nerd.”

“As opposed to…?” You straightened and put your arms out to gesture around you at his whole room. There were about a million weird things that tenth grade boys could be into, but there was a huge chunk of you glad that this was his chosen obsession. Star Wars or Star Trek, you would pick a nerd over a creep any day of the week. Not that you would pick him of all people…

“If you think I'm going to say you have a point,” he began.

“You don't have to say it,” you finished for him, turning to inspect the Tai Fighter on a lower shelf. “I already know that I do.”

You could hear him roll his eyes. He seemed to do that a lot. “Can’t believe you like Star Trek better.”

You snorted, twisting around to peer up at him from your squatting position. “What? You can't handle that I have a different opinion?”

“No, I just thought you'd have better taste,” he replied airily.

Something within you paused at that. Though only a flippant parry at your own quip, you thought to yourself how ironic it was that you actually preferred the Star Wars franchise over the Star Trek franchise.

The only reason you bantered with him about it and stood your ground playing the Devil's Advocate was to breach that obvious discomfort you both bore coming in here. Bickering between you was natural, familiar… and the truth behind your words that day would be something you swore you would never reveal to him ever.

“You’re trying to figure out what Seonghwa got on the exam, aren't you?”

You jerked your head to the forward direction and slid down in your seat, moving your pen back over your notebook. Seonghwa was seated on the far right side of the hall, whereas you and Soyeon were somewhere in the middle. There was no way you could see minute details from this distance, but you could certainly try to read his body language from here. “...No, I'm not.”

Soyeon flashed you a sidelong glance that spoke volumes on its own. “Yes, you are. Your eyes aren't very subtle, you know.”

“They're not?”

She snorted, the sound loud enough only to draw the attention of the person seated on her other side.

The week had dragged by at a snail's pace, compared to the prior week and weekend. As soon as you were released from your physics midterm on Monday, it was as if the world set its playback speed at 0.5. Perhaps it was the swath of heat that had descended upon the city that made everyday double in length. With no more gray skies and buckets of rain, the inhabitants of Aurora County were left to not only the unbearable heat, but the wrath of the sun, too.

Unfortunately, now that midterm exams were mostly completed, all that was left to do was await the scores. The atmosphere in your biochemistry lecture this morning had been suffocating in despair over the scores released yesterday afternoon. As customary, your professor was taking the beginning portion of lecture to review exam statistics and frequently missed questions.

Soyeon grumbled under her breath as she pulled her tablet out from her bag. “I think he should have curved it more,” she grunted, logging into the class-wide polling system. “Those questions about the Krebs Cycle were so stupid.”

“Yeah, they were way out of left field,” you agreed. You hadn't done half bad on this past exam, but you weren't about to rub it in. It didn't mean you were the one who fucked the curve or anything; it only meant that you somehow ended up just a little above the average. Maybe those extra hours spent in Quill had been for something.

“Are you going to the meeting tonight?”

You shook your head, glancing between the screen and your own notes as you scribbled a big question mark in the margins by a note. “No, I picked up another shift at the tutor center,” you replied.

As today was Thursday, usually the society would hold a Trivia Night, but Seulgi had made the executive decision to meet about this weekend's bracelet-making event instead. It was a more relaxed meeting meant for celebrating the end of midterm exams, while chatting about any last minute details for the event. You had already informed Seulgi in advance that you wouldn't be able to make it.

Soyeon let out a low whistle. “Another one?”

“Yeah,” you said with a helpless shrug. “But it's to make up for the shifts I missed to study. Apparently, the Gen Chem classes still have an exam next week.”

“Damn. Sucks to be them.”

You grinned and shook your head. “As if we weren't them once.” There had been a time when the lot of you in your pre-health society treaded through the murky and dark waters of the general chemistry series. Venting about the ridiculously-convoluted lab procedures and steep exam curves were rites of passage, at this point.

As Dr. Chung, your biochemistry professor, continued on with his planned lecture for the day, you leaned your cheek against your fist, gaze drifting back over to the right side of the hall. At some point, you were only half-tuned into whatever Chung was saying; the rest of your attention was worlds away.

You hadn't seen Seonghwa after your sociology lecture yesterday, but then again, it hadn't been raining and you had to linger back to chat with your professor about a lecture topic. If he had passed through that alleyway again, he hadn't said anything.

Suddenly, the back of the head you were staring at turned over his shoulder.

He hit his target dead-on, and his eye contact made you shudder out of your daze. Seonghwa made an exaggerated face so you could see it from that distance. What?

You stuck your tongue out at him, then forced yourself to look forward at the board. (Though, that sixth sense you had could tangibly feel his eyes roll at you.)

When the lecture ended, you and Soyeon moved out of the lecture hall with the current of your peers. You were so engrossed in making sure you weren't walking into anybody, you nearly missed the man that fell into step beside you.

“What's your deal this time, Ln?”

You perked up in surprise at the sound of Seonghwa's voice and him. Where he was seated, he should have been clear out of the building by now. He must have hung back then. “I have no idea what you're goin’ on about, Park.”

One of his brows quirked upward at you as he shouldered the door open. “You are not getting away with burning two holes in the back of my head.”

“You know,” you said, feigning thoughtfulness as you tapped your chin, “maybe I can—”

Seonghwa peered around you at Soyeon. “What'd she want?”

“I’m not getting involved,” she declared. She raised her palms up at the both of you, shaking her head vehemently. Once you had all descended the stairs to the pathway below, she began stepping in the direction of her next course. “See you, guys!”

With Soyeon respectfully bowing out, it left you and Seonghwa. Again.

He looked at you expectantly.

“I just wanted to know how you did on the exam,” you said with as much nonchalance as you could muster. “No biggie.”

Seonghwa crossed his arms over his chest. “How did you do on the exam?”

“Fine.”

“Well, so did I.”

You nodded. “Cool. Good talk!” You swiveled on the ball of your foot and prepared to take off, but he was swift to latch onto the top handle of your backpack.

“Hold it” —he turned you back around just in time to catch the irritation cross your face— “are you going to the meeting tonight?”

He stopped you for this? “No, I'm working.”

Something flickered in his expression; it was nothing you could label clearly. It was probably just his initial surprise. “Oh. Sucks.”

You nodded again, mouth pressed together. “Yup. See you on Saturday for the fundraiser then.”

“Yeah, see you.”

How interesting that he cared to even ask that, you thought as you went off to your physics lab. Then again, one could ask that of any instance you or he inquired about the other’s movements. At some point, it had become some convoluted game of chess; though, the older the two of you became, the way in which you played the game shifted. It was less capturing the other's pieces to get to checkmate first, and more so flirting with the idea of check. No matter—any lingering curiosities regarding one Park Seonghwa was dashed away and replaced by the remainder of your day.

And just like that, it was Saturday.

The pre-health student society had managed to snag use of a local cafe space for the event, probably thanks to Seulgi’s friend of a friend working as a shift supervisor there. It was of a cozy-modern design complete with smooth, white countertops and furniture, cute character mascots painted on the walls, and complete with the all-encompassing scent of roasted coffee. A late Saturday afternoon found the place packed to the brim with students, not just for your event, but general college students milling by for a weekend treat. It seemed to attract even more people to the event itself though; poor Hongjoong and Taeyong were asked to run to the nearby craft store a few blocks over to purchase some necessary stock of thread and beads.

The cafe was alive with the buzz of chatter, the clanging of coffee-making, and the dull sounds of acrylic beads dribbling off the sides of tables. In all definitions, the event looked and sounded like a success.

“How does anyone do this for fun? Oh—shit—”

You wanted to jump off a roof. Or maybe stick your hand in that canister of boiling milk by the espresso machine ten feet behind you. Or just be anywhere but here. Across the small, two-seater table from you was a man you had only seen in passing and never properly interacted with. He was not a member of the society, so you could only imagine that he was a mutual friend of one of your society-mates. After this dreadful afternoon was over, you were going to find out who this man was connected to and—

“Can you catch that for me? Thanks.” Justin—your partner for the afternoon—took the beads from the center of your palm and squinted his eyes as he tried to string them on his piece of electric blue thread.

The issue wasn’t that he couldn’t make a bracelet for shit; the issue was far more personal than that. “Yeah, sure,” you said quietly, trying to ignore the fact that the pair right next to you kept sending glances over at your table. To make it worse, that very pair was Park Seonghwa and that girl from Seulgi’s party last Saturday. Your adept eavesdropping skills managed to pick up that she was vaguely connected to Seulgi through one group project they completed together in a freshman year dance class. (Why was it always Seulgi?)

You straightened, tying off the little loop you had made with a few seed beads. Maybe you should try making conversation again. “So, uhm,” you began, “you mentioned that you’re taking an econ class about… foreign markets?”

The guy nodded. “Yeah, Economics in Cold War Foreign Trade—it’s kind of interesting, actually.”

Oh. Economics wasn’t really your forte, but if he was passionate about this subject, then it would at least make for an engaging conversation. You can work with this, Yn. “Then I’d love to hear more. What’re you guys currently learning?”

“You know, like the drive of U.S. actions during the Cold War,” Justin said with a shrug, not really looking up from his bead struggle. “People always forget that a major part of our foreign policy back then was driven by this need to dominate global markets and defend against communism. I mean, sure there was that thing with Guatemala” —he paused his ramble and spared you a glance— “but you don’t seem like the type to be interested in that.”

Your hand movements paused, your facial features twitching into a confused smile. “I’m sorry?” What was that supposed to mean?

He looked at you again. “I just mean,” he said, “that you don’t look like the kind of person who would understand the nuances of that whole situation.”

For a pregnant moment, you just stared at him. Was he being serious? “You could… give context,” you drawled, curling back all of the rage slowly mounting up inside of you like a tea kettle. “That’s why I asked.”

“Oh.” Justin’s eyes darted back down to his hands and he let out a laugh, the kind of sound that someone made when they were uncomfortable. “There are just a lot of terms, y’know, that I’m not sure you would understand—”

Your eyes went to the ceiling for a second. “Okay, just stop,” you cut in and waved your hands in an accompanying gesture. Why was this fucking business major talking down to you?

The table descended into silence, and your counterpart mercifully shut his mouth. You didn’t know what was more embarrassing: hearing this man effortlessly shut down any will you had left, or that the only other people who were privy to this conversation was Seonghwa and his event partner. Their conversation was much lower in volume, but you’d overheard the occasional chuckle.

You resisted the urge to huff; this was the worst.

“Listen.”

You spoke too soon. When you glanced up from your beads, it was not at the man directly across from you, but the one who sat diagonal to you one table over. You swore he just rolled his own eyes.

Justin, stupidly, continued. “I didn’t mean to offend you or anything. I don’t really go on dates with nerds—”

“Who said you’re on a date?”

“Who said we’re on a date?”

Both you and Justin whipped around to the table beside you. You could recognize that first voice even with your eyes closed and your body running on fumes. Incredulity, embarrassment, and perhaps even gratitude warmed the skin of your neck and face as you and Seonghwa made brief eye contact.

“Sorry?” Justin stammered. “This isn’t your business, dude.”

Your eye twitched again. He wasn’t even talking to you. “Hey!” You snapped your fingers at Justin like he was a dog, and at this point, that was an insult to dogs everywhere. “It isn’t his business, but he’s right. We’re not on a date, and the only reason I even put up with you was for the sake of my society’s event.” Not to mention that you were giving him the benefit of the doubt, something he clearly didn’t deserve.

“If it’s not a date, then why the fuck’s it called matchmaking?”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes again before narrowing them into twin slits. “Didn’t you read the flyer, dude? We’re making fuckass friendship bracelets.”

Justin fumbled with the thread in his hands as he struggled to come up with an adequate retort. If your blood wasn’t still simmering from his previous statements, you might have laughed at the way his face flushed, flustered by the lack of support he was getting while Seonghwa backed you up. In his fidgeting, every single bead he managed to string over the past fifteen minutes escaped from their thread, skittering to the floor with the likeness of a thousand dust mites scattering from a sudden beam of light. “Fuck this,” he huffed, throwing down the sad piece of string onto the table. “Can’t believe I paid for this shit.”

He pushed out of his seat, the movement causing an ear-piercing SCREECH to tear through the cafe. A few curious and concerned eyes followed him as he stormed out of the establishment. You half expected him to trip over one of the fallen beads he hadn’t bothered to pick up. (If karma was real, that would have happened.)

Your gaze met that of Seulgi’s, who had been strolling around, socializing and monitoring people’s progress during the event. She hustled over, eyes wide as her head flicked between you and the door swinging open. “What happened?” she asked, not accusatory, but rather greatly concerned.

“He was a prick,” Seonghwa answered matter-of-factly while crossing his arms over his chest.

“He said some not-nice things,” you followed up. The steam in your ears was gradually dissipating, in turn, clearing your vision of your own ire. “Who’s friend was he?”

Seulgi frowned and stood with a hand braced on the back of your chair and the girl next to yours. “I could’ve sworn…” her voice trailed off as she scanned the room. Then a curse tumbled out from her mouth, a hand slapping against her forehead. “Goddamn it,” she said, “your partner was supposed to be Lee Jeno—you know, Taeyong’s friend? He sat down at the wrong table, ugh. JENO!”

You all turned. Across the cafe, a dark head of hair perked up from one of the tables, his eyes as wide as the bottom of a coffee pot from the sound of his name being barked out.

You grimaced. “Hey, Seulgi, it’s fine—”

Seulgi waved her hand. “No, no. I should have micromanaged him; he saw the letter J and went with it! My plan,” she groaned. Despite her initial dismissal, she did not go off to scold Jeno or bring him to his original assignment; she merely turned back around and pinched the space between her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Yn. This should have never happened.”

You nodded your head with pursed lips, unsure of what to say. “It’s not your fault, really.” One could not control the audacity that emerged from a man’s mouth.

“Oh my gosh, wait. Let me find someone else for you to sit with.”

“Seulgi” —Seonghwa’s voice drew your attention back to him— “she can just join our table. It’s fine.”

You startled and shook your head, glancing between him and your society president. Become the third wheel to Seonghwa and Sydney (that was her name, if you remembered correctly)? You would rather waltz into the oncoming traffic outside the door. Hadn’t you had enough social anxiety for today? “That’s okay! I really don’t think I’m up to doing this any longer. Can I just, like, monitor or something?”

Seulgi licked her lips. For a long beat, you truly believed she would refuse you. “Okay, yeah,” she said whilst nodding her head. She made a sweeping gesture with her hand as she took a step back. “I was just about to give Taeyong a break from the supply table, if you wanna do that.” How could you ever doubt your easygoing, existentially-exhausted senior?

You pushed out a sigh of relief. The chair legs scraped against the wood floors as you stood, sending any nearby beads tumbling further into motion. “Let me pick up these beads though before someone breaks a leg,” you joked.

“You don't have to—”

“Don't,” Seonghwa cut in and practically waved you away. “Just leave 'em. No one's gonna trip; we'll get them later.”

He sent you a pointed look at your balking and the sternness there sent your toes curling. It wasn't only firm, but you swore there was a tenderness there, too. It was an action not meant to boss you around but to remind you that you did not have to be the one to pick up some asshole's mess.

You gripped the back of your chair, then slowly rose from it, nodding. “Right,” you whispered.

Seulgi led you over to where Taeyong was, all the while apologizing profusely for Jeno's lack of literacy for his own name. You dutifully replaced the vice president at his post, falling into an easy rhythm of organizing beads into small, metal trays, keeping threads from knotting if they were returned, and doling out the appropriate materials.

As the event passed on, you could feel the side of your head tingle, a phantom ache. When one was burned by the sun, the target area of skin often felt distinctly hot and irritated upon touch. You glanced up in the direction of said sun, catching only the movement of Seonghwa's head as he engaged in conversation with Sydney across from him.

You feigned a look away, watching from the corner of your vision as his stare touched you once more. An abrupt bout of tightness flared up in your chest, nerves inflamed and sensitive. Why was he looking over here so much? It had to do with what happened.

For the remainder of your time, you kept your eyes to yourself and tried to ignore the instincts compelling you to meet his gaze.

By the time Seulgi and Taeyong brought the event to a close, the sky had already fallen to darkness, the merciless sun sinking beneath the fold of Earth's horizon. You and the other members of the society made quick work of cleaning up all your messes—it turned out that nearly every table had spilled a handful of beads at some point. You felt a little less horrible about your own situation.

You grabbed your bag from the employee's room in step with Soyeon. “Oh my gosh, wait I have something to tell…” your voice trailed off, vision snagging on the person heading for the exit door. A lightbulb clicked on in your head. Right.

“I'll meet you at home,” you promised her with a hand grazing her shoulder. There was something you needed to do first.

Soyeon's brows twisted at your actions, but she sputtered a good-natured laugh anyway. “Okay? See you at home.”

“Yo—Park! Wait up,” you called after his retreating backside, his body nearly completely over the threshold of the cafe door.

Seonghwa paused in the doorway, angling slightly to watch you catch up to him and keep the door open. “What’s up?” he asked before letting the door fall behind the two of you.

The evening outside was temperate, comfortable. Though the heat remained, it was no longer stifling like its sister, Daytime. Rather, the warmth settled over your skin as a thin shawl with no breeze interrupting. By many definitions, this was a perfect summer’s night despite it still being in the midst of spring. The streetlights flickered to their ‘on’ positions, painting the pavement a nostalgic sodium-orange up and down the university district.

You fell into step beside him and his pace slowed slightly as the two of you walked in the northerly direction toward your separate houses. “I just,” you began, the words needling at the back of your throat like an itch, “wanted to say thanks—for speaking up for me back there.”

Seonghwa glanced at you briefly. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his cargo pants, keys clinking against his thigh with each step he took. “Oh. Well, it was kind of the bare minimum, and that dude was being a class A jackass, so…” his voice trailed off as he took a hand out to rub the back of his neck. He stole another glance at you. “Are we cool? I mean,” he amended, “are you okay? What he was saying was just” —he pushed out a sharp exhale— “not nice, as you said before.”

You pursed your lips in memory of Justin’s words to you. “Yeah, I don’t know. Of course, it struck a nerve at the time, but it was more so that I couldn’t believe that he was actually saying those words.” You laughed, the sound coming out breathy and incredulous. “He was not only stupid, but blatantly ignorant. He was entitled, insensitive, and a fucking piece of shit.”

“I won’t argue with any of that.”

“You better not,” you jested.

You nearly stopped in your tracks. Was this the first time that you and Seonghwa were conducting a conversation of this nature, ever? Of course, both of you had your share of asshole run-ins, but you were never close enough to really have a meaningful conversation about any of it—not the awful people in your lives, not the way your moms made you unofficial rivals, and not the fact that neither of you could get over yourselves for two seconds. It had to be that you were seeing him way more often this quarter compared to every other quarter. Yes, that had to be it.

The silence between you two became too comfortable. The warmth in the air was too comfortable. The oscillating distance between your bodies as you walked side by side was too…

You cleared your throat. “I would choose a nerd over a douchebag any day of the week,” you mused in an attempt to keep the conversation alive. Anything but whatever this was.

Seonghwa released a sound that was akin to a laugh or a choke; you couldn’t tell. “Right,” he murmured. He fiddled around in his right-hand pocket for a moment, and you could hear the fabric rustling. Then it stopped, his head turning away from you like he was changing his mind. “Not to agree with you three times in one day, Ln, but same.”

“High score?” you chimed in weakly.

He faced you again, the amber warmth of the streetlight becoming his backlight, a halo. You couldn’t see his expression clearly with the shadows in the way, but maybe there was a smile there that beheld a softness you didn’t want to believe in. “Yeah, sure. High score, you dork.”

There were moments in time when you decided to be a good person. Objectively, it was more accurate to describe yourself as a good friend—or if one wished to be even more particular—a doormat. Case in point: agreeing to run a phone down to the college’s natatorium when that very building was a good forty-five minute walk from your house on the opposite side of campus. If you took the bus, it might shave your estimated time of arrival down to twenty minutes, or increase it up to an hour, depending on the bus line. Even worse, temperatures were pushing the mid-nineties in Fahrenheit, and the phone's owner was none other than Park Seonghwa.

You were doing this for Mingi and the chocolate chip muffins his mom made—at least, that was what you were telling yourself.

The bus beneath you rattled and squealed with every stretch of road it traversed. Rather than cutting through campus itself, it made a grand loop around its perimeter, catching the students and faculty who were forced to trek to the further reaches of campus rather than its heart. You fiddled with the phone in your hands; his case was a chrome silver vinyl plastic mimicking a quilted fabric. It was an interesting choice, one that you yourself wouldn’t have made, but in your heart, you knew it certainly encompassed his tastes. You scrunched your nose up as you turned it around and the screen lit up, sensing the presence of a face in front of it.

The device didn’t accept your face ID, of course, but you were left staring at the notifications on it. There were one or two text messages from names you vaguely recognized, a message from some group chat labeled “PSYCH202,” and a notification from some mobile game. A thought popped into your head, and you slipped your own phone out from your pocket, weighing the two devices before you.

What were you called in his contacts?

Ding! —Your head shot up and your body jerked in reaction to a particularly rough pothole in the road. “Next stop: East Paradigm and New World Street.”

You twisted in your seat to yank the yellow cord hanging along the side of the bus, eliciting a softer ding! to echo throughout the vehicle, followed by the words STOP REQUESTED displayed at the front.

It was a sign, you decided, to not try your little experiment.

When the bus came to a teetering stop at the E. Paradigm and New World stop, you called out a thanks to the bus driver before taking off in the direction of the natatorium. There was a paved pathway that broke off from the main road and bordered by smartly-trimmed bushes. It wound down the hill, and framed the glorious face of the KQ University indoor pool perfectly. Its wave-like rafters created a lengthened dome akin to the back of a seashell. Between the sandstone frame were pieces of cerulean blue-tinted glass to compliment the off-white building. You did not often find yourself in this area of campus, but you couldn’t deny that the natatorium was a spectacle of its own.

There was a slight pang in your chest, something like nostalgia or bittersweetness—resonating and heavy. It came with that distinct, sinking feeling in one’s stomach of “what could have been.”

You entered into the front doors of the natatorium and sighed at the swath of air conditioning that fell over you. Curiously, there was no one stationed at the reception desk; your original plan had been to drop off his phone here and head out, but with no one present for you to hand it to…

“Great,” you muttered under your breath and made your way to the doors that led deeper into the building.

When you swung open this set of doors, however, your body seemed to deflate at the utter weight of damp, all-encompassing heat in the inner pool chamber. You heard in the winter, when the weather was frigid and snow littered the ground, the floors and pool water in here were actually heated. Why they did not think to turn off the heat during a goddamn heatwave was beyond you. The grander space reached high above your head with the most appropriate acoustics to echo the sounds of water splashing, whistles shrieking, and voices chattering. You brushed a hand through your hair as sweat already began to bead on the back of your neck—you had only been in here for two seconds.

Where the hell could he be? You scanned the immediate area, eyes darting to any male with dark hair and a punk attitude.

According to intel you’d gathered from friends over the years, Seonghwa worked as a lifeguard here. It made logical sense; he was a member of your high school swim team, but was not particularly interested in swimming competitively in the collegiate league. Lifeguarding was not only a good way to continue swimming, but it also provided him with an income and a Basic Life Support certification.

“Hey, you’re Yn, right?”

You blinked, turning to find a shirtless man walking up to you. He had dark hair, too, but none of that so-called punk attitude you were searching for. His abs though… You coughed and fixed your eyes firmly on his face… his bright, smiley face. “Do I know you from somewhere?” was what came out of your mouth instead of something intelligent.

To his credit, he only chuckled. “Kind of,” he said with a sheepish grin, “I’m Mingyu. I don’t know if you remember me, but I went to Pledis Academy.”

You rifled through the files of memories in your brain, referencing the name, the face, and the school. His face had grown more mature since you last saw him, but he was definitely no longer the scrawny swim star you remembered. Recognition flooded into you and a smile stretched across your face. “Oh, shoot! I do remember you, Mingyu, oh my gosh. How have you been? You look” —you regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth, and you awkwardly trailed off. Of course, he looked good, but that was not why you were here. Get it together!— “great,” you finished, clutching Seonghwa’s phone with both of your hands now.

Mingyu laughed again, ducking his head as he swept a hand through his hair. “Oh, thanks—and you, too,” he swiftly added. “I can’t believe we haven’t bumped into each other all these years.”

“Yeah, that’s crazy,” you agreed, nodding your head. “It’s a pretty big campus.”

“Right? But you’d think we’d see each other at least in passing or at parties,” he said. “I don’t know why I never saw you out with Seonghwa.” Mingyu froze, as if someone had just pinched him (probably his own conscience). “Are you two still—I didn’t know if you were still together or not—”

Your smile hardened into an awkward rictus. There were plenty of people who misunderstood yours and Seonghwa’s relationship, but Mingyu? He knew you both from your high school days, when you were undoubtedly more hostile toward one another. You were suddenly reminded of your primary purpose for being here. “Oh, uh, we were never together or anything,” you drawled. Before Mingyu or you could fully let the mutual uneasiness settle into the grooves and heat of this room, you piped up, “Speaking of: have you seen Seonghwa around? He left his phone” —you lifted the silver-quilt case up as evidence— “at a friend’s and I was asked to deliver it.”

“Ah!” Mingyu’s tell-tale signs of discomfort erupted right in front of our eyes, everything from his adorable stammering to the physical turning of his body as he searched for a way out of this conversation. “Rightrightright! I forgot that Yunho sent me a text as a heads up; it completely slipped my mind.”

The expression on your face softened in sympathy. “It’s all good,” you assured him. Your brows twisted together, though, as you walked back his words. “Yunho told you? I didn’t know you knew each other.”

He bobbed his head in an affirmative. “Yup. We met through Hwa in freshman year, actually.” Mingyu swiveled over his shoulder and leaned closer to you so he could point out the far end of the pool. “He should be over there.”

Oh, easy.

You followed Mingyu’s line of sight toward the far end of the pool, and had to catch your own jaw before it dropped. Nope, not so easy.

As a former member of your high school girl’s swim team, you were no stranger to seeing people come out of a pool; but one thing you had concluded about it was that there was no person on earth who could get out of a pool completely elegantly. So then why the fuck were you gawking at the way Park Seonghwa had just appeared out of the water? As soon as his dark brunet head broke the surface, he was brushing the water out of his eyes and sliding one hand over his face to drag any remaining liquid out of the way. The pool water slipping off the slopes of his muscular back gleamed in the clear sunlight that shone through the glass panels far above as he swam freestyle over to the edge of the pool.

You hadn’t even realized that he had something clutched in his hand, something that he was swift to pass over to a little boy and his mother crouched at the poolside. He nodded and smiled as the mother spoke to him, her hand tapping her son’s shoulder, likely to thank Seonghwa for his service.

With the mother and son pair walking off, he braced his hands against the warm pool deck and pushed himself up and out of the water. Pool water cascaded down each crevice and slope of his body, catching on the folds of his swim trunks and his stomach muscles, before smacking against the concrete. He easily swept a foot onto the deck to stand up, and he brought his hands up over his face and through his hair again.

His gaze lifted from the weight of yours, and you wondered why the hell the temperature of the room just shot up ten degrees.

“Oh, he’s seen us,” chirped Mingyu as you pointedly looked away. He began to wave at Seonghwa with that beam so akin to a golden retriever. “Hwa! Look who’s here!”

Yeah, I think he’s seen who’s here, you thought to yourself while mustering up your pride and swallowing everything else in your mouth down. What the hell was wrong with you? You’d seen drenched, shirtless guys before—you were freaking standing next to one already! Granted, he wasn’t drenched, but you had also witnessed Seonghwa in the pool plenty of times in high school. You needed to get a grip—

“Well, this is a surprise,” he said when he was within earshot. Droplets of water continued to run down the surfaces of his body and leave wet footprints in his wake. Seonghwa eyed you with the stoicism you were used to, one that almost broke you out of your flustered state. (It had to be the heat and humidity in here. It had to be.) He inclined his chin at you and folded his arms over his chest. “I’m guessing Mingi or Yunho sent you.”

“Yup.” You thrust out your arm to give him his phone. “It was for the chocolate chip muffins Mingi’s mom makes.”

Seonghwa’s eyebrows lifted, unimpressed. He didn’t take the phone. “Yeah no, I didn’t think you did it out of the goodness of your heart or anything,” he drawled and turned away. “You’re gonna have to hold it for a few more minutes, though; I need to dry off before I electrocute myself.”

You made a face at his back, and with a wave to Mingyu, you strode after him. “Hello? Dude, you know that’s not how it works.”

“Do educate me, Ln,” was his flippant response. He went straight for a small alcove in the far left wall, one with two doorways facing each other—a women’s and a men’s locker room. You halted abruptly when he did, his hand pressed against the door to the men’s side. He sent you a look and his mouth was curved in a half-smirk. “This is the locker room, by the way. If you want a peek, I think you should ask first.”

You could have choked on your own oxygen. “I—I knew that! And I didn’t want a fucking peek, you perv.”

He merely laughed and disappeared into the locker room.

You were left to your own devices in the diabolical humidity of the inner natatorium. Absent-mindedly, you lifted your hand up to feel the back of your neck, the sides of your face, before swearing at the warmth just beneath your skin. With Seonghwa deserting you to dry off and, hopefully, put on a goddamn shirt, (all for a phone) you found something to entertain yourself. There was a bulletin board tacked on the wall between the doors littered with a myriad of posters and flyers and schedules. A section of the wall was dedicated solely to a set of polaroid pictures of each individual staff member, Seonghwa included. (It was a decent picture of him—decent.) This seemed to be a trend for all the businesses associated with and surrounding the school.

Your eyes roved over the media with mild interest, tucking knowledge of an intermediate level water aerobics class held on Saturday mornings, and noting the old flyer for lifeguarding auditions forgotten on the board. As the summer break crept up on all of the students, faculty, and inhabitants of the university town, the pool here needed to prepare by training a new class of lifeguards.

Faintly, you heard the door to your left yawn open, then close with a soft thump. “Thinking of brushin’ up some skills?”

You glanced over at him before turning your attention back to the poster you were reading. There was a light blue towel draped over one shoulder, his bare chest barely covered by a black tank top, and his dark hair still appeared slightly-mussed, the strands arranged in artful chaos. “Nah,” you said, “just curious. I'm not here much.”

“I know.” He stepped closer and stood beside you, sharing your view of the board.

The heat from his skin radiated against your arm and you fought the urge to lean toward him. Why would you want to go closer to more warmth anyway? You cleared your throat, passing his phone between you two a second time. “You should be glad I don't show my face here a lot. I might embarrass you in your own element,” you jested as he finally accepted his device from you.

A low chuckle slipped from his mouth. “You think you're so funny, huh?” he mused.

You were one breath away from whipping back something smart—or something stupidly obvious like “Because I am”—until his body casted a shadow over you. Sunlight had no choice but to gleam around the sides of his head and broad shoulders. Your breath caught in your throat, prey in a metal trap, as he leaned closer. (Prey had more survival instinct than you, at this moment.) Every contraction of your thoracic cavity was shallow and strained, lungs filling with the scent of him, all chlorine and sweat and musk.

“What—”

“Do it then,” he murmured, mouth level with your ear, “embarrass me.”

Then he grabbed the clipboard from behind your head and straightened as if nothing happened.

Your mouth went dry, and you swallowed to hopefully regain some of your dignity. What the hell… The words that you so easily wielded in his presence had retreated to the recesses of your brain, tucking themselves behind the featherlight weight of his breath at your ear and the heat of his gaze. Cowards.

Seonghwa cocked a brow at you as he flipped past one of the sheets of paper on the clipboard. “I know I’m pretty to look at, but don't you have places to be?”

Fuck, did you have places to be? “Right,” you drawled, making a show of squinting one eye at him. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of your face from your hairline, and his eyes lifted from the clipboard momentarily. You instinctively swiped the droplet away; you needed to get out of this infernal torture chamber. “Bye, I guess. Also, keep an eye on your fuckin’ phone, dude. This is the only time I’m playing Delivery Girl.”

He leaned against the alcove wall as you began walking away, his arms folding over his chest. “Yo, Ln.”

You threw him a look over your shoulder. “What is it now?”

“What time do you work until tonight?”

The question nearly had you running into some kid in an inflatable duck floatie. Your eyes widened as he swerved around you, and you parked yourself to the side of the room, as far away from the edge of the pool as you could. Your face contorted into confusion. “Who wants to know?”

Seonghwa said, “Hongjoong does.”

“Then Hongjoong can text me like a normal person?” A frown etched itself onto your face. You had no quarrel with Hongjoong, even if he sustained the tiff between you from last Saturday’s party. It was strange, though, that Hongjoong would think to get this little tidbit of information through Seonghwa of all people. Weird connections were being drawn in your head, and you weren’t sure what to make of them. “Whatever. Tell him that I get off at nine.”

He sent you a small salute before hooking the clipboard back into its place on the wall. “Aye-aye.”

You shook your head as you walked off, careful to avoid any wet puddles left in the textured concrete. Today was strange, to say the least; it had to be the heat.

You spoke too soon. The day only grew weirder.

“Good evening, Aurora County! Seems to me like we’re not quite out of the woods with this summer storm.” There was a crackly laugh cutting through the decade-old speakers in your earbuds before Aurora County’s favorite (and only) weatherman continued, “We’ll be braving another bout of showers tonight, and then it should be clear skies and beach weather here on out ‘til June—”

“—and then he said to me, ‘I don’t really go on dates with nerds!’” you recalled in a voice that was deeper and more stupid-sounding than your normal voice. Your hands gesticulated in time with your narration, fingers waving around to overstate the complete absurdity of it all.

Kim Doyoung, your senior and the tutoring partner who got stuck with you on this late, rainy night shift, twisted his facial muscles into the dictionary definition of disgust. You wondered what one had to do to gain facial flexibility the way Doyoung could scrunch up his entire face like so. “No fucking way.”

“Yes fucking way!” you exclaimed and threw your hands into the air. The movement ripped your earbuds from your ears, and you discarded the wires in a haphazard heap on your laptop keys. There was no use in keeping quiet; at this point, the two of you had Quill Library all to yourselves, unless you counted the student librarians chained to their reception desks in the lobby. “And you know what’s crazy? Guess who was sitting right next to us.”

Doyoung’s eyes were so wide, you could see your reflection in the whites of them. “Who?”

“Seonghwa—and that girl from Seulgi’s party on Saturday!” At this point in the evening, Doyoung was caught up on all of your so-called “lore” from this past week. You nodded your head with vigor when he started slapping his leg. “Exactly. And when this asswipe says his piece, both me and Seonghwa say at the same time, like, who said this was a fricking date? Then, Justin starts getting on Seonghwa’s case, for some reason, and I snap at him. He says some bullshit about why it was called matchmaking if this isn’t a date, and Seonghwa reminds him that the flyer actually says ‘friendship bracelets’ instead.” You gestured with your hand, adding, “Of course, with more snark.”

“But of course,” Doyoung replied with a downturned mouth. He took a sip from his thermos, wincing at the steam wafting out of its mouth. How that coffee was still scalding after four hours was a mystery to you. “Wait, so Seonghwa spoke up for you?”

“Yup,” you said. You leaned your cheek against your fist as his question fully digested. “I guess it’s a little strange to think about, considering what you already know about our relationship. I mean, we kind of talked about it afterward and it felt weird to actually agree on things, for once.”

In an action that nearly had your eyes bulging out of your head, you watched Doyoung return his thermos to the table and place his hand on your shoulder. “Yn, I might need to hold your hand while asking this…”

Dread was the weight of an iron anchor sinking in your gut. It festered there, rusting, and it took far too much energy to haul it up out of the water. You grimaced, glancing at the hand on your shoulder, then back at him. “Please don’t.”

“Don’t you think you guys could actually get along if you got over yourselves?”

You blinked at him. “Is this a genuine question?”

His expression dropped into a deadpan in time with his hand slipping off your shoulder. “Yes, and I want a genuine answer.”

“Ah.” You scratched at your jaw, then reached over to pause the video that you abandoned earlier. You were tempted to make the joke of how The Emotionally-constipated Doyoung was actually prompting an emotionally intelligent conversation, but the thought dashed away as you fell into the gravity of his question. “Sincerely? Yeah.”

It had never been a question of whether you and Seonghwa could get along; it was simply that the dynamic between you had been tainted from the start.

You saw the lines of his face and the curve of his posture soften. “Then why don't you?”

You pulled your eyes away from him at the sensation of heat crawling up your neck. That was embarrassment in tangible form, your nervous system coming up to bat. “It’s complicated,” you said, and quickly tacked on, “and that's not a copout answer. It legitimately is like” —your mouth shut. How were you supposed to articulate this in a way that someone outside yours and Seonghwa's history could understand? “When we were younger, I couldn't see him as anyone but the person my mom thought was always better than me. It… screws with you, y'know? And it's not fair to Seonghwa or me that that is how we grew up looking at each other, but—I dunno. Our dynamic has always been like a cat fight and it feels weird if we're not at odds.”

“Because being each other's competition is what feels natural.”

Your head dipped. “Yeah.”

Doyoung loosened a sigh from the back of his throat and he shifted in his seat. “And you've never… thought about being friends with him? Bonding over that mutual pressure?”

“Not really,” you confessed. “When you're a kid who just wants your parents to be proud, you do what you have to. There were moments I saw him as someone other than the physical rendition of all my mother's expectations and my nightmares, though. I mean—we still grew up together.” There was a laugh, and then your voice dropped off a cliff. You sat stock-still for a moment and let the epiphany swallow you whole.

Your counterpart allowed the silence of realization to engulf you. Seonghwa was your mirror image in more ways than not. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that you were both just kids at the time, and that ultimately, you had grown up together. (But now you were older. Would you continue to look at him and see the past, or could you make room for the man he was growing into?)

In the corner of your eye, you spotted movement. Both you and Doyoung turned to the entryway of this area in the library, and it was as if the universe was about to call you out on your thoughts.

Doyoung looked back at you with wide eyes. “Speak of the Devil,” he whispered, head whipping back in Seonghwa’s direction, then to you.

You wanted to slap your hand to your forehead. “Please be chill,” you groaned quietly to him. Over Doyoung’s shoulder, you watched Seonghwa quietly take a seat on the outskirts of the seating area, furthest from where yours and Doyoung’s table was. Wait, wasn’t it Hongjoong who asked what time you got off work tonight? You peeked over at the time in the corner of your laptop—8:24PM. Huh.

For a minute or two, you and Doyoung simply let the clock tick away in silence.

Then there was a nudge at your arm. “Go ask him if he needs help.”

You jolted. “What? He doesn’t need help—trust me,” you hissed back. “He already took Gen Chem in freshman year and passed with flying colors.”

“I hate that you know that.”

Oh. You pursed your lips together. “Yeah, me too.”

Doyoung sighed and it was loud enough to echo against the high ceiling. He spun your chair around and practically shoved you out of it. “You've been deployed, Yn.”

“This is abuse of power,” you muttered, but gathered your body, ego, and all other accompanying parts, and rounded the table. You could not comprehend why your heart rate began to crescendo with each footstep you took in Seonghwa's direction. There had never been this kind of hesitation before—an uneasiness of suddenly being aware of too much—only an insistent balking to interact with the bane of your childhood.

Seonghwa didn't look up until your shadow sliced over his notebook page. It almost made your eyes twitch. “Funny seeing you here,” he drawled as he leaned back in his seat to peer up at you.

You arched both of your brows, unimpressed. “There is a distinct lack of Kim Hongjoong, I see,” you said and gestured around at the nearly-empty room.

“Yeah, well, he had a conflict.”

You rolled your eyes and slid into the seat across from him. “You could've just asked me. Y'know, like a normal person.”

“Sure I could've, Ln.”

“Anyways,” you muttered, scratching your head and then gesturing behind you in Doyoung's direction, “my senior's tasked me with seeing if you need help with anything. I told him you probably don't, because this is a general chemistry tutor session and—”

“Soyeon says you got full marks on the Krebs Cycle portion of the midterm.”

The words that just spilled out of his mouth were experiencing a traffic jam when entering your brain. When did he and Soyeon talk about that? Why would Soyeon tell him that? And why would he—it hit you.

Your face must have said it all, because Seonghwa was already taking up a defensive position by folding his arms over his chest. “Don't make a big deal out of this.”

You pressed a finger to your lips. “I'm not,” you swore, then lowered your hand to lace with the other over the table. You were telling the truth, as surprising as it was for both you and Seonghwa. In your youth, you would have been flooded with jubilation at the news that you excelled where he underperformed. But as you sat across from him in the harsh library lighting, you felt nothing but a light ‘Oh.’

You were expecting the warm satisfaction in your chest, the smug contentment making your fingers jittery. Those sensations never came.

Not so important after all, huh?

The side of his cheek shifted like he was biting the inside of it. “So no snarky remarks? No celebrating?”

Were you really so bad? You shrugged. “If that's what you want, I'll provide it. But—you know…” you trailed off in thought, an absent-minded laugh tumbling out. “I don't think we've ever admitted to each other our shortcomings directly. They've only ever been told to us through other people.”

Seonghwa's arms uncrossed, expression softening. “Yeah,” he said. “Right.”

You pressed your lips together and nodded. “It's cool that you came to me for help, though. I think I had a dream about this once—”

“Don't push it, Ln.”

A grin split your face just then—a true moment of jubilation—and you could have sworn something flickered across his own face.

You didn't push it. Instead, you and Seonghwa hunkered down in the corner of the room for the next couple of hours breaking down the target section. In the quiet, abandoned floor of Quill Library, rain drummed against the windows plastered with the dark night. At some point, Doyoung excused himself to head home, leaving you and Seonghwa beneath the grating overhead LEDs and the scratchy handwriting on the notebook passed between you.

The clock hands struck about ten o'clock when you decided to call it quits. Rain continued to batter the streets of the KQ University campus, and you stood beneath the large, stone archway that led into the library, watching the glow of the lights from inside scatter across the drenched cobblestones.

Seonghwa yanked his jacket hood over his head. “Hey, come on, I'll give you a ride home,” he said to you, nudging your arm with the back of his hand before gesturing to the left.

You were not about to argue when it was pouring rain at ten o'clock and you were without an umbrella.

The two of you crashed into your corresponding sides of the car, breaths fogging up the windows and mirrors, seats and backpacks and skin damp from either sweat or rain. You shook any errant droplets out of your hair as Seonghwa cranked the engine on. His phone connected to the car radio the moment he began backing out from his parking space, and the vibrant instrumentals of a Bruno Mars song came grooving out of the speakers.

Seonghwa turned the volume down, and you leaned back in your seat and watched the streetlights blur like watercolors against the car window.

“Thanks, by the way.” The glow of the stoplight was crimson red across his face. “I found tonight really helpful.”

You pursed your mouth as you traded glances with him. “Yeah sure, man,” you said. “I'm glad you found it helpful. I think I'm just surprised you even—I dunno—asked me of all people.”

He passed you another glance as his visage turned bright green with the traffic light. “You know I respect you, right?”

“Are you okay?” you blurted out. “Like are you dying or something?”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes so hard, you were sure he could see his brain up there. If he wasn't driving, you knew he would be hitting his head against the steering wheel. “Good grief, Yn, I'm trying to be sincere.”

You coughed, shrinking down in your seat. “And I'm being sincere too,” you retorted. “We haven't been this civil toward each other since—”

“Never?” he offered.

“Yes,” you said. You shared yet another look before he returned his eyes to the road. Your own gaze went to the lone C-3PO figurine on his dash and you balled up your hands in your lap, wondering how they had gotten so clammy. “I—respect you, too.”

“How badly did it hurt to say that?”

Your head whipped around. “Now who's being the insincere one?”

Seonghwa chuckled and the corner of his mouth curled up. “Touché,” he said. “I’m being serious though. I wish…”

You swallowed as you stared out the front windshield. It didn't take a therapist to fill in the blank: I wish we hadn't started off how we did. I wish we grew up differently. I wish we had grown up as friends.

The car tires crunched slowly over the rainy gravel outside of your house a few minutes later. The front windows still emitted a warm, familiar light from within, signalling to you the consciousness status of some of your housemates. The windshield wipers continued to thunk, thunk, thunk away at the ceaseless rain against glass as you prepared yourself to cross the driveway without cover.

You stopped just as your fingers curled around the door handle. “By the way, isn't your guy missing his guy?” you asked, wagging a finger in the direction of C-3PO. You were, of course, referring to R2-D2, the blue and white droid renowned for its resourcefulness and adorableness.

Seonghwa shifted in his seat, eyebrows lifting in pleasant surprise at the question. “Oh,” he said, “well, I guess I just haven't found the right moment to get him.”

Ah. You tugged the door open. “‘Night then,” you chirped, and flashed him with the Spock salute.

“You're such a fuckin’ nerd, oh my god—”

You threw your head back in a cackle as you slammed the car door, then bolted for your front porch.

In the eleventh grade, you bombed a Science Olympiad competition. The Science Olympiad was a high school organization you had been a part of since the moment you stepped foot onto campus in freshman year. As a junior, you were a seasoned professional, an ace card in the deck, a valued player in the roster—until you fumbled every event at this specific meet.

To your credit, most of your teammates also met failure or mediocre success; but that was not something your mother cared about.

Park Seonghwa knew this fact like the back of his hand. He had recognized the sheer panic in your eyes during each event, the harried nature of each attempt to reconcile your mistakes mid-event, the defeat and anxiety pouring out of you in energy that could not be contained in that high-tension ball you called your body.

The bus ride home had been dead silent. The car ride in his mom's car was filled only by the muffled sounds of the world passing by. The worst part was seeing you at school the day afterward. You didn't only look exhausted, you looked sapped—of energy, a will, everything. He never said anything; he didn't have the heart or the balls to.

When the clock hit four on the dot, marking the beginning of after school practice, Seonghwa gathered in room A08 along with the rest of your teammates. He barely tuned into whatever the president was saying because your seat across the room was empty and they were taking roll call.

“I'll go look for her,” he offered as soon as your name was called. His stomach twisted into a painful knot, knowing. Maybe you weren't friends, but it didn't mean he couldn't try to save you some dignity. Seonghwa was already up and out of his seat before anyone else could acknowledge or offer assistance.

There were a myriad of possible places you could be and he would check all of them, barring the girl's bathroom. You had to still be on campus, though, because he saw your bike still locked up when he passed by. You would not have gone home at this hour—at least one of your parents would be home, thus, making it the last place you wanted to be. Minutes flew by as he zipped around different spots on campus. He peeked into other open classrooms, asked your band friends if you were in any parts of the music building, and ducked into alcoves around school grounds. The couple of times he called your number, it went to voicemail immediately; there was no point in trying to text you.

When he reached the swimming pool on the far end of campus, his hopes were not high. He had even broken a sweat, the skin beneath the collar of his hoodie warm and damp from perspiration. You had quit the girl’s swim team last year after an incident with the asshole coach, and it didn’t make much sense that you would hide here of all places. Seonghwa was in no place to judge you for quitting, but your parents miraculously accepted it as long as you took up another extra-curricular. From what he heard, you were tutoring now.

As he stepped foot onto the barren, outdoor pool deck, he paused just as he opened his mouth to call out your name.

The sound of a gasp cleaved through the air—not a gasp of surprise, but a gasp for air. A broken sob rattled after it, followed by another, and another, a cascade of ruin and emotion that no one needed a label for.

Seonghwa froze in place. The distinct feeling that he was intruding swept over him. What if it’s not her, he thought and slowly crept closer, toward the sound. He would make sure that you—or whoever it was—was alright.

But as he took his measured steps, he spied a familiar head of hair around the furthest corner of the locker rooms building. He recognized the red stripe running down your track pants, the pair that you wore on Thursdays when you had your racquet ball class. Your shoulders trembled like a city on a fault line, a fissure in the earth that was once the unbreakable resolve he knew you to possess.

He had never seen or heard you cry before, let alone like this—like every single pressure point had conspired together to finally make you crack. He despised it, hated it. Out of all the people he knew, he never believed you could be broken.

Seonghwa backed away. He didn’t make his presence known to you and he would never bring it up again. This was your private moment; he was probably the last person you wanted to see. He made his way back to the meeting room with a discomfort filling up his chest, and that presented itself outwardly as solemnity.

His teammates all glanced up at his return, and the president asked, “Where is she?”

“She’s fine,” Seonghwa replied while sliding back into his seat. “She just needs a minute.”

“But we have to tighten up on practice—”

Seonghwa’s expression hardened. “Give her. A Minute.”

The president’s mouth snapped shut, and nothing further was said on the matter. However, fifteen minutes later, heads turned again to watch you stumble into the classroom while wiping your cheek, your eyes no longer red and your breathing back to normal. Seonghwa tried not to stare as you muttered out an apology and took your seat across the room from him. You shouldn’t have to apologize, he thought.

He tried not to flinch when he remembered what your crying sounded like; tried not to let the anger he harbored at your mother fester into his own tone when he spoke; and tried not to mention at all that he had caught you at a moment of weakness, because if there was anything that would make you feel worse, it would certainly be that.

There were many things you could read about Jeon Soyeon. After living with her for a solid three years and suffering a glorious amount together through the trenches that were pre-medicine weedout classes, one might say you forged a bond only few could relate to. It was one of the primary reasons you believed that she had been itching to ask you something for an entire week.

You broke away from the lineup of dish detergents on the shelf before you, their rainbow of labels plastered with claims of killing 99.9999999% of grease molecules on your dishes to varying degrees of truthfulness. “Alright,” you said, whirling on your friend and roommate, which caused her to freeze up like a deer in headlights. “Just spit it out already.”

Soyeon’s hands lifted in surrender. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Do not make me resort to unsavory methods.” The bright white LEDs above your head washed the entire store in their light, illuminating the company’s specific shade of red plastered on the walls to contrast the white of everything else.

“It’s just that…”

“Uh-huh,” you muttered, turning back to the shelf to pluck your house’s choice of dish soap from the shelf. The translucent blue liquid sloshed inside with a slightly higher viscosity than water, but looser than hand soap. You dumped the bottle into the red basket hanging from your arm filled with the other items you and Soyeon were tasked with retrieving by your housemates.

“Doyoung told me that Seonghwa came to the tutor center during one of your shifts last week.”

You paused in the middle of the aisle, then recovered your stride and continued out into the main walkway. Was everybody talking to everybody but you, all of a sudden? “Yeah,” you drawled, sending her a narrowed-eye look from over your shoulder, “and by the way, I can’t believe you told him that I got the entire Krebs Cycle section right.”

Soyeon deadpanned at you and fell into step beside you as you began to wander in an aimless direction around the store. “In my defense, he asked first! I had a feeling about his score, and you know that I’m not gonna miss out on a chance to brag about my friend, so I told him about just that section.”

In truth, you weren’t upset that Soyeon disclosed this information to Seonghwa. Of course, it would have been different if you hadn’t done as well on that section, but it ultimately led to that strangely civil evening between the two of you. Since then, there had been two weeks’ worth of society gatherings and Trivia Nights, all of which passed by relatively normally, excluding the fact that the jabs you and Seonghwa exchanged were a little less biting. Not that anyone had pointed it out yet though.

You made a turn into one of the many toy aisles in this section of the store. “So what about the tutor center?” you asked, beelining to the Lego sets on the shelves.

“Getting you guys to talk about your feelings about each other is like pulling teeth,” she groaned behind you.

“I mean, a straightforward question helps,” you mused. (‘Straightforward,’ you advocated for, until someone like Jeong Yunho asked you the most straightforward question known to man and you declined to answer in exchange for a tequila shot.) You shoved your hands into the pockets of your shorts and eyed the Lego replicas of real life items: a typewriter, a flower vase, a human-sized Boba Fett helmet—

“Well, have you ever thought that you’re projecting your attraction for Seonghwa as a dislike for him instead?”

Your hand came to a stop. (Was there a tequila shot you could drink now?) What was with everyone asking you about your relationship with Seonghwa lately?

“See!”

“No, no, no—I can answer this! I can answer this,” you spluttered out defensively. You could see Soyeon bracing her hands on her hips next to you while you maintained your focus on the number of Lego bricks labeled on a box. “I can’t believe I’m being interrogated in a Target shopping aisle,” you muttered under your breath, blowing an errant piece of hair out of your eyes.

“Okay, I don't think I've ever thought of it in that way. Maybe there's some cognitive dissonance there with associating him with a lot of the negative things in our past, but—I don't know! He’s… sure, I think he is an objectively decent guy, but he’s not my type.” When you faced Soyeon, she had her arms crossed this time, an eyebrow arched. “I’m guessing you don’t agree,” you huffed.

“I really don’t want to bring up your Hinge history” —you opened your mouth to fire back a retort, but she held up her hand to stop you— “and I won’t. But consider that maybe your obsession with the two of you being in the same league has a deeper meaning than simply his being the bane of your childhood. Like, you guys have so much common footing, and I’ve gotta be honest, girl—you look at him and talk about him a lot.”

Your mouth curved into an elongated frown. You didn’t look at him ‘a lot,’ right? Not so much that it was obvious… right? If anything, the reason you looked at him so much was because—well, even you couldn’t come up with a bullshit excuse for that one. If you supposedly couldn’t stand the sight of him, then why were your eyes always drawn to him like a magnet with the force of the Earth’s poles? Even gravitational acceleration could not beat the speed at which you found him in a crowded lecture hall.

The loud buzzing of a phone tore through the white noise buzzing from the overhead lights. It made you jump out of your skin, and you fumbled around in your pockets to take out your phone.

The caller ID glared up at you like the universe’s favorite joke: Park Vader.

Soyeon peered over your shoulder and snorted. “I forgot you called him that; you’re such a dork, Yn.”

“What?” you lamented. “I thought it was clever, ‘cause he was my sworn enemy!”

She shook her head to herself as she turned around and walked a straight line out of the aisle. That left you alone with the buzzing phone in your hands, the caller on the other side undoubtedly waiting, too. You couldn’t remember the last time you received a phone call from him. Was it that one time you lost half the group during a society outing? Or was it high school graduation when he couldn’t find where his parents had gone?

You brushed those thoughts aside and accepted the call. “Hello?”

“Hey, are you free right now?”

“Uhh yeah,” you dragged out, peering around you for anyone in the vicinity. You kept the call off speaker despite no one being near. “Did you need something?”

The sounds of paper flipping and crinkling met your ears through the speaker. In your mind’s eye, you imagined him propped behind his desk and rummaging through his notebook graffitied with ballpoint pen. “That question about which substrate the antagonist functions most closely to…?”

Your brain flicked on its lights and you mentally rifled through the files labeled with ‘Biochemistry.’ Something caught your eye at the other end of the aisle, and you tucked the phone between your ear and shoulder. “Oh,” you said, “it’s succinyl-CoA because the compound inhibits the formation of citrate. The other options can be involved in the inhibition of the Krebs Cycle, but ultimately, succinyl-CoA is the only one that’s involved with the actual condensation into citrate.”

A sigh erupted from his end of the call, his breathy tone tickling at your ear and making you think of the goddamn natatorium. He was quiet for a second as you scoured the shelves lined with Lego figurines of characters from movies. The dull scratching of his ballpoint pen was loud enough for his microphone to pick up; it was a soothing sound.

“I probably could have known that from straight-up memorization, huh,” he finally said.

You removed a box with an R2-D2 figurine from its hook. “Maybe,” you conceded. “You can only memorize so much until it gets to a point, y’know, where knowing the basics and applying them is more useful than committing every little detail to memory.” Five bucks? This tiny thing should be two dollars maximum, you thought, but tossed it into the basket anyway.

He must have heard the resounding crash of weighted cardboard and gravity, because he was quick to pipe up, “Where even are you right now?”

“Target,” you answered simply. “Soyeon’s somewhere around here, too.” The statement was paired with a swivel of your head—wherever she had wandered off to, you hadn't a clue.

“Oh, did Seulgi make you guys go get stuff for the car wash thing tomorrow?”

“Nah, this is all Lillian's doing,” you replied with more mirth than resentment. “Errands in exchange for coming to support us by bringing her minivan tomorrow.”

An indignant sound crackled into your ear. “That's gotta be cheating.”

“Sorry, that I have friends, Park,” you quipped back, snickering. “Get ready to have your ass handed to you.”

“By you? Not a chance.”

You hummed absentmindedly, dallying toward the end of the aisle to begin your search for your friend. “Not by ‘chance,’” you corrected, “but by the army of our girls in bikinis.”

“Is that including you?”

You made a face. “Duh. Wait why—”

A chuckle resonated through your ear, the heat from your phone meshing with the warmth in your cheek. “See you and your bikini tomorrow, Ln.”

“Seonghwa, what the—” He hung up.

Your face ignited as you ripped the phone out from between your ear and shoulder. As expected, the End Call screen grinned back up at you. There was no way you heard what you thought you heard… but then again, there had been the pool before that, and the other car ride way before that…

Soyeon appeared from around the corner with her phone facing upward as if she herself was just on a call with someone. She peered at you curiously, her brows crinkling together. “Are you okay?”

“I think Seonghwa's been flirting with me, Soyeon,” you said. The phone was still hot in your hand. His goddamn contact was still on the screen.

She raised her hands up to the ceiling as if in prayer. “Oh, thank Mother Seulgi, you're finally awake.”

Seulgi's cul-de-sac was busier than Greek row during Rush.

Perched up high in her second story bedroom window, you could breathe in the expanse of bodies milling about, the cars slowly rolling into the dead-end street, and the dozens upon dozens of buckets and sponges piled high with mountains of soap suds. The pre-health society's car washing fundraiser was well under way, even beneath the scathing wrath of the late spring sun.

“Good morning, Aurora County!” you heard the weatherman's voice carry through one of Seulgi's roommate's radios in the house. They were probably holed up in their room down the hall, deep in a cat nap and unaware of the party around them. “Well, it's gonna be another hot one today. Temperatures are looking to soar to the mid-nineties and hundreds by late afternoon. Make sure to stay hydrated and apply that sunscreen, folks!”

You had been finishing up with some preparations inside the house while everyone else was busy getting the event started. You might have missed the moment everyone tore off their shirts and hosed the first car, but there was plenty of time for one more.

Every conversation that had transpired last night replayed freshly in your mind as you sped down the stairs and out the front door. If you were to be wholly honest, you weren't sure where your head was. This was new to you—the idea that the tension between you and Seonghwa could be anything but a rivalry. Your pulse throbbed at the junction of your throat and jaw, your palms clammy as the midday sun roasted you from even the shade of the porch.

“Yn! Get your butt down here!” came Chaeryeong's shout, her arm flailing around to beckon you over to the Chevy SUV at the mercy of her water gun.

Soyeon cupped her hands around her grinning mouth: “And take that shirt off before I do it for you!”

You let out a loud laugh, descending the porch step by slow step, teasing your fingers at the hem of your T-shirt. “Don’t any of you have manners? Where's my 'please?’”

“Please” —your head whipped over to find Wooyoung lounging in a nearby lawn chair, his shirt unbuttoned and splayed out on either side of him, eyes boasting a pair of heart-shaped glasses, and shooting you a toothy grin— “take your shirt off. For me, of course, and definitely not for anyone else.”

You guffawed, fully amused. “For you, and only you, my friend.”

“That is the goddamn spirit—oop! Gotta go!” Wooyoung rocketed out of the chair as Seulgi came barreling out of the garage fifteen feet behind him, a menacing scowl fixed on her face and a slipper raised over her head.

“Get to work, Jung Woooyoung, or so help me!” Seulgi huffed as she stood on the lawn just before you, hands braced on her jean short-clad hips. She turned halfway toward you. “Ready to rake in some money, Yn? Taeyong and the boys have gotten a headstart, but it won't help them for long,” she said, the grin on her face filled with more teeth than sportsmanship.

“Yes, ma'am,” you chirped dutifully.

She pointed in the direction of a cobalt blue sedan rolling into the lot near the entrance of the cul-de-sac proper, where you saw Lia already stationed. You sent her a salute, stole a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses off a nearby table, and jogged across the street toward Lia. The latter gladly welcomed you to the area she affectionately called “The Griddle,” thanks to the fact that she was in the flat, open expanse of the street. Her only reprieve was the big, floppy sun hat crowning her head and maybe the clipboard tucked under her arm.

She waved over the sedan to an open spot in front of one of the other houses, and to your surprise, as they rolled down the window, you were met by a familiar face.

“Long time, no see, Mingyu,” you greeted pleasantly, leaning over the window sill. You nodded in hello to the guy sitting in the passenger seat, as well.

Mingyu beamed with a kind of boyishness that made you nostalgic for high school, a rare feat. “Hey, Yn,” he said. “My friend Seungkwan and I thought we'd come to support.”

Seungkwan, the passenger, waved to you with a bright energy. “Nice to meet the girl Mingyu hasn't stopped talking about.”

“Aish—shut up, dude!” Mingyu stammered, cheeks darkening from his friend's exposé.

You giggled, the sound spilling out of your mouth from the slight second-hand embarrassment and feeling a little flattered. Sure, Mingyu was good-looking and seemed like a regular Prince Charming, but you weren't sure he was someone you were interested in at this moment. (Or was exactly your type, as Soyeon would say.) Your smile was cordial, bordering on polite. “Ah well, thanks for coming out to show your support. We really appreciate it.”

“Of course!” he was quick to recover. “Do you guys want us to sit outside and wait, or…?”

“Either is fine,” you said with a shrug and took a couple steps back toward Lia. You needed to locate a bucket and sponges and maybe even a hose before you could get started. “Make yourselves comfortable, guys.”

You shimmied your way over to Lia's side. “Hey, is there any extra soap and water around here?”

Lia hissed through her teeth and tapped her chin with the back of her pencil. “Ooh,” she murmured, “you know what? Let me find someone who can get you that—”

“I got it, Lia.”

Your heart palpitated, your lungs seized. For some reason, his voice sounded rough around the edges, and there were only so many instances when you could use heat as an excuse for delusions like this. You swore to god that Park Seonghwa just appeared out of nowhere, setting two buckets of sudsy sponges at your feet, but not before peering at you through long lashes with the intention to make you feel warmth from a source other than the sun.

His shoulders were already well bronzed in his tank top, the fabric loose to give his skin room to breathe. He carded a hand through his damp hair and looked you up and down. “I was promised a bikini.”

You blinked, and for a moment, you nearly forgot who you were. The attitude came zipping back in a second. “Actually, you were promised a proper beating.”

“I could deal with that, too,” he drawled back, arms braiding across his chest.

(Lia quietly excused herself, likely to go run off in Soyeon and Seulgi's direction with the freshest of news. It was almost too easy to give you both privacy; how obsessed did you have to be with one another to forget that the world continued on when you were together?)

You flashed him a saccharine smile and bent slightly to pick up the buckets he’d delivered. “Well, thanks for the stuff. I'm gonna go clean Mingyu's car now.” Before he could even process what you said, you were already walking yourself back in the direction of your assigned car. Somewhere behind you, you registered the sound of Yeosang calling out for Seonghwa to help with a new car coming in.

When you reached the sedan again, you set the buckets by the driver’s side, the car now left to its own devices while Mingyu and Seungkwan loitered on the curbside nearby.

“Yn, d’you need help?” Chaeryeong jogged over in her sandals and flipped her hair over her shoulder with a big grin on her face. The water gun she wielded earlier had disappeared.

“Definitely,” you said back, nodding. You took the heart-shaped glasses off and handed them to her. “Hold these, please.”

Your fingers once again met the bottom hem of your T-shirt. A familiar sensation warmed at the side of your head akin to a light burn. Your eyes wandered in the direction of the stare that seared into you, and your pulse throttled up against your skin when you made eye contact with Seonghwa from across the street. He had the door of his newest vehicle propped open and half his body drenched from chest to waist already, but he halted any activity as if he sensed what was about to happen.

You didn’t know what was wrong with you, but you held his stare while you tugged your shirt up and over your head. Immediately, your skin breathed a sigh of relief at being freed from the fabric incubator that was your cover-up. You tossed the garment onto the side of the road where a drink cooler had been left.

Chaeryeong suddenly coughed and leaned toward you, passing the sunglasses back into your hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Seonghwa look so intense.”

That phantom burn continued to flare against your head. You stole a quick glance back in that direction, your heart rate rocketing when you caught the way his eyes flickered over the expanse of exposed skin framed by a baby blue bikini top.

“Then you should see how locked-in he gets when doing exams,” you joked to Chaeryeong. It was a pathetic attempt at dismissing the fluttering in your stomach.

She shot you a look, her mouth pursing. “No, girl, I think he wants to do you like one.”

If there was one way to get you to shut up with haste, it was that. Your jaw snapped shut before it could fully unhinge. No way. Nowaynowaynoway—you hiked your sunglasses up on top of your head to push your hair out of your face. All of a sudden, you were hyper-aware of the presence across the street from you; and for the first time, it wasn’t because you were solely looking to school his ass at something. When had you become so conscious about him looking at you?

You forced the thought to the back of your mind; in fact, you shoved it under a mental floorboard, hammered it in with a mental nail, and draped a mental rug over it. There were more important things to deal with at present and who were you if not a champion of absolute focus?

It truly proved to be a challenge for your mental faculties. As the late morning simmered into high noon, you and your society-mates must have cleaned about a few dozen cars. If the pre-health society did not collect at least a couple thousand in donations by the end of the day, you would declare your retirement. The heat was beginning to wear on you and everyone else, the sun’s rays beating down from above while the hot asphalt beneath discharged heat waves, completing a proper assault on two fronts.

You swiped the fat droplet of sweat rolling down the side of your face with your arm, despite it mixing with the layer of perspiration already settled atop your skin. You, Soyeon, and some of the other girls just finished up with a fraternity brother’s dirt- and dust-slicked truck, and were making your way back toward home base.

Soyeon slumped one of her arms around your shoulders before her head came tumbling down next. “Man, the tan lines we’re gonna end up with are going to be diabolical,” she whined. “And right before summer, too! What am I supposed to do in a backless dress and my body’s in three different shades?”

“I don’t know, but you’re still hot regardless of how many shades your body is,” you mused back with a cheeky grin. The two of you stood within range of the front lawn sprinklers, which had been so graciously activated by one of Seulgi’s housemates. You had already spotted some of the boys making full use of the cool water when they took their break earlier.

“Have I ever told you I love you?”

You chuckled and patted her head, your movements sun-soaked and lethargic. “Love you, too, babe.”

A high-pitched yelp pierced the air and the sound echoed against the surrounding houses of the cul-de-sac. You and Soyeon tracked the noise to the boys’ side of the street, where Wooyoung was scrambling away from the group like his ass was on fire, his hair and body dripping wet. The culprit, it seemed, was Yunho, of all people.

“Oh my god,” you mumbled, “who let Yunho have the hose?” A small chuckle left your throat as you watched the chaos unfold. The wicked, toothy grin slathered over Yunho's face was enough to tell anyone in the vicinity that he meant Business.

The trajectory of the hose spray continued on down the line before it reached the side of a black four-wheeler. Someone shouted from behind the trunk, before Seonghwa and Hongjoong emerged, their bodies sopping wet from head to toe.

“Yah! Jeong Yunho,” Hongjoong cried with a shaking fist before flicking off the water from his arms and legs.

But your attention fixed upon the man next to him with the magnetism of an MRI scanner to a slab of metal. You couldn't rationalize how the world slowed, but when Seonghwa yanked the black tank top—drenched and clinging to every crevice of his body—over his head, it definitely happened in slow motion. He shook out his dripping wet hair and scooped it backward and out of his face with one hand.

Your head whipped away before he could notice you were watching—or drooling, for that matter. (What was wrong with you? You swiped at the corner of your mouth to thumb away the saliva there.) If anyone asked, the reason your face and neck were so warm was because of the burning ball of plasma reigning over your heads.

You heard your name being called out from your left, and you and Soyeon waited for Seulgi to come to a stop by you both. “Hey, what's up?” you asked her.

There was a clipboard in her hand, similar to the one Lia had been holding onto earlier. “You remember where my laundry room is, right?” When you nodded an affirmative, she continued, “Would you mind doing me a huge favor and grabbing a stack of the smaller towels on the rack in there?”

“Oh, I'll go with you,” Soyeon piped up.

Seulgi made a sound that had both you and Soyeon freezing in place. A beat of silence passed between them, almost like telepathic communication.

“I just remembered” —Soyeon gave your shoulder a squeeze and began stepping away in the direction of a nearby cooler— “I was gonna go restock some of the coolers with White Claws. Sorry, Yn!”

“Thanks, Yn!” Seulgi chirped. “Remember that the laundry door has a weird lock—”

You sent her a thumb's up. “I remember,” you assured her, then made your way up the porch steps. You shook your head with a scrunched nose. That was… interesting.

The laundry room was infamous for its dysfunctional locking mechanism. You and the girls from the society had plenty of slumber parties in this house, and thus, knew very well that the laundry room in the basement would slam shut and jam on the inside. There was always a little doorstop to keep it open, but at times, the house's occupants would remove the doorstop if one of the machines were running.

You wormed your way through Seulgi's house toward the basement entrance, cutting beneath the stairs and into the house's foundation. The small fan blew out over the room with a gentle and low breeze, and afternoon sunlight poured in through the slim windows.

The laundry room door was tucked away on the far side of the room, and you paused just outside the door. Huh. It was closed.

Carefully, you pulled it open and peeked inside. No machine was running. You yanked the cord by the door to turn on the small strip light overhead; you couldn't spot the Ditto Pokémon doorstop either.

“Don't be stupid,” you muttered to yourself, and closed the door while you went around the basement to look for a replacement doorstop. You made a loop around the basement and checked the cabinets by the pool table, eyeing a folded chair shoved in haphazardly with the pool cues.

The chair was chosen, and you propped it open between the door and the doorjamb, preventing yourself from being locked inside. “Why is this door so goddamn heavy,” you pondered aloud, scrutinizing the way the weight of the laundry door pushed the folding chair until it was flush against the doorway.

Whatever. That would be fine for now.

You clambered in through the opening and went straight for the rack at the furthest end of the room. How many towels was Seulgi asking for? If it was the small ones, it might have just been for drying the cars, perhaps…

Your thoughts slowed as the sound of footsteps resounded against the basement stairs. You glanced upwards, then back toward the door.

Thunk, thunk, thunk—then, “Ln? Yn, you in here?”

Brows crossing, you straightened. “Seonghwa?”

Sure enough, Seonghwa's head of damp hair appeared through the opening. His gaze flickered from the chair between the door and the wall, then back up at you. “Seulgi said you might need help.”

“Oh.” So she didn't want Soyeon helping, but now Seonghwa was down here? There was something fishy going on… You turned back to the rack. “I mean, it's just towels.”

“Is there not a lot of them? She said there was a lot.” There was a soft shuffling sound, followed by a hollow clank as the chair was moved.

Shit. You whirled around, eyes widened as you watched him slip inside and set the chair aside. “Waitwait—don’t let it” —SLAM— “close!” A screech loosened from your throat as the wood vibrated from impact behind Seonghwa.

Your counterpart, to his credit, stood stock-still with his eyes blown wide. If he were a bunny rabbit, his ears would have been pressed flat against his head. “There… was a reason that chair was there, huh,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yes,” you sighed deeply. You dragged a hand down your face as you racked your brain for a solution. “It's fine. You didn't know about the door.”

“I'm sorry, I—that’s so stupid. Why haven't they called their landlord about this?” He rattled the doorknob to no avail, pink dusting his cheekbones as he tried to find some imaginary way out of the laundry room.

“Do you have your phone on you?”

Seonghwa patted his pockets, then groaned. “Fuck,” he swore, raking a hand through his damp hair, “I took it out of my pockets earlier because I didn't want it to get wet.”

Dread curdled in your stomach and you leaned your hip against the drying machine. “Same here.”

The two of you averted gazes as the reality of your situation sank in. Your only hope was the fact that both Seulgi and Soyeon knew of your whereabouts and were bound to come looking for you should you not turn up in a reasonable amount of time. For a moment, you tilted your head back and stared up at the popcorn ceiling. Out of all the people you could have gotten stuck with, of course, it would be Park Seonghwa.

Your conversation over the phone last night sparked in your head, along with the stares you had been exchanging all day. You glanced over at him, his bare back now pressed against the door as he stared at the floor in thought; but he raised his head to meet your eyes. “What?”

“Can you—can I ask you a question and will you answer honestly?”

He stared at you for a moment, then ducked his head. “Yeah, sure. Shoot.”

“Have you been… flirting with me?” As soon as the question left your mouth, you wished so badly to reel it back in. Oh, the utterly horrified tightening in your chest—was this a physical symptom of embarrassment?

The room was quiet enough to hear the muffled sound of the outdoor speakers driving their sound waves through the ground. You really hoped he didn't laugh. You wouldn't laugh if he confirmed it, but if he laughed, you would probably just about die of embarrassment. (But maybe you were willing to risk that. If what Soyeon talked to you about last night had any grounds, maybe there was a small part of both of you that was misinterpreting everything.)

Seonghwa's posture tautened and he pulled his shoulders back as if bracing himself. “Maybe I have been.”

“Oh.” You had not been expecting such a straightforward answer.

He seemed to register your daze in a certain way, and he began moving toward you. “Is that an issue for you?” he asked lowly, his head tilting to the side while he eyed you.

You cleared your throat, shook your head. “No,” you whispered.

“It's not?” he murmured. He was closer now, close enough that if you extended your arm, your fingers would press up against the broad expanse of his chest. “So you're not uncomfortable?”

“Uncomfortable? I wouldn't say uncomfortable,” you babbled as he took another step closer. “It's just that I'm not used to hearing something like that from you, addressing me—”

“So you're saying I should do it more often?” Seonghwa's lip twitched with the ghost of a smile. “To get you more used to it, I mean.”

When did this become an interrogation of you? Didn't you ask the first question? (Had he always been so close? You'd never seen abs this close before.) “Okay, stop!” You pressed your hands to his clavicle bones, and despite realizing you were touching the firm and bare flesh of his chest, you did not remove your hands. “What are we doing?”

He cocked his head to the side, eyeing you. The smile stopped ghosting you and curled up into his cheek. “We're having a conversation about flirting, Ln. Do keep up.”

You couldn't help yourself from rolling your eyes. It was like holding a lighter under a fuse, and you yanked your hands away from him as if you’d just been burned by a hot stove. “I'm flustered, not stupid!” you sputtered, fumbling desperately for an ounce of dignity because it had never been this easy for Seonghwa to get you like this, right?

“I never said otherwise,” he said, chuckling. His chin inclined at you, hands bracketing on either side of your body upon the washing machine your back dug into. “You’re a smart girl. What do the combined symptoms of dilated pupils” —his finger tapped the bridge of your nose— “rapid pulse” —another tap by your carotid artery on the underside of your jaw— “and shallow breathing” —a graze over your sternum— “suggest in this specific context?”

The answer materialized in your throat as a lump and you forced it down. Your eyes strayed to his mouth, unable to help yourself, but this action was swiftly mirrored by the man in front of you. In all the years you knew him, you had never seen him from this proximity before—you never let yourself. (Had his lips always been so pink?) Any attempt at closeness was always replaced by an exchange of barbed wits.

Your brain did the only thing it knew how to when it came to him. “God, you're such a fucking nerd,” you spat, then grabbed his face and kissed him.

He made a sound against your mouth—surprise, by the way his feet stumbled, knees knocking against yours and the washing machine—then recovered, leaning into you with purpose, hands finding purchase on the bare skin of your waist to yank you closer.

You decided he made the faint remnants of Coors Light on his tongue taste sublime. You suddenly couldn't get enough of it. Your arms hooked around his neck, fingers burying themselves in the hairs at his nape. Every cell in your body was geared toward this man, and this man only—your air exchanging with his, pulses pounding near in sync.

For once, your brain wasn't thinking. It wasn't thinking about what was happening outside that door, it wasn't thinking about how long you might be stuck in here, it wasn't thinking about ways to get out of here. Why would you want to get out of here? The heat conducted between your bodies could power the goddamn street for all you cared; the sensation of firm muscle against your stomach was enough to send you spiralling.

Seonghwa cupped the side of your jaw and coaxed your head back, your mouth further open. “Holy shit,” he rasped, voice worlds past Gone, then devoured you whole.

Holy shit, indeed. A whimper tumbled out from the back of your throat as you were pressed harder against the metal of the washing machine. Your mouths seared against one another like a brand, soft and breathy sounds seeping out from between you two, indistinguishable. Out of all the people in the world, how did kissing this man feel this right? Were some people just meant to ruin your life—ruin you—in more ways than one?

When you broke for air, his lips chased yours briefly, the string of saliva a physical attachment between you. For a moment, it was only heavy panting, eyes shut, noses bumping one another.

Reality did not settle like the hot humidity of summer on skin; it rolled in with the impending doom of thunder clouds. Literally.

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM—a herd of stomps shook the walls around you, then were quickly followed by knocks so horrendously violent, one might believe that there was a murderer on the other side. “Yn, Hwa? Are you guys alive in there?”

Why would they have the decency to knock? Hands went to Seonghwa's chest and you forced some space between you two. You avoided his stare as you furiously fixed your hair and willed your mouth to look anything but kissed. “Yeah, will you open the damn door, Yunho?”

The laundry room door was hauled open, and on the other side was a handful of familiar faces, all quirked into curious expressions as they peered into the small space. They took in both of your appearances—no one needed to say anything.

“Towels,” you said aloud, your brain finally toggling on. You whirled back toward the back shelf and began loading your arms with the small towels Seulgi had asked for. (There was a sense prodding at the back of your mind that she never really needed them, but you would choose to do anything rather than confront the decision you just made.)

Seonghwa called your name as you passed by. Your lips burned as you continued walking.

Seonghwa's head no longer housed a brain, but a film projector constantly rewinding and playing a specific, 15-minute cut.

The fundraiser had long since concluded with Seulgi and Taeyong comparing values to determine that the girls had indeed raised more money. Everyone was free to return home, or loiter around Seulgi's house like a bunch of freeloaders. Some, like himself and Hongjoong, decided to dip back home for a quick shower and a nap, then return in time to meet everyone back here for a movie.

You were not one of the people who returned.

He sat in the driver's seat of his car, a beaded bracelet warming in his palm. Every time he rewound the past, he came to similar conclusions: he egged you on, but you kissed him first. He reciprocated the kiss and he was sure you seemed into it. Maybe he had been wrong.

No matter what Hongjoong said to soothe his ego, Seonghwa was still left with this pit in his stomach. Should he not have touched your relationship? Since that night at the library, there had been less distance between you; he had been making progress. He needed to talk to you about it, perhaps apologize. You initiated the kiss, but you were allowed to change your mind. You were allowed to be swept up by the heat of the moment.

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment. When he opened them, he loosened his jaw with a sigh, tossed the bracelet into the cupholder, and replaced it with his keys. Go home, sleep on it, call her tomor—

The passenger side door opened and shut. The car filled with light notes of jasmine and bergamot and pear—the smell of summer and you.

He couldn't comprehend what was happening before you clunked something onto the dashboard next to his C-3PO. He blinked; it was a Lego figurine of R2-D2. (There went his steady heartbeat.)

You stared at the figurine you had placed, your hands settling into your lap. Your hair was still slightly damp, and the amber streetlight right outside your window casted a diabolically divine glow across your profile. “I thought it was time the spot was filled,” you said.

Seonghwa glanced between R2 and you. “Ah,” he replied, swallowing, “thanks.”

“I've always liked Star Wars better than Star Trek,” you blurted. “I just kind of… said all of that that one time because you seemed so on-edge about me being in your space.” You shook your head and picked at the skin on your fingers. “I don't know why I'm saying this.”

His brows furrowed slightly at your confession. This whole time… Why were you saying this now? The epiphany hit him in the chest, a blunt force that might have sent him stumbling if he were standing. There were so many layers to this confession. He looked at the R2 and C-3 figurines again; the pair was finally complete.

“Why didn't you tell me?” he inquired with a voice barely audible. It was one thing that you never outwardly judged him for his love of Star Wars or Legos, but it was another thing entirely that you claimed to be a Star Trek fan and allowed him to tease you.

“I convinced myself it was right for the time,” you said. A beat passed. “I'm sorry for basically running away earlier,” you continued on quietly. “I know I'm the one who kissed you first.”

“You don't need to apologize for that,” he murmured. “It all kind of happened really fast, and you know, it's okay if you didn't really mean it.”

Your head turned to look at him now—really look at him. He couldn't help but meet your gaze as opposite poles of a magnet did without fail. “I meant it. I don't know what it means, but I meant it. And I—liked it. A lot.” The latter was uttered with such fragility, such vulnerability; it was cupping a snowflake in your palms and hoping the natural heat of your body did not melt it.

(You had gone home earlier this evening to wash up and laid in bed with the taste of him taking up residence on your tongue. Staring at the ceiling had lost its appeal after the first hour, and it took the efforts of both Soyeon and Ronnie to drag you out of your mental prison.

“Did you like it?” they'd asked. “And don't say no just because it's Seonghwa and you have an ego; be honest with yourself.”

You sat there before them—scared, nervous, and embarrassed—but without a doubt in your mind as to the answer.)

Seonghwa wondered if you could hear the thrashing of blood in his ears like he could. He wondered if your heart pounded as vigorously as his did, if your mouth burned with the phantom of his, if you were confused by how you had gone on so long not seeing who was in front of you this whole time. (Because if he was being honest, you were the measure no one has been able to compare to in his head, in any capacity.)

“I liked it a lot, too,” he said. He would not let that snowflake melt, at least not by your hands alone.

Your eyes glimmered with silvery as they widened. “Oh.”

Seonghwa offered you a small smile, then cleared his throat as he remembered something. His eyes went to the discarded bracelet in the cupholder, and he fished it out with a sheepish wince. “I, uh, made you this awhile back” —he deposited it into your waiting palms— “'cause you weren't able to finish your own bracelet at the event.” Seonghwa had been fidgeting with that thing in his pocket that entire evening.

“So that's what you had in your pocket during the walk.”

He startled. “You noticed?”

The corner of your lip tilted upward into a semblance of a smirk. You scoffed. “I notice everything about you,” the words slipped out of your mouth before you could catch them.

The weight of them rested heavy upon both of you, but not uncomfortably. Seonghwa relished in the sudden way you avoided his eye contact, and he decided that one embarrassing line could be traded for another. He let out a small laugh. “I just chickened out because it sounded stupid to give it to you and say I wished we could start over.”

God, why did that still sound stupid? Everything coming out of his mouth was stupid. It was impossible to have a do-over with so much history between you two, but… wasn't it worth a shot?

You absentmindedly rubbed at the arrangement of beads and artful knots along the thread, your mind seemingly far away. He had made you a friendship bracelet, or was it a do-over bracelet, or was it far more complicated than either or those? “I don't think we could ever start over.”

His heart plummeted into his stomach. Right. Rightrightright.

“But I wanna try whatever this is.” You wrapped the bracelet cord around your wrist, looping it and tightening it to the perfect circumference. “I think we owe ourselves that much.”

A smile, so gentle and tender like the spring breeze, blossomed on his face. It was gladness in physical form. You couldn't help but break into a similar expression, and the thought occurred to him that you must have always had that smile. How could you know so much about each other and yet, nothing at all? What were you supposed to do with so much history?

It was a lot like layers of skin peeling away from a healing sunburn. All that damage caused over the years might take just as long to turnover, but who were either of you if not up for a challenge?

Not bad for a couple of nerds.

a/n: they tied for first place in the "who will get married first" debate by the way. pls remember to reblog + comment if u enjoyed !!

Not even a mile into the woods, blanketed in white, you already caught onto a trail. From what you remembered, it wasn’t out of the ordinary to find wildlife so abundant in these parts; you simply didn’t count on finding anything so soon. These tracks in particular were not as defined in the soft snow beneath your feet. However, you could make out the two toes and their heart-shaped nature by comparing the different prints.

There was no doubt about it. You’d stumbled upon a deer.

A familiar thrill rushed through your veins, the blood pulsating against the thin skin of your throat. The excitement that came with knowing there was an animal nearby was a feeling you hadn’t experienced in years. Your instincts were rusty, but they were slowly returning to you.

Your gloved fingers tightened around the neck of your bow. The crossbow your aunt and uncle owned remained in the warmth of the cabin—that was something you needed more time retraining yourself with. Your intention wasn’t to come out and hunt; your intention was to refresh your archery muscles, and maybe explore the surrounding woods a little. To actually find animal tracks though—talk about beginner's luck.

Eyes darting between the footprints and the surrounding area, you swiftly and carefully picked your way deeper into the forest. Your breaths came out in short, visible puffs, nearly blending in with the abundant snow. An overcast sky hung over your head, high above where the evergreens and birches stretched.

The tread marks you left behind were light, quiet. The snow was fresh from the night before, soft, not icy.

You told yourself you only wanted to see the deer. There was nothing quite like catching sight of one in the wild.

It wasn't denied to you for much longer, in fact.

Several meters ahead, you spotted the light brown fur of a doe. Her lean form was bowed toward a patch of grass sprouting up through the snow. There were delicate, little white spots dotting her side, not quite at her belly.

You kept your shoulder pressed to the nearest tree, the bark scratching against your jacket and your cheek as you marveled at the deer ahead.

You nearly jumped as the animal suddenly whipped her head up.

Your hand tightened on your bow, your entire body tensing to keep from making a sound. It was as if the deer had sensed you watching it, except…

Her head wasn't turned in your direction—she was turned slightly to your right.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood erect and a chill crept down your spine despite the thick jacket keeping out the winter cold. You turned your head in the direction of the doe's gaze, staring out into the white wintry woods.

What had she sensed?

It was as if the whole forest had gone silent while lying in wait. Or perhaps, even the birds had abandoned this neck of the woods, for fear of what predator they'd spied. Not a single chirp was heard nor breath was seen.

You and the deer held still for a moment.

And then another.

After the third beat of silence passed, you decided it wasn't worth finding out what an animal's survival instinct had picked up on. You tried not to make a sound while running back to the cabin.

Your estranged aunt and uncle had entrusted you with their cabin for a month. They were a couple whom your relatives enjoyed gossiping about, with the occasional comment about their reclusiveness and their “uncivilized” nature because they were hunters. You found it rather hypocritical, really. After all, several of them were trained to hunt, too, including yourself.

You kept in touch with your aunt and uncle the most out of your relatives, which was why you suspected you were their first choice to cabin-sit for the month of January. After a stressful season at your investment firm, you were ready to become your own sort of hermit in the mountains. Where else better than the secluded wintry wonderland of your youth?

The chains looped around your car's tires clinked together as you rolled into a parking spot along a curb in town. Your cabin was one of the farther ones out, but the drive into town wasn't terrible. The only issue would be if you were snowed in, but that was what the radios were for.

Despite the temperature being below freezing, the small town was a-buzz with people. They all seemed to know each other—waving hello, stopping to chat, helping one another on their way, and the like. Everyone in town was close-knit, including your aunt and uncle. It had been several years since you were last here; would any of them recognize you?

As the bell twinkled above the café door, warmth swarmed every inch of your exposed skin. The air was perfumed with the smell of cinnamon and butter, leading you straight to the counter as if you were hooked to a fishing line. Stepping inside was like being drowned in a cup of hot chocolate.

“Well, I'll be damned,” said a deep voice to your right.

Your head turned in that direction, tearing away from the baked goods behind the glass display. There was a blond young man seated on one of the stools at the counter, cheekbones smattered with freckles, lips stretched in a smile that glowed like the sun. You felt your memory twitch. He seemed familiar.

“I'm sorry,” you said with an awkward smile. “Do I…?”

The man's smile didn't even budge. In fact, it seemed to widen. “Is this what working on Wall Street did to you? Fry the memory of your old partner in crime right out of your brain?”

Partner in crime?

Then it clicked.

Your eyes shot wide open, and his own twinkled in a mischief that made you a little too nostalgic. “No way,” you gasped. “In my defense, I didn't expect you to look like a fried chicken, Felix.” The last time you saw him, his hair was still its natural color.

He threw his head back in a laugh before lifting his palms up in surrender. “Alright, fair enough,” he relented. He patted the open stool beside him. “Come, sit! It's literally been ages.”

“It definitely has been,” you agreed as you took the spot he offered up.

The older woman stationed behind the counter arrived before you, and you requested one of the pretty-looking raspberry danishes from the display, as well as a cup of coffee.

As she left to retrieve your order for you, you turned to Felix. “And by the way, I don't work on Wall Street.”

“All finance is the same to me,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and lifting his cup to his lips.

You shook your head, then thanked the woman as she set down a piping hot cup of coffee and danish in front of you. “That's exactly what my aunt and uncle say to me.”

They were always rather supportive when you spoke to them, but they hadn't the slightest interest in what you did for work. What interest could they possibly have when they lived in such a quaint place? They lived the perfect little life up here.

Felix brightened. “Oh, speaking of your aunt and uncle,” he piped up, “I was so surprised to hear they were actually going out of town. They aren't the sort to opt for a tropical vacation, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” you mused. You took a bite out of your pastry, dusting the crumbs onto the plate. “They won some sweepstakes trip to an island. I don't think they would've considered it had I not agreed to watch their place for them.”

Your companion gave a knowing nod. His parents owned a cabin up here, as well, which was why you knew each other in your mutual youth. Spending one's childhoods together bonding over snowball fights and cookie-baking was a friendship that was difficult to forget.

“Yeah, my folks rent out our cabin most of the year anyway, and it was hard for me to convince them to pick someplace else to vacation this year. Truly though, they had a bucket list of places. It wouldn't kill them to see new things.”

“For sure,” you agreed wholeheartedly.

“But you know” —his voice dropped a little lower and he leaned in slightly, eyes glancing around as if to ensure no one nearby was listening too closely— “maybe it's best that they're all away this year. People have been saying that we've got a bit of a wolf problem now.”

Your brows twisted together, heart kicking in your chest. “A wolf problem?” you echoed. You knew it wasn't unheard-of to see a wolf here and there deep in the woods, but their population was never an issue. “What do you mean?”

Felix's expression had gradually fallen into something solemn and serious, a strange look for a man whose smiles were his resting face. “Well apparently, a pack of rogue wolves migrated into the area at the tail end of last winter. They hunt, like, all the time and they've nearly decimated the local wildlife population.”

Oh. A frown etched itself into your face.

Since however long you'd known this place, you knew that there was a pack of gray wolves that already occupied this territory. Predator species were usually no trouble; in fact, wolves were the keystone species of this ecosystem. They held up the natural order.

But for there to be a new group of wolves in town? How could they possibly coexist?

You mulled over the new information Felix told you. But hadn't you just seen a doe earlier today? “That’s unfortunate to hear,” you murmured. “Has the town leadership tried to do something about it yet? Maybe call in an external wildlife group to help relocate them?”

“I think they did, but it might not have worked out,” he replied before taking another sip of his beverage. “I just wanted you to know to be extra careful if you're out there.”

“I appreciate the warning, Felix. Thanks.”

The doe from earlier… had she sensed a wolf? But a wolf wouldn't have waited that long to go after the deer, and the deer would've run sooner.

None of it quite made sense to you, but maybe your hunting logic was still a tad unseasoned.

You finished up your coffee and pastry, passed the waitress the money to cover your bill, and promised Felix you would give him a call once you got back to your cabin. It was comforting to know that at least one person remembered you, and that one person just happened to be one of your friends.

You tightened your jacket around you, yanking up the collar around the lower half of your face to brace for when you returned into the cold.

The bell above the door gave another chime as you exited—a more aggressive jangle than the one before, just as an aggressive and frigid gust of wind blew past.

“Good grief,” you muttered with a wince.

You shoved your hands into your coat pockets and continued to trudge down the street. There were a couple errands you needed to run before you could return to the cabin, and that included stocking up on emergency supplies and figuring out what you would eat for dinner.

As a second unforgiving gust of wind rushed you, you slowed your movements and raised a hand to shield your face against some of the icy particles.

You weren't able to see the person walking opposite you then, and you felt your shoulder ram into the hard muscle and bone of someone else's.

“Ow—oh, sorry! I didn't see you there,” you said as you turned to address the person you bumped into.

Your footsteps and breathing faltered as a pair of sharp and dark eyes pierced into you like twin shards of ice. You weren't expecting immediate and direct eye contact. He was a lean and limber young man, about your age perhaps, with short blond hair and a prominent nose. There was a mole beneath one of his eyes, something that drew your attention away from his lack of layers. How he could survive such temperatures with only a thin overshirt, you would never understand.

“No, it was my fault entirely,” he replied. His mouth pressed into a small smile and he clasped a hand onto the shoulder he collided with. “Are you alright?”

His tone and expression were friendly enough, and you took your increased heart rate as a sign of pleasant surprise. He was rather handsome.

“Oh yeah, I'm fine,” you dismissed with a chuckle. “Don't worry about me.”

He withdrew his hand from your shoulder and cupped it over the back of his neck in a sort of sheepishness. “This is a little embarrassing, but… you're new around here, right? I could've sworn I haven't seen you here before, but I could be wrong.”

You gave a slight shrug, grinning at him. “Somewhat. I'm housesitting for my aunt and uncle, but I haven't been up here in ages. I suppose you can say I'm new.” You stuck your hand out to him. “I'm Yn, by the way.”

The man slid his palm against yours, thumb locking your hands together in a handshake. “Wooyoung,” he said. “Planning to stay here long?”

“A few weeks,” you answered. “You?”

“Oh” —he gave a shrug— “I'm here all year 'round. My brothers and I… we've got a place nearby.”

You nodded. “That sounds nice. I've always liked being here.”

His head cocked to the side at your comment, and you thought you saw his eyes narrow, but perhaps that was just the icy wind blurring your vision. “You have, hm? Well, we could always use more pretty faces around here like yours. You should stay all year long,” he said.

His lip twitched upward at the corner and you took that as a sign that his words were light-hearted. His compliment didn't go unnoticed by you, though, and you were glad it was cold enough to prevent yourself from feeling too flustered.

You laughed. “I wish! If I could retire early, I would, then I’d move up here to live out the rest of my days.”

The sound of regular chatter and jolly laughter drew your attention away from Wooyoung momentarily, and it reminded you of your agenda further down the street.

“Do you happen to hunt?”

Your head swiveled back to Wooyoung, who's stare never left your face. “Hunt?” you parroted back. “I do. I'm a little rusty though, if I'm being honest.”

He stuck his tongue in his cheek, smile widening. “No worries, it's just like riding a bicycle—I don't really know how to ride a bicycle, but… y'know.”

“I understand you completely,” you reassured. “Listen, it was really nice meeting you, Wooyoung, but I'm afraid I've got some errands to run. I'm sure we'll bump into each other in town again sooner or later.”

Something flickered across his face, but he nodded. “It was really nice meeting you, too, Yn. I hope it's sooner rather than later.”

You were already beginning to step away, but you lifted your hand in a wave. “Count on it!”

You turned on your heel to continue on your way, shoving your freezing hands back into the safety of your coat pockets. The entire time you walked, you didn't know why, but the hairs on the back of your neck pricked up like they had in the woods earlier—back when you were in the midst of a predator.

There was fortunately still light outside by the time you returned to your cabin later that afternoon. It was light enough, in fact, that you returned to the woods several feet from your back porch, to try your luck once more.

Felix's words from earlier rang in your ears again, and that was partly why you rather wanted to go find that deer.

Did she happen to get away safely, you wondered, as you picked your way through the ice-covered dirt and lifted tree roots. The last couple hours of light filtered through the thin, dark trees, like bars in a prison. You promised yourself you were only curious and would turn back before it grew dark.

But the deeper you ventured into the woods, the more that sinking feeling grew in your gut.

Your feet came to a halt at the sight of a dark lump lying by the foot of a tree.

Even from a slight distance, you knew what a dead body looked like. An animal's dead body.

The doe's eyes were so wide you could still see the light reflect off her black pupils, her mouth open in fear or a frozen snapshot of her screams. Her entire middle had been eviscerated, flesh torn, ribcage cracked open with the bones bloody and red-brown. The snow around her body was a murky shade of rust by now.

A wave of heavy acceptance washed over you. So there was a wolf here earlier, and she hadn't gotten away.

Just as you decided to wait here for a moment in silence, that distinct weight of a stare fell upon you.

It raised the hairs and goosebumps on your skin, made your heart quicken in your chest on its own.

Right, it would be foolish of you to linger out here for too long. That deer carcass wasn't exactly old. Before you could scare yourself anymore, you turned tail and headed back to the safety of your cabin.

two. a learning curve

“You ought to have the cabin checked out, honey. I know your aunt and uncle haven't secured their locks in awhile, but you're livin’ up there alone.”

A good-natured laugh tumbled out of you as you hugged a paper bag of small household appliances to your chest. It had been a few days since you arrived, but everyone in town treated you like family, especially once they realized who you were related to.

This was only one such instance—you met Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins in one of the stores in town while you were grabbing some extra batteries, matches, cleaners, and the like. They once ran a small business of installing security systems for cabins and homes before they retired. Most of the security was to ensure bears or mice couldn't get in, but on the offhand a wolf or something was near, they assisted with that, too.

Mr. Hawkins held the door open for you as you and his wife strolled out of the store. “Charlene is right, y'know, Yn,” he said. “We could give the cabin a quick once-over—free of charge.” He made a gesture with his hands before hooking his thumbs into his pockets. “I know I would be anxious about our daughter living in a cabin so close to the woods on her own.”

“I appreciate it, Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins, but—”

“It's not that we don't think you can take care of yourself,” Mrs. Hawkins cut in with a tender gaze. “Really, with all of these wolf attacks lately, it's better to be safe than sorry. What'd'ya say?”

You bit your lip. “Well…” It wouldn't hurt, would it? They were the best in town and friends of your aunt and uncle's. “As long as it's no trouble.”

The couple smiled warmly at you as your trio stopped next to their truck. “No trouble at all,” she assured you. “Are you headed back now? We can drive up in our car behind you.”

“Oh, yes! My car's parked just down the road—thanks a bunch, Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins.”

They nodded their understanding and promised to be right behind you.

You hugged your bag of purchases to your chest with one arm while you fished around in your pocket for your keys. You hurried over the icy snow to your car, a block's walk from the store you just visited.

As you spotted your car in the near distance, your eyes also snagged on a familiar blond making his way down the street toward you.

It was strange, really. It was a rather small town but you truly didn't think you would see Wooyoung this much. It seemed like every time you were in town, the two of you would just so happen to bump into one another.

At this point, it was too frequent to be coincidence.

“Hey Yn,” he greeted you as he practically jogged the rest of the way to you.

There was a certain energy about him today, a wildness in his eyes and in the wideness of his smile. His lips were slightly redder, making the white of his teeth all the more apparent.

“Hey Wooyoung.” You clutched your keys in a fist and pulled your arm out to hold your bag with two hands. “Funny seeing you here,” you jested.

He laughed. “It really is a small town.” His eyes flickered down to your car keys and the paper bag. “You heading home?”

You nodded, absentmindedly glancing at all of the stuff you bought. “Yeah, just about to…” your words trailed off as you lifted your gaze. A smudge of dark red on the collar of his shirt made you pause. Your eyes shuttered, blinking. “Been out hunting recently?” you asked. That was the only explanation for what looked like blood on his clothes.

He seemed to perk up at that, straightening. “Yes,” he said with a grin. “It was a good exercise in patience, if you know what I mean.”

You supposed you did know what he meant. “Yeah, of course,” you said. “Well, uhm, I should be on my way.” You jabbed your thumb in the direction of your car.

“Don't let me keep you,” he said, raising his palms with a grin.

You pursed your lips together, lifting your fingers in a gesture of goodbye, then making the rest of the way back to your car.

You dumped everything into the passenger seat, cranked up the heat, and scanned the road for the Hawkins's truck. Sure enough, you spotted their black four-wheeler lingering across the street, with the couple inside waving at you.

You returned the gesture and began to peel away from the curb.

Just as you turned the steering wheel, instinct had you turning your gaze back to the sidewalk. Wooyoung was no longer there. In fact, he wasn't anywhere along the street anymore.

He's probably gone into one of the shops nearby, you thought to yourself, almost chidingly.

You thought nothing much of it afterward—not the blood on Wooyoung's clothes, the speed at which he disappeared, nor the fact that there were no indications that he was even there at all.

The familiar sight of your aunt and uncle's cabin came into view about fifteen minutes into driving. Your chained-up tires crunched along the icy road as you carefully steered the car up into the driveway.

You killed the engine in a swift tug, jamming the keys into your pockets and hurrying to meet the Hawkins as they parked beside you.

“Wow, it has been quite a while since I've been out here,” Mr. Hawkins chuckled, shaking his head as he marveled at the cabin. “Joanna and Ethan sure keep this place looking cozy.”

You smiled proudly up at the log cabin. “They do,” you agreed fondly. “It looks like not a day's even passed since I was a kid and it was winter break.”

“Well,” Mrs. Hawkins chirped and trudged over the snow beside you, “we'll test out the doors and windows, then be out of your hair, honey. We'll let you know if anything seems troubling.”

“Sounds great,” you said sincerely. “Thank you again, by the way.”

You and the couple began walking toward the front of the cabin.

“It's not a problem, really. We—” Mr. Hawkins's words came to an abrupt halt.

You all saw it at about the same time.

“Oh dear…” Mrs. Hawkins murmured.

There was a pile of fresh snow littering a section of your porch, right before your front door. The snow being out of place wasn't the problem; it was what physically blocked the entrance to your house that was troubling.

Lying upon the snow like it was the prized game to be carved at a feast, was the body of a deer. It was clearly only recently killed, with its blood still a deep red as it dribbled from gnarly gashes in its side. It hadn't yet begun to smell because of the cold, but it didn't stop the horror curdling in your stomach.

Finding dead animals on one's porch tended to elicit such a reaction.

“I'm glad we came up here when we did, Yn,” Mr. Hawkins said grimly, glancing between you and the corpse at your door. “I don't know who thought this would be funny, but” —he shook his head, a crease appearing between his brows— “you just be extra careful, alright?”

Your fingers suddenly became deadly frozen. “I will,” you muttered, nodding shallowly. Who, or what, could have done this? Surely it was sending a message.

Mrs. Hawkins rubbed her hand over your upper back, eyes sympathetic. “We'll help you get it out of the way. Don't you worry.”

In all your years of life, you'd never once read or heard about something like this happening. When there were wolves out in the woods hunting down all the wildlife, then what could have left their perfectly-dead meal at your doorstep instead?

It was almost like an offering. A rather morbid one, but an offering nonetheless.

Or a warning.

What else could it be?

The wind whistled through the cracks in your windows as you stepped out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel furiously through your wet locks. A healthy fire crackled in the main room, helping greatly to keep your body warm. Outside, white wispy flurries whipped past your windows in the dark; there was definitely going to be a fresh layer of powder on the ground by tomorrow morning.

Sleep had yet to tug at the corners of your eyes and you settled onto your couch to pick up your nightly bout of reading.

Just as you were settling in, a loud trill rattled through the cabin. You leapt out of your skin slightly, head swerving in the direction of the rotary phone spasming to life on the end table.

You crawled over the cushions and latched onto the phone, tucking it into the crook of your neck. “Hello, Ln Residence.”

It was rather late to be getting a call.

There was the sound of a hitched breath from the other side—then, “Yn, it's uhm Mr. Hawkins.”

Oh. You shifted into a more comfortable position on your current couch cushion. “Hi, Mr. Hawkins. What can I do for you?”

“Ah, right—I—we, Charlene and I, were talking.” His words trudged along low and slow, as if they were creeping along the surface of a frozen-over lake. “And we realized that, uhm, we were being a little overzealous with our examination of the cabin earlier.”

Your brows furrowed. How odd. “So you're saying…”

“You're perfectly safe in the cabin, and, ah—you shouldn't need to worry about upgrades.”

“Mr. Hawkins, I don't think I understand,” you replied, tugging your knees to your chest. Frankly, you were deeply confused and rather concerned. “Earlier, you and Mrs. Hawkins were adamant about putting higher security measures in place, especially after seeing that dead deer at my door—”

“Well we were wrong!”

You heart slammed against your throat, and you thought you heard what sounded like a low growl in the background.

Mr. Hawkins's voice came back stammering even more violently than before. “I—I apologize. I didn't mean to yell at you, Yn. It's… it's been a long, uhm, day.”

Your fingers clutched the phone in a tight grip. “I understand,” you replied softly. It was clear to you that there was immense strain in his voice. He sounded like he was distraught or stressed. “Mr. Hawkins, is everything alright? Are you and Mrs. Hawkins doing okay?”

Had something happened to them after they disposed of the deer in the woods?

He cleared his throat loud. “Yes, we're doing perfectly—perfectly fine, Yn. We're sorry for, ah, wasting your time earlier. You don't need to expect us tomorrow mornin’.”

“You weren't wasting my time, Mr. Hawkins, I assure you.” You twisted the phone cord around your fingers, tightening them into a slight fist. You worried your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes darting in the directions of your front and back doors. “But the more I've been thinking about those security measures, the more I'm sold on them. Would you and Mrs. Hawkins possibly be able to still install them for me? I'll pay you for the trouble.”

“No.” The word slugged you in the chest. “That won't be necessary. You'll be fine. Good—good night now.”

He wasn't giving you much room to argue. What happened to all that talk about being a young woman living on the edge of the woods alone? You couldn't help but frown. “Yeah, alright. G'night Mr. Hawkins. I hope you both have a nice evening.”

The phone hung up with a click and steady dial tone.

You set the phone back onto its receiver and stared at the rotary dial for a long moment. Maybe they changed their minds about installing all that stuff for free and didn't know how else to refuse you. But still, hadn't you offered them compensation?

It was so… strange. And Mr. Hawkins's voice over the phone sounded so uncertain of himself. He was stressed, or perhaps, nervous about something.

Should you go check on them tomorrow?

“Would it be neighborly of me to do?” you asked yourself aloud while reaching for your book again. They'd been so eager to offer you a helping hand, only to take it away so suddenly.

Could it have been that they were made anxious about you?

Stranger danger in a small town wasn't exactly a foreign concept. At one point, you were bound to feel like an outsider. You just couldn't take it too personally.

You didn't see the Hawkins couple in town after that day. You wondered what someone could have possibly said to make them avoid you like the plague, or—perhaps more terribly—could something have happened to them?

“Someone mentioned that their house is empty,” Felix said to you offhandedly one morning over a donut and hot chocolate.

The two of you sat opposite one another in the bakery-cafe to breakfast together. You were plagued by concerns over the Hawkins's, as well as the continued appearance of dead animals at your door. Only the first time was the animal left at your front door; every other time since then was at the back.

It was consistently larger game, like deer and mountain lions, that you didn't enjoy hunting. You were a small game hunter and only hunted what you knew you could utilize all of.

There were no tracks and no traces left behind. You'd checked.

The concept of leaving dead animals at one's door had to be an omen of some kind. If a human was doing it, it was bound to escalate from a warning or threat. But if it was another animal doing it… you shuddered to think what animal was large enough and had the intellect to constantly drag offerings to your door like a cat bringing dead mice and insects to their owners.

This was a problem you didn't disclose to Felix. You had a lingering feeling that it was why the Hawkins couple so suddenly changed their minds.

But you did ask him if he'd heard anything about them recently.

“Really?” you voiced aloud, suppressing the amount of interest you had in their whereabouts. “Anyone know why?”

He shrugged. “Apparently they left a note at the door saying that there was a family emergency, and that they'd be gone a few days.”

Ah. Your shoulders visibly deflated, and you started picking at your breakfast. That meant they were likely just stressed about their family emergency.

(Then why didn't Mr. Hawkins just say that?)

Felix considered you from over the rim of his cup. “You seem relieved to hear that,” he noted.

“Yeah,” you let out a laugh that you hoped didn't sound as anxious as you were, “I just chatted with them the other day, and… haven't seen them since. You know how it's a small town.”

Your companion seemed to buy your statement and gave a nod. “Understandable. People seem to be disappearing at a moment's notice a lot these days.”

“Is that so?”

He lifted his shoulders half-heartedly. “What can you do, y'know? Don't stress too much, Yn. People up here can handle themselves.”

You pressed your lips together. “Even after your warning to me about wolves?” you couldn't help but ask.

Felix smiled around his last bite of pastry. “This town's thrived for so long already; the wolves are concerning, but someone must have it handled, I'm sure.”

Must. If no one else was freaking out about them constantly, then you didn't need to either, right?

Wrong, a voice echoed in your head. You lifted your cup to your lips.

With your free hand, you reached back to hold the nape of your neck where the hairs had risen once again. Over the past few days, your body was constantly reacting as if there was something lurking behind you. You couldn't sit still, couldn't feel comfortable in your own skin.

One moment, it felt like ants crawling beneath your flesh; the next, it was as if someone was gently blowing their breath over you.

You weren't about to say you'd grown used to the feeling of being watched, but it was certainly becoming more frequent than you'd like it to be.

One might think that the constant stream of dead animals on your porch would make you lose your appetite for a hunt, but you hadn't gotten the chance to brush up on your skills since you arrived.

The name of the game was rabbit, and rabbits in winter were just as tricky to catch as rabbits in the summer.

Armed with a crossbow and quiver of arrows, you staked yourself up in a perch on a low-hanging tree branch. The evergreen was a welcomed respite from all the slim and frail-branched birches around you, and it provided you with adequate cover to wait for your prey to come.

Guns were usually the weapon of choice to go hunting—they were efficient and convenient in their execution and use. But you didn't often need a rifle to kill something as small as a rabbit; plus, it had been awhile since you'd last used crossbows and bows. They were efficient enough to reach their target when aimed correctly, as well as deliver a quick and painless death.

You didn't have much hope for a rabbit stumbling across your field of vision, but you hoarded a sliver of it still.

A bolt was already loaded up into the barrel of your crossbow. Having it primed would mean one less small noise to spook your flighty prey.

Somewhere in the distance, as you waited, a crow's caw echoed in the weak afternoon sunlight.

As the minutes ticked past, you remained ever vigilant and ever patient. You reasonably had about three hours left of daylight before you would consider heading back, so there you stayed.

It was nearing the one hour mark when you spotted it.

The rabbit was a grown adult, with light brown fur that looked almost like dirty, matted snow. It snaked through the snow-covered leaves, bouncing from tree to tree in search of vegetation that hadn't yet become food for the decomposers.

Nature drew it right to your doorstep.

There was a small patch of grass—weak, little tufts really—poking out of the snow several meters to your one o'clock. The rabbit sniffed the grass before nibbling its way down the stalks, each one disappearing faster than the last.

You brought the scope to level with your eye, finger curling around the trigger, but not yet pulling.

Once the rabbit's body was within the cross hairs—

SNAP!

You didn't flinch as badly as the rabbit, but your head nearly turned away from your target entirely.

The rabbit's head raised from the grass, no longer tempted to stay in this one place. You swore under your breath as it darted to the right, aiming to head deeper into the woods and farther away from you.

You moved the crossbow with its movements—and fired.

The bolt whizzed through the air.

And pinned the rabbit into the snow.

You could barely believe your aim had been true. If you hadn't let your instincts move your arm, you would've been going home empty-handed today.

Carefully, you dismounted the branch in the evergreen tree, eyes scanning your close surroundings. What in the world made that noise? No predator would have done such a thing, not when there was a rabbit so ripe for the taking in front of it.

You frowned after finding nothing and no one in the vicinity.

It wasn't like you imagined it; the rabbit reacted to the noise, as well.

You trudged over the snow to where the poor rabbit was staked against the ground, crimson staining the white beneath its body. It was definitely dead upon impact, you decided, while examining the entrance and protrusion of the bolt.

“Sorry, bunny,” you murmured under your breath, squatting down next to the body to begin preparing it to take back with you.

A few minutes later, you had the bunny strapped to your belt and a bloody bolt between two fingers.

You straightened, body turning in the direction of your cabin. A familiar wave of foreboding fell over you—the weight of eyes, of a phantom presence. The hairs on the back of your neck stood again and gooseflesh littered your skin despite the warmth of your hunting jacket.

As nonchalantly as possible, you made another scan of your surroundings.

It was so quiet, even the crows couldn't spare another caw. By all rational definitions and observations, you were alone. But if you had to ask the demon on your shoulder… It would be a different answer entirely.

three. they simply couldn't be helped

After the day you caught the rabbit, the bodies at your back door grew smaller.

It seemed that whoever (or whatever) was leaving you these… offerings had figured out your preference for smaller game. (You didn't want to admit how they would have discovered this. You certainly had not been alone in the woods that day.)

Nonetheless, you were sure half the reason this area was losing its wildlife population was because of whoever was doing this to you. And you didn't know how to fucking stop it.

You'd even gone and lined your entire property with a tripwire. If someone came by and triggered the alarm, you would know. Though, if there really was someone watching you, how effective would it be if they'd seen you set it all up?

This morning, you trekked about a mile into the woods to find a place to deposit the latest body—another rabbit—in a place where some other animal could have it. If you weren't going to make use of it, the best thing to do was to give it back to nature and let the circle of life run its due course. About a mile in would give some berth between them and your cabin; plus, you usually didn't venture in this area of the forest.

On your way back, you were stopped by the ceaseless sounds of shrill chirping.

Your head swiveled to and fro in search of the noise. It was clearly the strained helping of a bird, but where…?

Down by a pile of snow, dirt, and mulch was a creature just about the size of your palm. It had a round, black-colored head and wings, and a white body that was matted with muck.

“Chicka-dee-dee-dee,” it tweeted up at you as you slowly and carefully crouched before it.

“I'm not a danger to you,” you assured it quietly, keeping your palms facing toward it. You wondered if it understood. Birds were intelligent creatures, and chickadees in particular were known to warn other birds of fast-approaching predators. They were the fire alarm in a building, except instead of blinding lights and high-pitched buzzing, it was a chorus of infamous chicka-dee-dee-dee's.

Your eyes narrowed on its body. It must have been grounded for some reason since they usually stash their burrows higher above the ground in evergreens.

The chickadee's round head cocked to the side, beady black eyes assessing your danger level.

With cupped hands, you reached out toward it.

When the bird didn't express any disapproval, you scooped its body into your palms. “Huh,” you hummed to yourself, spotting a difference between its wings. One was far more crooked than the other. “I think I can help you with that, bud.”

You stepped over the mulch and a protruding tree root, keeping your bird friend cupped in your palms. “This isn't kidnapping, by the way,” you said aloud. “Imagine me as the Emergency Medical Services for birds. We're on our way to the infirmary—my house.”

The bird made a peep sound in reply.

The cabin appeared not far ahead; the air fogged up with your sigh. You lifted your foot so as to not hit the tripwire. “I don't know why I'm talking to you either.”

The back cabin door closed behind you and it took eleven seconds for the locks to click into place on the other side: shunk—that was one; clink—marked two; schick—there was the third.

“The wolf” always counted.

The only reason it took you so long this time was because of the hitchhiker you'd carried right into the warmth of your home. Who knew it would be the most annoying sound in nature to be granted entrance first? It was… infuriating. And yet, enlightening.

A shadow lingered upon the edge of the wood, sinking behind the large trunk of an evergreen. “The wolf” kept one eye pinned to your disappearing and reappearing form in the back window. In one morning, you had taken yet another of his offerings, left it in the forest for some other undeserving creature to feast upon, and took in an injured, living body to aid.

How interesting. “The wolf” finally understood.

For a moment, he could not leave the sight of you. He could not bear to leave your vicinity, to part with the familiar scent of your musk and blood for long. But the thrill beating in his chest—the wild excitement of finally understanding—was a lure strong enough to tear him away. It was all for you, after all. Everything, ultimately, was because of you.

He was careful not to nick the tripwire on his way out.

The forest was deadly quiet as he stalked through the trees. Silent, but never empty. The woodland, even in winter, was stocked full of birds to choose from.

If you wanted one, he could retrieve for you a set. Didn't humans collect dolls?

Once he picked the bird to pluck from its nest, all they would see would be a blur of teeth and wild eyes.

And all that the rest of the forest would hear were the screeches of birds and a sickening crunch.

If birds made noise when danger was abound, so too did people. The town buzzed with an energy akin to the particles of water in a tea kettle as it boiled. You could hear their chatter and gasps and murmurs even through the windows of your car. Everyone milled around in groups no smaller than three, eyes darting from one another.

Despite the commotion, their faces were solemn. There was a distinct weight that had fallen over the town. Something serious must have happened overnight or this morning.

You parked your car along the curb by the town pharmacy and clinic. In the distance, you spied Felix's bright, wheat-colored hair amongst the frenzy. It was the first time you'd ever seen his face lacking a smile, his lips pulled into a flat line and his brows scrunched in a concerned furrow.

“Felix!” you called to him as you made your way over.

He and the older man he was speaking to glanced up in your direction. Recognition sparked in his eyes and he waved at you, beckoning you to join them. “Yn,” he greeted, “boy, am I glad to see you. Did you hear?”

You shook your head, speeding up into a jog to reach them. “No, I didn't hear,” you said. “What's going on? Did something happen?”

You recalled the name of the man whom Felix was with—Mr. Ly, one of the town's teachers at the nearby grade school. He folded his arms over his chest, sighing. “Something happened, alright,” he murmured. “It was a terrible tragedy. Do you know the Hawkins family?”

“The Hawkins's? Yeah, I… I do.” What in the world happened to them?”

You met Felix's eyes, and his expression softened. “We were just talking about them the other day, Mr. Ly,” said Felix. “But Yn—somebody found their bodies this morning.”

You blinked, heart stopping clean in your chest for a second. “What?” Bodies. That meant they were dead.

“Jay Raiden, one of their friends,” Mr. Ly explained, “went over to their house to borrow their toolbox from their garage, 'cause he's got a key. You heard about the note they left, right? About their family emergency? Well, both of their cars were still in the garage.”

“They never left,” you filled in aloud, lifting a hand to cover your mouth in shock. “Oh my god.”

“Jay went 'round back and saw dried blood through one of the windows. He called the sheriff—they broke in and…” Mr. Ly's voice trailed off as he rubbed his face with his hand, distraught. He sighed again, fingers pressing into the corner of his eye. “They think it was some wild animal attack.”

“One of the new wolves,” Felix added.

So the rogue wolves really were a danger to the town. You were right to have harbored some worry about them.

But Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins… You gagged a little at the mental image of what exactly Jay and the sheriff walked in on. Perhaps, had Mr. Hawkins sounded so stressed during his phone call with you because they saw wolves outside their house? That would explain the growling sound you believed to have heard.

Why wouldn't he just say that then? Why wouldn't he tell you to get them help? They never gave you the impression of being too arrogant for their own good.

A hand warmed the place between your shoulder blades and you leaned your forehead against Felix's shoulder. Your eyes fluttered shut. “I feel so awful for them,” you said quietly.

Felix wrapped his arm around you in a small hug, squeezing your arm as he did so. “Yeah, me too.”

“We all just need to be a little more careful.” Mr. Ly thumped his hands onto your shoulder and Felix's shoulder. “Look out for each other, and keep your radios on. I think the sheriff's gonna start up a volunteer watch group.”

“Should've started one a while ago,” you muttered.

Mr. Ly gave a helpless shrug, though he seemed like he agreed with your statement. “Take care of yourselves, you two.”

“See you, Mr. Ly,” you and Felix said as he made his departure down the street.

And then there were two. You and Felix lingered there for a moment in a rare bubble of quiet. All around you, the machinations of small town word-of-mouth ran like the motor on a speedboat. The news was a wildfire and this place might as well have been kindling.

Felix was the one to break the silence. He gently nudged you with his fist. “Hey, you got a radio?”

“A radio?” you echoed.

“Yeah,” he chirped, “like one of those ham radios.” He gasped, snapping his fingers as the thought came to him. “You still got a walkie talkie?”

Your eyebrows flew up. “Do I?” You gestured for him to follow you back over to your car. Despite the grim atmosphere, the simple mention of walkie talkies brought back even a sliver of lightness to the air.

You opened the passenger side door of your SUV, popping open the glove compartment beneath the front console. You dug around for a moment and rifled past all of the motor vehicle papers and registration until—

“Aha!”

You emerged from the car with a pair of walkie talkies, brandishing them with the pride of your seven year old self.

Felix's face brightened immediately. “No way,” he gasped.

“Yours, my friend,” you said, extending one to him.

He accepted it swiftly. “You're a blessing.”

You snorted. “You're welcome.” You fiddled around with the walkie talkie you kept for yourself, thanking the energy gods that the batteries in this thing still had juice.

Felix shifted beside you and the two of you bowed your heads, hunching over in a miniature conspiracy huddle together. “What channel are you configuring it to?”

“They should be configured to one another. I haven't exactly used them in—”

Your words were cut off with the sound of a hissing click and chime.

“Well,” you laughed, “there you have it.” You kept your finger pressed against the 'Talk’ button on the side. “Testing, one, two. Testing, one, two. Do you copy, Felix? Over.”

Chk-chk. “Loud and clear,” you heard from beside you and faintly through the device in your hand. Felix grinned. “Over.”

He lifted his thumb from the button. “This is sick,” he marveled. “I forgot how cool these were.”

“Cool and useful,” you chimed in while hooking the device onto a belt loop. “They should be able to span across several miles.” In an emergency, and when phone lines were down, they could save a life.

Felix expressed his thanks to you as you locked up your car again, and the two of you headed back onto the sidewalk and into the pharmacy. The warmth from the radiator in the corner of the room hit you in a hot wave to the face, nearly making you fumble backward.

You could already feel the sweat begin to bead on your forehead.

“So what did you need from here?” he asked as he trailed behind you, a chick following a mother hen; his eyes were wide as he peered at all the same things you did on the shelves. “Are you restocking your first aid or something?”

“No, not exactly,” you drawled distractedly. You scanned the items in front of you before picking up a roll of gauze to examine. “It's kind of a weird story, really.”

“Can't be that weird.”

You cocked a brow at him, then returned to scrutinizing the label on the gauze. “I need something biodegradable. Y'know, I found a chickadee in the woods this morning—it’s wing was broken. I brought it back to my cabin to make it a little sling, but I realized it would need something more suitable when I eventually let it go.”

Felix lifted his shoulder up as he nodded. “Oh. That makes sense. What's so weird about that?”

For a moment, you hadn't remembered Felix had no idea about why you'd been out in the woods this morning in the first place. That was the truly strange part. “Can I,” you said to him softly, biting your lip and glancing around to ensure no one was nearby, “tell you something?”

His brows scrunched together. “Yeah, of course,” he replied with a nod. Concern twisted his features as he took a step closer, angling his body slightly so you could speak into his ear and he could keep one eye on the lookout. “What's going on?”

“There's been some… things happening.”

“Yn, what things?”

There truly was no easy way to say it, was there? “I think I'm being stalked—or something.”

Alarm flickered across his face, his eyes widening. “You what?”

“Shhh!” You patted his arm with one hand and fisted the roll of gauze with the other. “I'm not sure, but there are signs. I don't know if it's human or an animal.”

“Yn, we both know it's not an animal,” he scoffed. “This is crazy; you wouldn't say it if you weren't sure.”

You licked your lips, pushing out a breath of frustration. “It's just that—everywhere I go, I have this weird feeling. You know that feeling when someone's staring at you, even when you're not looking?”

He nodded.

“And then…”

Felix cocked his brow expectantly. “And then, what? Yn, please tell me. Tell me so I can help.”

You absentmindedly picked at the roll in your hands. “For the past several days, something has been leaving dead animals at my door—freshly killed, and lying on a bed of snow like they were trying to preserve them or something. I don't know. It sounds ridiculous—”

“No, Yn, that sounds terrifying.” Felix placed his hands on your shoulders, keeping your attention on him. You weren't about to escape this talk. “When did this start? Have you reported it to Sheriff Lang?”

“The first time was the day I told you I spoke to the Hawkins couple. They actually were the ones who moved the deer carcass for me.” You added, “And no, I haven't told Sheriff Lang yet.”

Felix swore under his breath, a hand on his hip. “Well, shoot. You have to tell him, especially if you're being stalked and you're being threatened.”

“I just” —you slowly began moving to the other end of the aisle— “don't know, Felix. There's something else.”

“What is it?” he asked, clinging to your heels as you scanned the shelves for some extra cotton balls and medical tape.

You grabbed the items and scooped them into the crook of your arm, against your chest. “The bodies so far had been larger game, like deer and mountain lions; but the other day, I went out and killed a rabbit. It was the first time I'd gone out hunting since I got here. The next day, instead of deer or cougars or goats, it was another rabbit.”

Felix pinched the space between his eyes. “Wait a second,” he said, “so what are you trying to say here?”

“I’m saying that it isn't cut and dry.” You waved your hands in the air, uncertain of what to think or how to articulate your thoughts. “These bodies left at my door weren't eaten or torn to shreds or anything. They were mostly killed by blood loss.”

“Puncture wounds? Knife marks?”

Oh, he was going to hate this. “More like… claw marks?”

Felix lifted a hand and let it fall against his leg. “You're shitting me.”

“I could be wrong.”

“I'm going to hope you're wrong.” He pursed his lips, the sides of his mouth digging into his cheeks. “I don't want to say it has to do with our wolf problem.”

You shot him a pointed look, turning to head to the register. “But you will.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to think, Yn? You said claw marks.”

At the cash register, you and Felix both mutually agreed (through eye contact) to not mention anything about your issue around the pharmacist ringing up your total. Pleasantries were exchanged, bills were given up, and your items were bundled in a cozy, little paper bag in no time.

Felix fell into step with you on your way out of the pharmacy, piping up, “So what? Do you think these are some kind of twisted offering?”

“I don't know what to think, Lix,” you admitted.

He jammed his tongue in his cheek, his stare pensive. “Well then, what do you say if I came up to make sure your cabin was properly locked up? Maybe I can see if there are tracks left around. Did they leave anything behind today?”

You nodded. “They did, but I brought it back out to the woods. And, would you? I would really appreciate that,” you told him, glancing over while you reached for the door blindly. “I think a second pair of eyes is exactly what I—”

You felt the door's swing come to a stop, its surface reverberating as it hit something solid. You glanced up, only to find Wooyoung standing there, mouth pressed shut and eyes screwed tight in a wince with his hand grabbing the edge of the door.

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry,” you blurted out. “I wasn't looking.”

He let out a small chuckle, lifting his hand off the door to show you his palms like it was okay. The movement, however, drew your eyes to the crimson red blooming beneath the thin material of his overshirt sleeve. “You're fine, Yn, really. I—”

“Are you alright?” you asked.

“Hm? Oh,” he said sheepishly, grabbing his forearm with his opposite hand. “This?”

Felix sucked in a breath through his teeth as he watched the blood seep through. “Man, that looks pretty bad. You should get that checked out.”

Wooyoung didn't even pass Felix a glance. “Didn't really notice it until now, to be honest.”

“Well, maybe you should see the pharmacist about it,” you suggested, jabbing your thumb back in the direction from where you just came. “I'm sure they'd be glad to help you out.”

“No, it's okay,” he insisted. “Really, it's just a scratch.”

“Wooyoung,” you chided, “it's going to get infected or something. It's already ruining your shirt!”

He smiled. “I appreciate your concern, Yn.”

Felix gave you a nudge with his elbow, and Wooyoung's eyes whipped over to him. “Don't you have a first aid kit in your car, Yn?”

It was like a lightbulb had gone off behind your eyes. “Oh! Oh, you're so right!” You turned to Wooyoung, fixing him with a firm look. “You're coming back to my car. If you're not gonna see the doctor, you'll at least see me.”

“See you?”

You sniffed. “I know first aid,” you defended. “Come, come. I won't take no for an answer.”

With a flick of two fingers, you beckoned him to follow. The three of you trudged across the snow-covered sidewalk, peppered with shoe-prints, toward your car parked nearby. You popped open the passenger side door once more, leaning in to dig through the middle console for the first aid kit you kept stashed there. The kit had served you well plenty of times before, even while you were living at home in the city.

You stepped down from your SUV and gestured for Wooyoung to roll up the respective sleeve. Felix lingered by, his hip and shoulder leaning against the car door for the back seats.

“Ah,” you grunted as you took his arm by his elbow to inspect the gash there.

The smooth, pale skin there on the underside of his forearm was marred by a nasty scrape that cut through skin. It likely formed on accident as there were differing levels of depth to the wound—one area was far shallower, with only the top layer of skin disturbed and peeled up; whereas the other, deeper portion looked to be where all the blood had gurgled out from.

It was strange, though. For all the blood you saw seeping through, there wasn't a whole lot of it now. In fact, the wound looked as if it was already healing over.

“How's it look, Doc?” Wooyoung asked, peering at you through his lashes, tongue wetting his lips.

You glanced at him, then twisted around to crack open your first aid kit. “You're lucky it's just a surface wound,” you told him. You ripped open a packet for an antiseptic wipe. “This might sting a little.”

You gently pressed the wipe to the cut, cleaning up as much of the exposed wound as possible. You heard the tiniest hiss from his mouth and murmured an apology.

As you worked, you couldn't help but let your mind wander to one of the other times you'd bumped into Wooyoung. “Was this from a hunting trip?” you asked him. “I feel like I'm always seeing blood on you.”

“You could say that,” he said.

“Do you go out hunting a lot, Wooyoung?” Felix chimed in.

Wooyoung's eyes darted to your friend, then to you, and finally back to Felix. “Yeah.”

“I hope you're careful out there then. You've heard about the Hawkins couple, haven't you?”

Wooyoung stared at you, but you kept your eyes on his arm, carefully placing the stitch bandages over the gash. “I haven't,” he drawled. “Who are they, again?”

You raised your head to share a look with Felix. “They were found dead in their home this morning,” you told him. You reached behind you to grab a roll of bandages from the kit and began wrapping up your handiwork. “Folks think it was a wolf attack.”

“Oh. Right.”

When you released his arm back to him, Wooyoung ran his thumb over the section of bandage that the scrape was hidden beneath. “Thank you.”

You shot him a small smile as you packed up the plastic kit box. “No problem,” you said. “I hope it heals over fast.”

“I'm sure it will.” He chuckled, “I feel like it's already halfway there.”

“You're a regular medical professional, Yn,” Felix joked. “I mean, first the bird, and now a person?”

Wooyoung's eyebrows flew upward. “A bird?”

You shot Felix a look, but couldn't help the sheepish grin on your face. “Yeah, I found a bird in the woods near my house earlier with a broken wing. I'm trying to fix up a sling for it while it heals.” Swiftly, you tossed the kit into the open middle console, wiping your hands over the surface of your jeans. “Speaking of, we should probably start heading out now. Felix?”

Felix pushed off the car. “Right! Should I meet you there?”

You paused in thought. “Maybe I can drive you?” you suggested. The last time someone offered to come inspect your property, it was the last time anyone ever saw them again. You massaged your lips together to calm your worries. “I'd be happy to drive you back to your car afterwards.”

“Sure, whatever you're most comfortable with.”

“He’s going with you to your cabin?” Wooyoung piped up. His face had become a rather unreadable slate, an unusual and uncanny state to find him in. At least, for you.

“He's, ah, helping me out with some cabin maintenance.” You stepped away from the passenger side door to make way for Felix to climb in. “I'll see you around, Wooyoung. Take care of yourself.”

“Yeah, see you, Yn.”

You jogged around to the other side of your car and clambered into your seat, your whole body shivering from the stagnant cold outside the door. Felix cranked up the heat as soon as you started the car up. It seemed you both had the same idea.

“So…” Felix dragged out the word, leaning the side of his head against his fist as he looked at you. There was an impish smile dancing on his face.

You pulled out of your parking space, eyeing him suspiciously. “What?”

“He seems… nice.”

You snorted. “Nice? That's all you can say?

He hummed, straightening out in his seat. “I mean, what else can I say? He didn't talk to me a whole lot. I'm pretty sure that man only thinks you exist.”

“Oh, please.” You'd noticed that Wooyoung was a little short with Felix, but you figured it might have been because he'd never met Felix before. Then again, your own memory contradicted that observation. The first time you met Wooyoung, he had been the one to initiate a proper conversation. He'd spoken freely and smoothly. “Maybe you give him a weird feeling.”

“Me?” your friend squawked in indignation, shooting up in his seat as if you'd shocked him with lightning. “Maybe he gives me a weird feeling!”

Your brows creased together and you casted him a brief look. “Does he?”

Felix sobered and scratched the place behind his ear. He blew a breath of air from his mouth. “Shoot, I don't know. He seemed to treat you alright, so I'm guessing he's not a raging misogynist.”

“We can only hope,” you joked.

You couldn't help but glance through your back windshield in the rearview mirror. Even from down the street, you could still see the sidewalk outside the pharmacy quite clearly. There were different shades of white and gray where tire tracks and bootprints cut through the snow. Townsfolk continued to mill about with the latest news and their own errands.

But again, Wooyoung had seemingly disappeared from the vicinity immediately.

The only thing you could do with your thoughts about him was to brush them under a mental rug. After all, you and Felix were heading to your cabin with an express purpose.

There was still a healthy amount of winter sun left in the sky as you pulled into your snow-covered driveway. The sounds of the car doors slamming reverberated off the facade of the cabin and the nearby trees; you and Felix trudged through the snow side by side, low murmurs exchanged between you about your plan of action while he was here.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins and I found the first deer here” —you motioned to your front door with the hand that wasn't holding your bag of fowl medical supplies— “and that was also the last time the bodies were brought to the front. Every other time since then has been on my back porch instead.”

Felix climbed the steps onto the front porch, eyes squinting as he considered it. “Huh,” he muttered. “You said the Hawkins's were the ones who moved the carcass for you?”

“Yep.”

He glanced back at you. “Maybe I'm reaching, but it could be that moving their offerings to the back ensures that less people see it.”

A chill spider-crawled down your spine. You nervously moved a strand of hair from your eyes as a breeze blew past. “I never even thought of it like that,” you stammered out.

Something troubled contorted your features as you stared at the floorboards of your porch. It wasn't like they were hurting you—yet. Whoever, or whatever, they were, their approach could change at any moment. Who cared if they changed their game from big to small based on your preference? It could have been that they had hunted all of the big game to the point of scarcity already.

“Your locks seem to work fine,” Felix said as he wiggled the front door knob. He shoved his shoulder and body weight into the door, the wood and metal holding firm against his force. “Hinges and door, too.” He scanned the doorframe, fingers running over the linings as if it had all the answers.

“What could all of this possibly mean?” you wondered aloud. “I mean, what did I do to provoke this kind of behavior? I just got into town.”

Felix frowned, eyes softening sympathetically. “It's not your fault. I don't believe it could've been anything you did on purpose. All of this—it’s sick, really. I'm telling you, Yn, you should just report this to the sheriff. He'll want to help you.”

Your gaze shifted from him to the forest on your left, then back to him. You knew he was being the voice of reason. There was a large part of you who knew that the sheriff needed to know about this. “Okay, yeah. You're right,” you relented at last. “When I drive you back into town, I'll let him know—”

Chicka-dee-dee-dee—chicka-dee-dee-dee—chicka-dee—

“What on god's green earth?” Felix mumbled, hopping down the stairs and tilting his head toward the sky.

The chirping rang a few bells in your head. “Why would the chickadee be alerting if it's…?”

You and Felix both froze. The realization came at once, your eyes meeting as it did—a mutual agreement passed between you, and the two of you crept back over to your car. You always left a small handgun in the glove compartment; you were licensed to carry, and you had been for over a decade now.

Felix was handed an emergency flare. It wasn't just to signal for help; used a certain way, it could be a weapon on its own.

Together, you both moved toward the back of the cabin, in the direction of the ceaseless chickadee calls. It couldn't have only been the chickadee inside your cabin, you realized. There had to be more out there. And they were seeing something that made them afraid.

As you rounded the structure, you held the pistol out in front of you, your finger steady on the trigger. The sound of your blood rushing thrashed wildly in your ears, your heart palpitating in your chest with every step you took. Whatever was out there, you would get to them before they got to you.

You kept your back to Felix and covered the woods. You weren't able to see his movements, but you could hear him and a mixture of bird calls somewhere behind you.

A beat passed. There was nothing in the forest that you could see. No sudden movements, no rustling branches.

“Uh, Yn?”

“Yeah?” you called back. When you cleared the woods for any immediate danger, you whirled backward and joined Felix on the back porch.

He stood stock-still over a section of it just beneath the back window sill. At his feet was the source of all the yelling.

There were three birds grounded on the floorboards of your porch—another chickadee, a robin, and a crow—all an assortment of horribly crooked, broken wings; all alive, but mutilated.

You couldn't decide if this was better… or so much worse.

four. don't you ever listen?

“Hit me.”

“The wolf” watched as one of his eldest brothers fixed him with a strange look. “You've said weird things before, but this is—”

There was not a single trace of mirth on his face. He opened up his limbs, spreading them away from his middle—an open target. “Make it look bad.”

His brother stood slowly from his seat. “This is about…”

“The wolf” nodded. He'd watched you and that damned human boy take those broken birds into your home. It was so easy. It was too easy. And it had been there the whole time. He was almost giddy at the prospect of finally crossing this threshold of your relationship. He'd observed, tested his theory, and was prepared to apply his findings.

“If you insist,” his brother murmured, head cocking to the side. His eyes narrowed into a predatory sharpness and weighed his options while examining the body before him. What would leave the worst impression?

“The wolf” watched as his brother reached over to his desk drawer and pulled out a pair of thick, leather gloves. “What are those for?”

His brother's response was to don the gloves before fishing out a pair of pure silver knuckles from deeper within the drawer. The accessories winked in the low lamp light. He grinned. “To make it last longer.”

“You should just come stay at my place, Yn. Your aunt and uncle's cabin is so isolated—it’s not safe at all,” Felix insisted over the phone line. It was something he'd been saying since the two of you left the sheriff's office earlier this evening. As planned, you and Felix went to report your escalating issue to the police, only to be told that because you had rid yourself of the dead bodies (evidence), they couldn't do anything.

Furthermore, the only other witnesses to any of the slayed animal carcasses were conveniently dead.

(Well, screw you then for cleaning up your own cabin. Birds didn't just break their wings en-masse either.)

You rubbed a hand down the side of your face as you sat hunched over your knees on the couch, the phone receiver pressed against your ear. “I would, Lix, trust me. But I don't want them to start showing up at your house, too.”

This evening was not one characterized by the fall of snow. There were only dark clouds shrouding the night sky, casting a rather ominous shadow over the community. You didn't particularly enjoy the way it aligned with everything happening.

“I don't really care about all that, Yn. I'm much more worried about your safety.” He let out a sigh, before saying, “Listen, we don't know what this guy's next move is. How would you feel if I came over and just slept on your couch?”

Your eyes went to the empty bedroom your aunt and uncle usually occupied. Now that you thought about it, it wouldn't be terrible to have another person over here with you. Maybe just for the night. “Alright, but you're sleeping in my aunt and uncle's room, and not on the couch.”

He laughed. “I’ll take it. In the morning, we'll finish putting out the rest of the traps like we planned. You've activated them, yeah?”

Your head dipped in a small nod. “They should be activated.” Absentmindedly, you glanced over to the birds you'd set up close to the back window sill. They were close enough to the hearth to feel the warmth of the fire, but far enough to not be burned. Felix had helped you put the birds’ wings into makeshift slings and casts; they all quieted down rather fast once within the safety of the cabin.

Any time you weren't taking care of the birds had gone toward setting up traps around the perimeter of your house. The tripwire could only warn you when someone was coming. At least traps might buy you more time.

“I remember turning on the front ones after you left, but I'm gonna go check on all of them, too,” you said and stood up from the couch, lifting the landline as you did to keep the phone cord from pulling.

“Maybe you should wait until I get there,” he suggested. “It’s quite dark out tonight.”

There was an impenetrable wall of dark blue-ish black outside your window. The only reason you could even make out the eerie silhouettes of the trees were because of the glow of your house lights. “Yeah,” you murmured in agreement. “Just knock when you get here, alright?”

“Sure. I'll just be ten or fifteen minutes while I pack some stuff.”

You nodded. “No problem. I have extra toiletries,” you replied. “Thanks again, Lix.”

His voice was warm even through the phone. “No need to thank me. See you soon!”

After reciprocating the goodbye, you reset the phone onto its dial and returned the entire machine to the couch's end table. The birds warbled and cooed amongst themselves, peering at you curiously through beaded eyes as you made your way over to the back window to stare out into the cold night.

Who knew this place that had filled your childhood for the holidays could become such a nightmare?

You folded your arms over your chest, jamming tongue into cheek. A single shot hunting rifle leaned against the opposite sofa, beneath the window sill. It was only several feet away from the back door—if you moved fast enough, you could arm yourself before an intruder could reach you.

As long as they came in through that door.

An abrupt shudder rippled down your spine. It was probably a good idea to get ready with a coat on for when Felix—

You stopped short as the small radio box on the end table lit up.

One of its bulbs had gone from a dull red to a bright maraschino cherry. Every fiber in your body went taut.

That was the tripwire.

Something had just set it off.

You launched yourself over to the other sofa, ducking behind it as you grabbed the rifle. The box of ammo was tucked just behind the leg of the sofa, and you sat up against it to load a bullet into the chamber.

Carefully, you peered over the ledge of the sofa and the window sill, out into the abyss of ice and darkness.

The tripwire wasn't too far out on this side of the house, but you weren't exactly sure which side had been triggered.

You swore you could hear the sound of a voice, muffled through the wooden infrastructure and glass. It carried like a human voice, one that sounded suspiciously like a cry for—

“Help! Help, someone please!”

You leapt to your feet. That was someone calling for help. And it was coming in this direction.

You craned your eyesight, pressing your nose against the cold glass in an attempt to better see into the woods.

Lo and behold, you could make out the shape of a man running for his goddamn life. It wasn't just any man—it was Wooyoung.

“Oh shit,” you swore, cocking the rifle as the shell casing fluttered onto the ground. You flew for the back door, ripping it open and letting the winter night swarm you.

Wooyoung was running, but his gait was unsteady, one arm wrapped around his middle as one leg went faster than the other. He kept glancing behind him, over his shoulder, running from something.

“Wooyoung! Wooyoung, keep running!” you shouted at him, raising the rifle up to prepare to aim at whatever was chasing him.

His wide eyes made contact with yours. “Don't shoot!”

What?

And there, emerging in the swell of darkness behind Wooyoung—as the man tumbled through the bramble of forest to your cabin—were a pair of eyes. They seemed to glow, even from deep in the confines of the woods, even in the moonless swath of night. Unforgiving, unforgettable.

They pierced into your memory and etched themselves there for eternity.

“Yn?”

Wooyoung's voice snapped you from your fearful stupor. He wasn't glancing back at the predator who had stopped chasing him; he was now gazing up at you on your porch, your rifle loose in your grip.

That was when you saw them—a whole lot of them. Wooyoung's once flawless skin was now blooming with dark purple splotches. There was a particularly nasty one beneath his right eye, one that busted his lip open, one swelling at his cheekbone. He still had an arm clutched around his stomach as he limped toward the steps.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, hurrying down to meet him. Your head whipped backward to see where the eyes had gone—only to be met with an empty forest. Your heart would not cease as you scooped Wooyoung's arm over your shoulder and helped him up.

The back door slammed shut behind the two of you, and you deposited him onto the closest couch before locking up the door. Your eyes darted feverishly between the window and Wooyoung; even after you yanked the curtains closed, you couldn't stop your eyes.

The birds were chirping and cawing and making a ruckus. You tried to put the noise to the back of your mind as you rested the rifle up against the sofa again.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” you asked Wooyoung, crouching before him as his body sank against the couch cushions. “What was that out there? Did that… did it…?” No, these injuries were not something an animal could do. These were…

A lump formed in your throat as you drew your eyes down his form. These were very human.

“It was just chasing me,” he rasped. He winced, reaching up to gently run a finger over his throat. There was purple there, too. “Smelled my blood. I think I got cut at some point. Gagh.” He tried to sit himself up, only to fall back onto the cushions.

You leaned forward swiftly, gently pushing his shoulder down to keep him there. “Don't move; it's gonna hurt more.” You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth. “I should call the clinic in town—”

“No!” He stammered to reply to the confused look you shot him. “I—I don't want any trouble. It's already bad enough that I ran onto your property, but if people found out that…” his voice trailed off, and you thought the wet gleam in his eyes was something wobbly like vulnerability.

“Wooyoung,” you said softly, settling yourself next to him on the couch. “Who did this to you?”

Behind you, the birds would not stop screeching.

Wooyoung pressed his lips together, eyes squeezing shut when he remembered his lip was busted. “It was—one of my brothers can get really aggressive when he drinks. It was just a bad night.” He was swift to add, peering up at you imploringly, “Don't tell anyone. Please. We're already outsiders around here, and I don't… I don't want any trouble.”

Your chest twisted violently at this news. It was a wonder that not many people knew him around town. He'd never seemed hurt before, but you should've known that he would have hidden it well. It would explain why he was so nonchalant about the scrape he got earlier today. The dressing was still there, dirty and unchanged. “I'm so sorry,” you murmured to him in earnest. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“I just need a place to lay low for the night. I'll be out of your hair by morning, I promise.”

You shook your head. “You can stay until you're better, Wooyoung. I can't let you go back there in good conscience. Look at what he did to you.” Your eyes swept over his visible injuries again, your mind filling in the gaps. It didn't leave much to the imagination anyway.

He must have had to flee as soon as he could, because he wasn't even wearing an overshirt anymore. No, you definitely couldn't stomach sending him home in the morning.

“You're really too sweet.”

Your mouth pressed into a sad smile, hand warming his. “It's the least I can do. I do think that calling the town doctor would be best though. I don't know how to properly handle all of your injuries—”

His hand on your arm stopped you from moving. “I,” he said, “know how to treat them. I just need a little help.”

Oh. You wanted to give this guy a hug. “Of course,” you replied, shooting to your feet as you nodded. “I'll grab my medical supplies. You just wait right here.”

Just as you were about to go, you turned on the ball of your foot and went over to the birds in the corner. They turned their beady eyes and loud beaks toward you, hobbling around on unsteady feet. You fixed them with a stern look. “Guys, I need you to relax a little. Whatever's in the forest is gone now,” you said, scooping up the birds’ makeshift nest. “At least, I hope.”

You carried the birds out of the main room and left them in your bedroom, where they mercifully quieted down as you hustled to find all of your medical supplies.

Wooyoung was waiting patiently for you when you returned, head perking up when you came back into view.

“Okay, I hope all of these will be enough,” you said to him while rifling through the box. “I can get you an ice pack once we're done here, too.”

He nodded, screwing up his face in an attempt to sit up again. You were quick to lean over and guide his back into an upright position, arms curling around him without putting too much pressure anywhere. “Thank you,” he exhaled out. “I think my ribs are just bruised and my ankle’s a little twisted, so we can treat the other areas for now.”

He said it so calmly, it startled you.

“Right,” you stammered. You ripped open an antiseptic wipe and raised it up to his face. “Sorry, this is gonna sting like before.”

He didn't react as physically as he had earlier. He was quiet while you worked—hyper-focused even. You had to scoot closer to him on the couch, knees brushing as you did so, hand taking his chin to give you better access.

As you dabbed some ointment over his black eye, you found the little mole beneath his other eye again. His eyes were asymmetrical, you came to realize the longer you were focused solely on him.

“You have pretty eyes,” you muttered absentmindedly. Your fingers swiped over where his cheekbone was swollen with the ointment. It would hopefully lessen the swelling overnight.

There was a glint in his eyes, and the corners of his lips tilted upward. “Thanks,” he chuckled. “I don't usually get compliments on 'em.”

“Well, you should.”

Wooyoung's lips parted as if he was about to respond, but no sound came out. Instead, he sat still and the lift of his lips slipped off his face like melting snow on a mountainside. It was like he'd heard something, sensed something. There was a change in the air that you couldn't pick up on and he wasn't too pleased with it.

Moments later, a frenzied pounding rattled your front door.

You leapt out of your skin, hand jerking back from Wooyoung's split lip. “Christ.”

“Yn, it's Felix! Can you get the door? It's freezing out ‘ere!”

Your eyes shot open and you cursed. “How could I forget?” you whispered to yourself. The memory must have slipped your mind in all of that chaos. You set the used cotton pad on the lid of the box, standing up to get the door. “Don't worry, Wooyoung,” you said to him from over your shoulder, “Felix will be discreet about this. I invited him over earlier because I was… I was feeling anxious.”

You didn't hear if Wooyoung answered, but you thought you heard him grunt in acknowledgment.

After a quick peek through the peephole, your fingers deftly undid the locks on the front door. A shivering Felix bumbled in through the doorway, hands jammed into his pockets and face practically hidden in the collar of his jacket. His nose and cheekbones were already bitten red from the cold. As mentioned, he had a bag slung over his shoulder with anything he needed, as well as a hunting rifle that rivaled your own.

“Thanks,” he said with one, last violent shiver. “Sheesh, it's cold out. It wasn't even this cold earlier; I swear it's like a gust from the Arctic Circle just arrived.” Felix's smile turned into something confused as he lifted his gaze and made eye contact with Wooyoung on the couch. He instinctively took a step backward. “What a surprise—woah. Are you alright, man?”

You tugged at the collar of Felix's coat. “Here, give me this so I can hang it up.” Your eyes flickered between one man and the other, hesitating. “It's” —you bit your tongue— “complicated.”

“Ah.” Your friend didn't need you to say anything else.

You tucked Felix's coat into the closet by the door before returning to Wooyoung's side. His jaw was clenched, you noticed, and he was eyeing Felix with the resolve of a wounded animal—no, not a wounded animal. It was something far more calculating.

You didn't want to label it. “I know I said I'd give you my aunt and uncle's room, Lix, but I hope you'll understand if I let Wooyoung stay in there tonight.”

Felix nodded readily, lowering himself onto the couch across from you and setting his backpack on the floor by his feet. “Yeah, of course,” he said. “I completely understand.”

“I'm not intruding, am I?” were Wooyoung's first words since Felix arrived. He didn't need to physically gesture between you and Felix for you to understand.

“No, no,” Felix replied with a shake of his head. “Yn's been having some issues—well, I'm just concerned for her safety, is all. So I was going to at least stay the night.”

Wooyoung's eyes shifted back to you, a crease forming between his brows. “Are you in danger? Why would he be concerned for your safety?”

You licked your lip, sharing a glance with Felix. He only shrugged at you helplessly. This would be your decision, whether you wanted to tell Wooyoung about the troubles plaguing you recently. But there was a feeling prodding at the back of your mind.

It made you stop and think about it for a few moments longer. Maybe it wasn't something you should tell him, at least not tonight.

“It's nothing for you to worry about,” you reassured him. You stood and collected the medical supplies into their box. “I think you should get some rest now. Let me help you into my aunt and uncle's room.” You inclined your chin down a small hallway to your right. “It's just down that way.”

Wooyoung gladly let you sling his good arm over your shoulders again, and used you as a crutch to get down the hall. Every small movement was followed by a labored breath or a barely-audible hiss. It became a reminder of everything Wooyoung divulged to you earlier.

You helped him to settle onto the edge of the made-bed.

“I'll grab you the bandages and things so you can dress your ribs and leg,” you told him. You raised your pointer finger as a thought came to you. “Oh, and an ice pack or two. Are you sure I can't help you with any of your other injuries?”

Wooyoung smiled up at you, a sheepish, little thing. “You’ve already been so generous, Yn. I'll be okay.”

You nodded, then promised to be quick.

In a few minutes, you had set Wooyoung up with an abundance of supplies so he never had to get out of bed if he didn't have to. The bedside table was covered in an array of bandages, ointment, painkiller pills, and water. There were a couple bags of frozen vegetables there, as well, for him to prop under his ankle and to press against the bruises on his face.

You lingered in the room for a second, uncertain why you felt awkward in your own cabin. He kept his eyes on you most of the time without speaking as much. You chalked it up to his exhaustion.

“Well,” you drawled by the door, hand over the knob, “I'll just be down the hall if you need anything—and Felix is in the main room, too. I'm sure you'd like some alone time.”

“Wait.” He stopped you from closing the door completely. “Could you leave it open?”

You considered him again, tense shoulders softening. “Of course,” you said quietly. “Good night, Wooyoung.”

He shot you a smile. “Good night, Yn.”

You lifted your hand from the door and disappeared down the hallway, out of his sight. As you entered into the main room again, you found Felix lingering by the mantle, his gaze buried far within the burning embers in the hearth.

“Read any prophecies in there?” you murmured in jest, leaning against the opposite side of the mantle from him.

He spared a grin. “Very funny,” he said in his low voice. He cleared his throat, his expression suddenly sobering. “So what did I miss?”

You pursed your lips and glanced down the hall in the direction of Wooyoung's room. “He was running from home,” you told him. “He stepped on my tripwire and I was alerted to it. I thought it could've been something or someone else, but I heard him screaming out for help. When I looked out, I saw that he was being chased by something.”

Felix's brows twisted in concern. “Could you see it?”

“No.” You paused, then amended, “I saw a pair of eyes. My cabin lights must have reflected off them or something, because they looked like they were glowing.” You shook your head in disbelief. It must have been a trick of the light.

“Well, shit.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

Your friend carded a hand through his blond hair. “We’re both probably super tired and I don't think it's safe right now to go tend to the traps, even together. I'll just be vigilant.”

You sent him a look. “Don't lose sleep on my account, Felix.”

“That's why I'm here, isn't it? To make sure nothing happens.” He flashed you a grin that was far too upbeat for a situation like this. “And I can't exactly do that if I'm snoozing.”

He had a point, but it didn't mean you had to like it. You'd survived this long; you could survive one more night, right?

“Oh, by the way,” Felix piped up while clearing his throat, “where are the birds from earlier?”

The birds? “They're in my room. I had to move them there because they kept on alerting even when Wooyoung and I were safe in the cabin.”

A pensiveness possessed your counterpart's face. “Huh. They were able to sense danger even from all the way in here?”

You gave a half-hearted shrug of your shoulder, but nodded nonetheless. “They were going berserk. Y'know, they could probably see through the back window,” you said, inclining your chin in that direction. Felix followed your gaze. “He came from that direction anyway.”

There was a long beat of silence.

Felix's voice seemed to drop off a cliff in volume. “Yn, no one lives out there in that direction. It's just forest for miles and miles.”

That thought sank in.

“Are you sure he came from that direction?”

Your eyes flitted down the hall, then back to Felix. “I'm sure,” you whispered. “I know what I saw, and I know what he told me. He was running for his life, Felix—you saw the damage.” You flung your arm out in the direction of where you'd left Wooyoung; you wouldn't be able to unsee those bruises and the vulnerable sheen in his eyes ever.

He seemed hesitant to agree, but eventually, he bobbed his head. “Alright,” he relented. “It could make sense if he came from the direction of the road and got lost, then somehow ended up on this side.”

“Right,” you chimed in.

Even if your own brain was actively poking holes in this theory, there was still rationality to it.

Wooyoung was an experienced hunter and likely knew a lot of the woods around his home, but it was dark and he was in distress. Humans weren't known for their ability to move in straight lines, and that wasn't about to change while they were running for their lives.

(Felix's hesitation nestled itself deep in your brain, though. After what you knew about Wooyoung, you wanted to believe him. It could have just been fate that brought him to your door.)

You kept your gaze on the floor, arms folded loosely across your chest. “Why does this kind of feel like I've been offered another sacrificial lamb?” you thought aloud. It was a morbid kind of musing, but in times like these… One of your hands came up to unconsciously rub the nape of your neck. Why were your hairs standing on end?

Felix's mouth was set in a line. “Maybe the pattern you think you see actually is a pattern.”

The hearth was ash and the main room was dark when “the wolf” emerged. It had been a few hours since the fire died out and the human boy fell asleep. One did not need supernatural hearing to know that his breathing had fallen into a shallow, steady rhythm characteristic of sleep.

While the entire cabin slept, including you and the birds in your bedroom, “the wolf” remained awake.

The silver pill he'd swallowed down earlier had been a nightmare to deal with. As it ran its course through his bloodstream, he'd been practically chained to that bed, sweat matting the hair against his forehead and dripping down to the mattress beneath him.

The room he was given smelled only slightly like you. It was enough to drive him mad, having you only a thin wall away when you were so close to him earlier. He could recall the smell of your skin, the shared space of your intermingling breaths. Your compliment of his eyes rang clear as bells in his ears.

It almost drowned out the deafening rage that accompanied the conversation that you and the human boy shared.

Felix was his name, wasn't it?

Despite “the wolf's” success, it shattered as soon as Felix arrived.

“The wolf” could move without disturbing even the dust in the air. It was an important skill for hunting. He loomed over the back of the couch that cradled the sleeping human—your so-called guardian.

How pathetic.

He wrestled down the growl trapped in his throat. The root of his problems now manifested in this creature. “The wolf” glared down at Felix's sleeping form, watching his nose twitch.

Wolves eat chickens, “the wolf” mused lightly to himself.

He gripped onto the backing of the couch to steady himself as a wave of silver-induced nausea swept through him. The silver kept his natural regeneration and strength from kicking in. He knew you weren't yet ready for his true identity and purpose, but once you understood all that he had done for you, it wouldn't be hard to convince you he was your perfect match. That he was your perfect mate.

When the nausea passed, he considered the human beneath him in a slightly new light. Tonight would be the last time Felix would ever come between the two of you.

If there was anything good to come from this situation, it was putting a human in his place.

five. what was never just a wolf

You decided that Wooyoung was to remain at your cabin until he fully recovered. Even after sleeping on what you and Felix discussed, it didn't change your immense sympathy for the man. How could one forget horrible things that have happened, especially when they were so blatant?

The next morning, you fixed up a quick breakfast for the household before getting dressed to head out. Felix was also up-and-at-em, blinking the sleep away as he stood over the coffee pot to pour himself something bitter and dark. He did end up falling asleep last night; you didn't blame him, and all three of you were perfectly fine.

Whether the perpetrator had left something at your door yet though would be another thing to check for.

You announced your arrival to Wooyoung with a light knock on the doorframe.

He was seated upright in bed—not for lack of struggle, of course—a mug of piping hot coffee cradled in his hands. He peered up at you quietly, and in the morning light, he almost seemed docile. The coloring on his face and neck were still angry purples, but the swelling was nowhere near as bad as it was last night.

“Hey,” you greeted him quietly with a small smile.

He reciprocated the expression, nodding his head. “Hey. Thanks for the breakfast and for letting me stay.”

“No worries.” You stepped into the room and looked for where he'd put the box of medical supplies. It was left in the corner of the room closest to you, on the far side of the nightstand. Huh. It was a rather inconvenient place to have it if he couldn't move very well.

You picked it up by the corner and brought it with you to the bed. Settling on the edge, you said to him, “Could I help clean and redress anything before I head out?”

Something flickered across his face. “You're leaving?”

“Only for a couple hours,” you assured him. “Felix and I were going to put out some traps, but we'll be as quick as we can, and we'll be close by.” You examined the injuries on his face more now that you were closer. “The bruises look a bit better,” you said. “The swelling went down a lot last night, which is good.”

“They just needed some tender love and care,” he chuckled.

You let out a small laugh. “More like a good night's sleep,” you mused.

There was something needling at the back of your head. You were forgetting something.

“Oh!” You snapped your fingers together as it came back to you. “I have an extra radio to give you. You can use it if you need to get in contact with me.”

With hurried steps, you shot out of the room and down the hall, nearly sliding into Felix as you did so.

This morning when you and Felix finalized your plan, you'd dug out an extra walkie talkie from your aunt and uncle's electronics box. It worked well after you plugged in a fresh pair of batteries. At least with the radio, Wooyoung could still have a way of getting in touch with you if the phone lines were down.

“Ready to go yet?” Felix asked just before you turned on your heel.

“Yeah! Just a sec.”

You returned to Wooyoung's room with the walkie talkie in hand, and extended the device to him. “Here you go. Have you used one of these before?”

Wooyoung set his coffee down and fiddled with the switches. “Once or twice.”

“It's pretty easy once you get the hang of it,” you said. You tapped your finger against the side of the device. “This is the talk button; hold down on it while you talk, but you have to release it in order to hear the other people on the line. The volume buttons are here—then this is the dial to change the frequency, but it should already be in tune with mine and Felix's.”

He glanced up at the latter mention. “It contacts both of you?”

You nodded, propping your hands on your hips. “We're all on the same frequency; it's just easier that way.”

“Oh,” he replied, attention wandering back to the walkie talkie as he bobbed his head in understanding.

“Are you sure there isn't anything else I can do for you before we go?”

Wooyoung met your eyes once more. “No, thanks. Stay warm out there.”

“I'll try,” you chuckled. Satisfied, you left Wooyoung to his devices and went to get Felix.

Bundled up in a warm hunter's jacket, scarf and gloves, you led Felix out to the garage where you'd stashed all of the leftover traps that hadn't been put out yet. Your aunt and uncle liked to use the garage as a miniature workshop, fitted with conventional tools and all of their ammo and weaponry. You slung a crossbow and quiver over your shoulder, and attached an ax to your belt. The cabin was in desperate need of firewood.

Felix equipped himself with his hunting rifle and fresh ammo, then grabbed the box of traps to rig. Both of you brought along your respective walkie talkies; the forest was much less intimidating in soft sunlight, and splitting up to get the job done faster was an enticing endeavor.

As you made the trek through the fresh snow toward the back of the house, you lifted your gaze far out in the direction you'd seen the glowing eyes last night. From your position, the only thing that could be seen were miles upon miles of trees.

“Hey, look” —Felix inclined his chin toward the back porch— “it's empty.”

You followed his gaze, and sure enough, there were no dead animals, and no injured ones either. You released a breath. “I don't wanna get too excited,” you murmured back in response, “they've been delivered later in the day before.”

Felix frowned. “Oh.”

“I appreciate it though.” You nudged his side with your elbow. Truly, you needed some optimism at this point.

You resumed the walk into the woods, stepping over invisible lines and checking that the traps you'd set last night hadn't been triggered.

They were all untouched, it seemed.

“He ran from this way,” you said suddenly, raising your arm in alignment with the path you remembered Wooyoung had run. “There aren't any tracks—it must have snowed sometime last night.”

Felix hummed. “Interesting. There really aren't any properties out that way, Yn, at least that I know of.”

You weren't quite sure what to do with that information. It could've still been as you hypothesized last night: Wooyoung had veered off course due to his own human nature and fear.

At this point in your hike, Felix set down the box of traps to pick out a couple to set up in this area. You were going to take the few left in the box out north; once you'd emptied the box, you could at least use it to collect small pieces of firewood.

“Radio me if you need anything!” you called to him over your shoulder as you departed.

He waved to you with a sunny grin. “And if I need to bother you?”

You only laughed in response.

Snow crunched beneath the soles of your heavy boots, leaving footprints in the hills of white. Though it was rather quiet out here, the sound of birds trilling and chirping echoed from nearby. You'd nearly forgotten why you were out rigging traps around your property.

For the first time in weeks, the peace you felt while being in these woods returned.

A sigh flew from your mouth in visible smoke. This situation was taking too much out of you. Any ounce of relaxation seeped out of your body, replacing itself with skittishness and anxiety.

You were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But it never seemed to come.

Half an hour later, you were crouched by the base of a tree about a mile out from the spot you originated from.

Three down, one to go, you thought to yourself as you straightened from your position. The knees of your pants were cold with a wet spot from the snow, and you brushed any remaining bits off your clothes.

You brushed a bead of sweat from your forehand with the back of your hand. Once you were done with this last one, you could start making your way back in Felix's direction.

Chrr-click!

“Shit.” You definitely skipped a heartbeat there. You snatched the walkie talkie from your waistband just as Felix's voice travelled through.

“Hey Yn, I just finished my set. Over.”

You lifted the radio to your mouth. “I'm almost done, too. Over.”

“I might head for a walk in the direction you were interested in. I probably won't walk for long, but if I do end up being gone longer, I'll radio you.”

The direction you were interested in? Right, Felix knew that Wooyoung was on this line, too. The organ in your chest gave a kick. Why did this feel treacherous? “Copy that,” you replied. “Let me know if you see anything, Lix. Just be careful. Over.”

The device clicked once more with Felix telling you the same before you were hooking the walkie talkie back into place.

You finished rigging the last trap in a couple minutes, and soon, you were hiking back in the direction of the cabin in search of firewood. There was a part of you that wondered if you should check on Wooyoung. But the other part of you didn't wish to bother him.

He was fine, you assured yourself. He was probably asleep—sleep was good for his injuries, after all. It was best not to disturb him.

The walkie talkie chirped again.

“Yn, where are you?”

You felt your brows twist together in confusion as you yanked the device up to your mouth. “Headed your way. How far out are you? Also, why—’s something wrong? Over.”

Felix's breath came through in light pants as if he had been jogging. You could hear the awe in his voice. “No, nothing's wrong, per se. I just didn't realise there was a lake out here. Did you know there was a lake out here? Over!”

In your memories somewhere, you fished out the vague scene of a body of water, frozen over. There had been a couple of boating accidents in the spring following your first and only trip out there—your parents were far too worried to let your aunt and uncle take you there ever again.

You'd completely forgotten about it.

A skip in your step launched you in that direction with giddy speed. “It slipped my mind,” you admitted. “But I think I know where it is. I'll meet you there—over.”

“Roger that. You know, it's strange.”

“What's strange?”

“I get that feeling you described before—that someone's watching you.” You heard him chuckle again. “It's kind of un—”

The line broke so abruptly, you nearly skidded to a halt.

Your eyes went wide as you smashed the “talk” button. “Felix? Felix, do you read me?”

No answer.

“Felix. Felix, are you still there?”

Panic began to rocket up your throat with every passing moment of radio silence. You dropped the box in your hands and took off in the direction of the lake.

You grabbed the axe at your side and ran with it gripped tightly in your hand, letting its heft launch you forward. Blood thundered in your ears as you bolted through the forest. Even with the snow a couple inches deep, you had to keep your feet moving, had to get there fast. Every single bad scenario in your mind projected itself before you like a Nightmare's Greatest Hits marathon.

The crossbow at your back clattered with its weight, and you stripped it off without a single thought. It was one less thing to weigh you down.

You tried the radio again, its chirping an empty sound next to your ragged breaths. “FELIX! Felix, answer me!”

With each silent second that passed, your heart dropped further into your stomach.

At last, the wide, frozen body of the lake appeared through the curtain of trees. It was a solid gray mass lying still in the winter landscape. Just looking at it made a cold chill pinball down your spine.

You skidded down the embankment, eyes widening and noting the other pair of tracks that led to the edge of the lake.

But the blood was something you could not miss.

Scarlet stained the white snow by the frozen shoreline where Felix's footprints ended. Drops of blood trailed out onto the middle of the lake before disappearing completely. Like he'd been snatched straight out of reality.

“Felix!” your voice carried across the lake. Your head swiveled in search of any life. Not even his hunting rifle was visible.

Fear coursed through you, pure and unfiltered.

Where had he gone? There weren't any other footprints here, so what happened?

Your lungs scorched as you cupped your hands around your mouth and screamed, “FELIX!”

Something banged up against the ice—beneath you.

Your feet jolted into action as a blurry mass hit against the ice again. It was… it was a hand.

“Oh my god,” you croaked. “Oh my god!”

Felix's blond hair fluttered out around his head as his face contorted in an inaudible scream. Bubbles flew from his mouth, hand banging up against the ice. His eyes were wide, movements frenzied.

“Felix, oh fuck,” you cried. You lifted the axe in your hands over your head. “Fuck—just hold on!”

The axe crashed down against the ice.

Hit after hit after hit—seconds passed. Then a minute.

Tears streamed down your face now, your hands sweaty and raw from your axing. Shards of splintered ice flew into the air, some slicing into your flesh to leave angry, bloody gashes in their wake.

But the ice was too thick, your axe far too weak. The dent you'd formed wasn't enough.

Felix's hand continued to bang up against the ice. You kept your own eyes pinned to his pleading expression, features contorted as if he was crying.

You could save him you could save him you could save him YOU COULD SAVE HIM—

His eyes rolled back.

A cry slipped from your throat, raw and guttural. Adrenaline bullied its way through your system as you brought the axe down like a strike of lightning.

He choked on a lung full of water.

(Fear, you knew. Fear would be the last thing he felt, and you would be the last thing he saw.)

“No!” Your vision watered as his hand fell away from the ice. “Nononono—”

The axe clattered to the frozen lake, and pain shot up your legs as your knees slammed against the ice beneath you. You pummeled your fist against it in a delusional attempt to keep fighting.

You kept punching, scraping, clawing at it until your knuckles were split open, until your nail beds tore, until your blood spilled over the ice to join the last bits of life Felix left.

The reality of it wasn't just hitting—it slammed into you. Your entire body trembled as you hunched over the pathetic divot you made in the ice.

All of your energy was spent; and yet, in the back of your mind, you could feel that someone else was there.

But it didn't matter.

You couldn't save him.

They said it was a freak accident.

You thought different—knew different. The last remnants of Felix's voice echoed in your ears like a goddamn church bell; every time you closed your fucking eyes, he was there, banging up against the ice, scared.

He didn't deserve to die scared. He didn't deserve to die.

There was a hole in the ice found on the surface of the frozen lake. His walkie talkie and hunting rifle were abandoned in nearby shrubbery. No one could tell you what really happened.

Your eyes stared into the fire flickering in your hearth, but you weren't truly looking. Anything to not feel the chill of the ice between your fingertips anymore.

What are his parents going to say? you wondered horribly. You wondered if they would blame you—in a way, you hoped they did. You would, too. After all, the whole reason he was remotely close to that lake was because of you.

“Can't sleep again?”

Your entire body jerked.

And then there was Wooyoung.

Something had shifted, not only in you, but in your newest house guest, after Felix's death. You didn't want to confront it, but when it didn't dissipate after the first day, you weren't sure what to think.

His mood was… lifted. Easygoing. His ankle healed magically, and he could walk around the house without limping. There was constant energy behind his facial features—no solemnity or dread. He didn't mention Felix, never uttered his name.

You liked to believe it was out of respect for you, but deep in your chest, you could feel the vine begin to tighten.

“No,” you rasped, clearing your throat of the hoarseness trapped there. You brushed your hair out of your face as you turned back to the fire, letting its warmth curl over you.

You felt the couch dip beside you. “I'm sorry to hear that.”

The two of you sat by the crackling fire with nothing to say. Your hands, wrapped up in your own biodegradable bandages, clasped one another in your lap, willing the trembling to go away.

“Can I tell you a story? To help you fall asleep?”

His words drew your attention back to him. They were the first normal sign of human comfort he'd exhibited thus far, but when you looked at him, the firelight reflecting across his face was far from comforting.

You decided it was something about his eyes. Beautiful, but terrifyingly sharp. It wasn't that beautiful things weren't allowed to hurt, but there was a glint in his irises that scraped at your skin.

He took your silence and your staring as a sign. His lips curled into a smile. (When had his busted lip healed over? How had the purple gone to sallow yellow to normal skin so quickly?) “Maybe you should lie down,” he said softly, voice curling into your ear, a cat crooning. His hand cupped the side of your face and gently guided you to lean on his shoulder.

His fingers danced among the strands of small hairs by your ear. They were warm, but rough at the pads. Your body remained stiff as a board, but you let your eyes flutter shut in an attempt to relax.

Wooyoung’s hand continued to pet the side of your head. “My brothers and I were adopted together by a woman we called our den mother. Every night, without fail, she would tuck us into bed and tell us the origins of a creature called the werewolf.”

Werewolves? How fitting, you thought. After everything that happened, you'd forgotten that this town was infested with rogue wolves.

“The werewolf was a creature trapped between two forms—man and wolf,” he continued. “Upon the full moon, wolves newly born to their dual forms shed their human skin for the body of a wolf. By morning, they would have no recollection of what transpired.

“They said that werewolves were bloodthirsty, carnal creatures, ruled by their basest needs and desires. Their teeth were as sharp as knives for a reason. They were more animal than they were man.” His fingers paused on the side of your head, before picking a lock to twirl around his index. “But what man did not know was that the werewolves were conscious and intelligent; they were imbued with divine purpose.”

Though his storytelling wasn't conventional, you clung onto every word. Your hand gripped the fabric of your pajama pants, eyes remaining shut.

Wooyoung's nose nudged the side of your head. “Though their bodies were a curse, their abilities could be used to find their blessings. The universe tends toward balance, after all.”

“A blessing?” the two words slipped from your lips, barely audible.

But doubtlessly, he heard it. You couldn't see the very wide smile on his face at your interest. “Yes, sweet girl, a blessing,” he said, brightened. “Each soul, born to the body of a werewolf, was given one divine mate. A soul that made theirs whole; a soul made exclusively, mutually, for each other.”

The organ occupying your chest gave a hard thump against your bones.

“And it was the werewolf's divine duty,” he murmured against your hair, “to find this soulmate and do everything in his power to have her.”

Your heart throttled in its cage and your eyes flew open. All feeling bled from your fingers again; they were as numb as the moment you watched Felix die.

Because of you. He died because of you.

You lifted your head from Wooyoung's shoulder, ignoring the burn of his gaze and the way his fingers curled into your hair like he was going to root you in place if he had to. “I—I think I've actually become quite tired,” you stammered, knees shaking as you stood.

“Yn—”

“Thanks, Wooyoung.” You flashed him a smile that would convince no one, but it faltered when you caught the look on his face.

Maybe it was the angle of his body positioned against the fire, but a dark shadow had fallen across him. His features were unreadable again—no, just unfeeling. Calculating. You couldn't ignore it this time, nor could you ignore the near-painful spike of fear that pierced your chest.

That glint, that flash of steel in his eyes—you should have known by now what light reflecting off the edge of a blade looked like.

It took everything in you not to run.

six. there's something out there in here

You didn't sleep a wink. The nerves in your body remained taut and uncomforted, fueled by the presence of your house guest. You waited in your bedroom for the feeble rays of winter sun to lift night from the sky. As soon as the dark sapphire lightened to a shade of frozen ice, you got dressed.

It gave you too much time to think and mull over everything that had happened recently.

The rational side of you couldn't put stock behind Wooyoung's supposed bedtime story. And the rational side of you also knew that one didn't have to be a fucking werewolf to pull off any of the messed up shit you'd endured the past few weeks.

Right?

Nonetheless, the five injured birds you kept harbored away in your room were to be freed today—fully recovered or not. They needed to get out. You didn't know why the urge suddenly consumed you like wildfire, but you would set them free before something prevented you from doing so.

The birds sat together in their makeshift nest, chirping up at you as you slipped out of your room and into the hallway.

You swiveled your head—left to right—marking no presence of your house guest. The other bedroom door was ajar as it always was, but you knew he didn't need it to be able to get around without a sound.

(You should have known something was wrong when you suddenly felt that the eyes were in your house, too.)

“Don't start yelling—I mean it,” you chided all of your birds as you continued out into the main room. They seemed to still at once, as if sensing that they had left the safe haven of your bedroom. You could relate; a tingling sensation cascaded down your body from your shoulders, down your spine, and curling in your toes.

The main room was dark, but you could smell the distinct char and bitterness of roasted coffee beans from the kitchen.

“Sleep well?” asked Wooyoung from where he stood behind the coffee maker, arms crossed over his chest, the corners of his mouth curling upward.

“Uhm yeah—yes—”

The birds started their symphony.

You jerked as they each bellowed their individual calls, beady eyes transfixed upon the man who stood in your kitchen, across the room from you. It wasn't a trick of your eyes or ears when you witnessed Wooyoung narrow his gaze and pull his lips back in a snarl.

A dull thunk sounded from the couch's end table—you didn't know how you noticed it.

“What the hell?”

The tripwire had just been triggered again. There was absolutely no time to fully digest everything that was happening. There were too many things happening.

You could deal with the birds later, you decided. Them and you were all on the same page about your house guest, but there was something out there trying to steal away your attention.

“Wait here,” you voiced out instinctively, marching over to grab the rifle leaning against the couch. You didn't wait to hear Wooyoung's response over the sound of the birds.

The back door slammed shut behind you, wooden slabs rattling against its wooden frame. The cold bit your cheeks as you cocked the rifle. Your boots sank into the snow and you stalked along the first rows of trees around the perimeter of your home.

It could be that regular wildlife just happened to set it off this morning. That would be the best case scenario.

Then what's the worst case? you asked yourself, keeping the rifle level with your eye, finger wrapped around the trigger.

You didn't want to admit that Wooyoung's story from last night flashed through your mind. It was only a children's bedtime story; it wasn't real.

It couldn't possibly be…

In the stagnant winter morning, not a soul could be heard. Only your fears and your breath kept you company as you weaved yourself through the trees.

You made sure to check any traps you came across, your heart pounding in your chest with each empty one you found. Whatever it was, it tripped the wire, didn't get trapped, and showed no signs of being around anymore.

(You knew someone like that.)

You had almost made a complete circle around the property when something blurred past in your periphery.

You whirled, muzzle aimed in the direction in question.

Ba-bump, ba-bump, went your heartbeat echoing in your ears. Ba-bump, ba-bump.

The bark of a tree dug into your arm as you held position for another minute, and then another.

Until finally, in the distance, you watched in thinly veiled horror as a shadow emerged from between the trees. It was a large, hulking silhouette, black as a winter's night.

You swore to god it took the shape of a massive wolf—until it moved a little. It might have been a wolf. And then it turned its head toward you, and your stomach dropped clear into your shoes—definitely not a wolf.

It was gone as quickly as it came. One minute, its yellow eyes, a pair of glowing amber stones, pierced your soul in an all too familiar way; the next, it stepped out of sight, as if it had walked between the folds of the trees to disappear.

Your hands trembled as you brought the rifle down. The wolf—that thing—was certainly still out there. It was a feeling that wouldn't go away, the heavy, phantom weight of an unwanted gaze. You didn't believe you could kill it or hunt it down.

Your next best option was to head back and perhaps call the sheriff. There was a good chance he wouldn't take you seriously again, but you had to try.

Setting a fast pace, you slung the rifle across your body and made your way back to the cabin. Every so often, you would glance over your shoulder expecting to see even the phantom glow of those eyes.

When you let yourself in, you shucked the rifle off and went straight for the landline on the end table.

The rifle butt thudded as you set it down and replaced it in your hand with the phone.

Your finger stopped while going toward the dial.

Why was it so damn quiet?

Your eyes scanned the room first for Wooyoung. He was (arguably) the easiest to spot. He was nowhere to be found, but your makeshift nest of birds sat on the kitchen counter by an untouched pot of coffee.

You set the phone down and stepped over to the nest. Dread began to seep into your bloodstream, a ship with a leak in its hull, slowly filling with seawater.

Bile lurched up your throat at what you saw.

There was far too much blood everywhere for such small creatures. There was too much meat, tendon, and bone showing; too much for any of it to be considered remotely humane.

They were dead. Every last one of them.

Wooyoung was not in the house. He had left sometime during the night or early morning when you were locked up in your room, “sleeping.” He left without a sound, without a trace.

The only way you knew he'd left was because you looked.

Your heart thundered in your chest and you feared it was so loud, it might start echoing within the silent cabin. You grabbed a handful of clothing from the dresser to throw into your bag. There was little time to lose—you didn't know when or if Wooyoung would be back, where he had gone. For all you knew, he could have walked down the road and was on his way back now.

You buried the birds in the forest a few minutes’ walk from your back porch. Cleaning the blood from the basket and the wooden table had been misery-inducing. Your hands wouldn't stop shaking.

You’d cleaned animal remains before, but you had never seen it done like this—their tiny throats removed, like a pair of fingers had torn them out by the vocal cords. Their dark, beady eyes stared up at you as soulless glass.

He'd smiled at you when he walked into the main room. I thought you'd like some peace and quiet, was what he said. There had been something dark reddish-brown staining the bed beneath Wooyoung's fingernails. His disposition had grown even lighter in the absence of all the noise.

That was the moment you decided to run at the first opportunity.

There wasn't much for you to pack, despite the original intent to housesit for a month. Everything could be replaced in due time; nothing was worth lingering here any longer than you needed to.

You yanked the zipper closed and slung the strap over your shoulder.

In the living room, you found the hunting rifle leaning against the couch as it always did. You picked it up and checked the cartridge, scrambling onto the floor to find where you'd discarded that box of ammo all those nights ago.

With ammo, gun, and bag in your possession, you practically launched yourself toward the front door.

Your breath came out in sharp, white puffs in front of your face as the winter air snapped its cold fangs at you. You hobbled through the snow to your car in the driveway, praying to any being watching over you that this would be a smooth drive down the mountain. There hadn't been a terrible amount of snowfall lately; if anything, any powder on the ground was now old, sludgy ice.

But as you reached your car door, you patted down the pockets of your jacket, your pants, your bag—

“Shit,” you muttered, abandoning your bag on the hood and jogging yourself back into the cabin.

Your keys. How could you forget your fucking keys?

You cursed yourself all the way back up the porch steps and while shouldering into the cabin. The keys were not on the counter by the front door, nor were they on the kitchen island, or the end table by the couch, or on your desk in your bedroom.

The longer you went without finding these damn keys, the stronger your heart palpitations became. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

You could feel your extremities numb and quake as you strapped the gun across your back, so you could rifle through the kitchen drawers with both hands.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

Spoons, knives, forks, chopsticks, whisks, spatulas, scissors, strainers—no keys.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

Where were your fucking keys?

Ba-bum—

“Looking for these?”

The entire drawer of silverware clanked together as your hands jerked with the rest of your body, head whipping up far too fast to be normal. Every fiber of your being stood on edge.

How had he opened the door without so much as a peep?

Wooyoung stood across the main room from you at the back door, one arm crossed over his chest while the other dangled your car keys from his fingers. You didn't notice any visible weapons on him, only the unsettling amount of blood smeared across his cheeks and hands and torso. There was a luxurious fur coat hanging from his shoulders, and while he wore a pair of pants, his chest was bare. Slashes of white scarred the toned lines of his chest—you didn't want to know what those were from.

“Yes, I was actually,” you said, somehow managing to keep the obvious shaking out of your voice. Your hand went straight to your rifle. “Can I please have them? I was going to go into town to—”

“You don't need to lie to me,” he said. A smile played upon his lips, but it wasn't the good kind. There was something amused about it, as if he found it entertaining that you would even try. “You can have them back.”

Relief was still out of reach. It couldn't be that easy. “Really?”

Wooyoung shrugged. “Sure, sweets. I'd give my mate anything she wanted.”

The terminology made your freeze as dread coiled itself around your ribcage and squeezed.

“As long as,” he added airily, lifting his other hand to give his bloodied nails a cursory glance over, “you can tell me you won't be leaving town. I'd really hate to take something as important away as your car, Yn.”

He raised his eyes to meet yours again. “Or any ability to leave at all, in fact.”

You swallowed. “I just want to go home,” you said quietly, hand tightening around the rifle body. You shifted the weapon in front of you, like doing so could shield you from him, could warn him from getting any closer.

“You are home though.” His lips pursed into a pout, eyebrows creasing together. “Well,” he paused, the innocent expression fading away, “not yet, at least. We've got a bit of a walk, but we're practically there. I'm ready to go whenever you are.”

What? “I'm not” —you bit your tongue before the words could slip out.

“You're not what?” Wooyoung's head tilted to the side, that predatory gleam returning to his eyes. “Didn't you want to stay here forever? Live out the rest of your life in this idyllic, secluded place? You said you liked it here.”

Those were your words to him when you first met. He had taken them literally.

“And you know, I did everything I could to prove I would be a perfect mate for you,” he continued on, pushing off the door and beginning to take slow, stalking steps forward. “When you came back for that deer we hunted together, I found you another to eat—and when that man and woman took the body from you, I punished them for stealing what was yours.”

Oh god. The Hawkins's…

“I apologize for not realizing you liked the smaller animals better, but I fixed it! I paid attention. I got you what you liked.” Wooyoung stood halfway across the living room now, arms spread wide in gesture to his generous actions.

Your lungs weren't working. Something horrid crawled up your throat, bitter and acrid and terrible. “Oh my god,” you croaked. A hand came up to cover your mouth. “Oh my god, that was you.”

“Yes, it was,” he said firmly. “You understand, don't you? I told you the other night. I even waited until there would be absolutely nothing obstructing our relationship.”

The other night? He meant the story about the werewolves and their supposed, fated soulmates, then. And as for any obstructions… Oh, god you were going to be sick.

When you could only continue to stare at him, his expression fell into that blank slate again. “Joong said this might be hard, but I always pegged you as smart, Yn.”

“Tell me you didn't do it.”

You knew the answer—it was as certain as if it had been clawed into the ice. If he had done all of that, then there was no question about it. Your voice shook as you said, “Tell me you didn't kill him.”

Wooyoung stared back at you for a long second. “The human boy?” he spat out like it tasted disgusting on his tongue. “I thought we were over this. Why does his death even matter? I did all of it for you—”

A sound expelled from your lungs, something on the verge of tears and a scream. “You killed him for me?”

“Yes! And I would do it again,” he snarled, lip curling over his gums to reveal the point of his canines. “He kept getting in the way—he deserved it, really. You should have heard how pathetic he sounded when I dragged him out onto the ice. I don't understand what you saw in him, Yn.”

“I didn't see him like that,” you exclaimed. Tears watered your vision, lungs seizing in your chest. “He was trying to protect me from you!”

“And some protector he was.” Wooyoung scowled. “If he couldn't even protect himself, he couldn't possibly protect you. But I can.”

Felix died because he lost. He lost in some sick and twisted game he didn't even know he was playing. That wave of grief from before returned tenfold.

“The wolf” eyed you. “Now, it's time for you to take your place where you belong.”

“With you?” you asked, scoffing at the absurdity still.

“Yes.” His eyes narrowed, dropping your keys against the floor. The clattering noise it made nearly had you flinching. He began making long, purposeful strides toward you. “Don't be stubborn—”

You raised the rifle, the cocking mechanism reverberating throughout the cabin. His footsteps faltered. “Stay away from me.”

“I really,” he murmured, movements slowing, “don't think you want to do that.”

“I think I do.” You wrapped your finger around the trigger. “Take one more step and I'll kill you, I swear to fucking god.”

“Yn.” His foot inched forward.

You didn't think, only squeezed the trigger. The shock from the shot vibrated through your entire body, energy traveling from finger, to arm, to chest.

His expression turned downward as if he was disappointed that you'd held true to your word.

BANG! You loaded another bullet and fired it. BANG! BANG! BANG—

He stumbled back from the force before his body collapsed backward onto the wood floor of your living room.

Smoke wafted from the end of the muzzle as you lowered it from your line of sight. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes glued to the body. Something dark, viscous, murky began to seep out from under him where the bullets had flown through: two through the heart, three through the lungs. You'd shot to kill.

You let the butt of the rifle hit the floor as you buried your face in your hands and sucked in about a dozen shuddering breaths.

He was dead.

He had to be dead.

And when you crept over, one small step at a time, his eyes were closed and the bullet holes were unmistakeable.

You pressed your fingers to your mouth and crouched down beside him to pick up your car keys. Don't feel bad, you thought to yourself. He killed Felix. He terrorized you for weeks. He was finally dead.

You stepped around the blood pooling on the ground.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, goosebumps raising over your skin. Why did your nerves still feel as taut as a bowstring?

The danger was over, was it not?

You clenched the car keys in your hand and shifted the rifle across your back.

A low growl resonated through the room.

“I told you not to do that.”

Fear had you turning around.

Instinct wasn't fast enough to load your gun again.

A scream tore out of your throat as the creature pounced at you, and the sight that filled your vision—teeth, jaw, fur, and eyes that glared like warning signs—was not a wolf.

It was cold, was the first thing you thought when your conscience came to. Your eyes couldn't open yet, and you could only feel the muffled friction of your body sliding over snow.

It was so cold, you were numb to it. The nerves attending to every junction and crevice of your body had been blocked. A ball of cotton had been shoved into your head; you couldn't breathe quite right. It smelled like a penny—metallic, heady.

One of your legs was dragging along the ground; the other was lifted up in the air, ankle clutched by an unwavering grip to the point that it was numb just like the rest of your body. But something throbbed, distantly. You couldn't pinpoint where it was, only that it pulsed with its own heartbeat.

When your eyes fluttered open, you squinted up at the blinding white sky above your head. The thin, wiry branches of winter trees passed through your frame of vision every so often; and the whistling… there was a soft, muddled whistling somewhere.

“Oh, you're awake.”

Your body couldn't even react to that voice. That voice was supposed to be dead.

You didn't have strength in your neck to lift your head and confirm your fears, but he spoke again anyway. “I really didn't want to hurt you, Yn, but you didn't give me much choice. Bullets hurt, y'know?”

He chuckled, a sound that might have been warm if you didn't know him. “I forgot to mention that you can't kill me like that,” he said pleasantly. “It was cute that you tried. Your aim was perfect.”

Where are you taking me? you wanted to ask, but couldn't. Your voice was trapped away inside your throat, body too numbed and in pain at the same time. The only thing you could do was let out a little whimper.

“It won't be too long now,” he reassured you. “I think… just a little further…”

His voice dragged out for a couple moments, then stopped when he physically halted.

Your leg was set down onto the snow with its partner, and your blurry view was captured by the face of a man whom you thought you killed. Your pulse began to race as fear and adrenaline were injected into your veins. He was wearing the coat still, but the bullet holes you were certain you saw were nowhere to be found on his torso.

“I killed a bear for this hide,” said Wooyoung while slipping the fur from his shoulders. He draped it over your body, wrapping you in its entirety—a glorified corpse. Your body left the ground as he scooped you into his arms, and was pressed to him, his face in your clear view. “I figured you might be cold where we're going. Joong said it would be a great mating gift.”

Where…? Your mouth moved, but no sound came out. What had he done to you?

“Where?” he repeated after reading your lips. “Home, sweet girl. And don't you worry—”

He turned around and showed you the path from which you came from. Another round of bile crept up your throat. The white snow was marred by a streak of crimson red, undoubtedly your blood. There were remnants of footsteps within the dark sludge, but not enough to truly identify them. The bloody river snaked a path through the forest; you couldn't even see the cabin from here.

He leaned down toward you, nose nudging at your cheek with affection. “—they’ll never find you.”

the end.

Sheriff Lang was at odds with the evidence before him. The evidence told a story—albeit, a vague one—but none of it made much sense.

According to what he was seeing, you were in the kitchen shooting at something or someone in the living room. You'd succeeded, in fact. The only issue was there was no body, and there were no indications that you or anybody else could have dragged it away. It was simply a puddle of blood.

Rifle shells were scattered over the floor where you had stood. He was slowly trying to piece everything together. None of this pointed to an animal attack; no wild animal was this neat.

(He didn't want to admit that it could've been the other way round: that somebody had been shooting you, and all of that was your life force, seeping into the wooden floors of your relatives’ home. With what you'd told him the other day… It wasn't that he didn't believe you or Felix; he just didn't want to risk it.)

A distraught sign fell from his mouth as he rubbed a hand over his face. “Damn it.”

What was he supposed to tell your aunt and uncle? You had already been missing for a couple days. Mr. Ly had been the one to find the pool of blood in your cabin when he came to check up on you. After the tragic death of your friend Felix Lee, he'd been concerned after you failed to answer your phone several times, only to be met with the smell of iron, death, and dread.

It was all just fucked up.

“Sheriff Lang!”

The sheriff's body reacted before his own brain could. It was prey instinct, recognizing the sound of a predator.

Except—Sheriff Lang raised his head and watched as a tall, young man stepped into the cabin. He was, by all definitions, normal; if a wolf in sheep's clothes could be normal. Outwardly, the man was not threatening. He had a smile that was infectious and a soft kind of laugh he employed to force an air of ease into rather uneasy situations.

He'd shown up in town eight months ago, and that was when all of Sheriff Lang's problems had begun.

He called himself Jeong. “Mr. Jeong,” Sheriff Lang greeted him slowly, eyes scanning the lanky body of his counterpart to clock anything that could be considered a threat. “This is an active crime scene, so I'm afraid you'll have to leave.”

How did he even know where to find him?

Mr. Jeong flashed him an easy smile. “No problem, I only came to say that I'll be leaving soon.”

The sheriff could hardly believe what he was hearing. He couldn't help the twist of disbelief in his eyebrows.

Mr. Jeong laughed. “My superior is very pleased with your cooperation, Sheriff Lang,” he said, that unnerving smile still plastered on his face. “And now that we have what we came for, we will be moving on.”

“Moving on, you say?” What in the world did any of this mean? Eight months ago, he didn't have a pack of rogue wolves terrorizing his town. Eight months ago, there weren't four people dead or missing. Eight months ago… What exactly had he and his party come here for?

A nod. “Yes. Not to worry—you won't be seeing me ever again. You and your family will have nothing to fear, as long as you adhere to our agreement. Your town and your life will return to the way it was before.”

“You mean,” Sheriff Lang deadpanned, “before bodies started dropping dead?”

“Well, yes.” Mr. Jeong smiled again and clapped his counterpart on the shoulder. The sheriff had to try hard not to flinch. “Goodbye, Sheriff Lang.”

“Sheriff!” A deputy poked his head in through the back door, eyes as wide as the moon. “You need to come see this.”

“You should probably follow him,” Mr. Jeong said. He turned on his heel, then walked out of the cabin without another word.

Sheriff Lang heeded the strange man's warnings and went after his deputy, but glanced over his shoulder to ensure Mr. Jeong had really gone away. When he was satisfied, he turned his focus to whatever his officer was calling him about.

They emerged onto the back porch, and the sheriff stopped cold in his tracks.

Well, that seemed to explain some things.

It could only be described as a river of blood. What was once likely pure crimson, was a trail of dark, murky brown-red winding deep into the forest. The path began at the foot of the back porch steps and disappeared between the trees.

Sheriff Lang let out a low swear, and he and his deputy could only follow the trail to find its end.

“There are partial footprints here,” said the deputy, pointing out divots where the snow hadn't been levelled out. There were other, smaller animal prints occasionally, but they were rare; no animal wanted any part of whatever this was.

He felt his stomach tank.

A body. Only something as large and heavy as a body could have made this trail. The body had been dragged for this long.

The two continued onward, carefully picking their way around each wide bend and narrow curve of this wicked path. Whoever this was had to have lost a lot of blood. There was simply no way they were alive now.

About two miles into the woods, the pair were brought to a halt.

Sheriff Lang bristled. “Where the hell is the rest of it?”

“I—I don't know,” stammered the deputy.

“Well, we have to find it! They couldn't have just disappeared into thin air.”

They set off in different directions in search of the conclusion they were missing. But as the minutes bled into hours bled into days, it was clear that there was no conclusion.

The bloody trail ended and there were no more footprints in the snow.

a/n: remember to comment + reblog if u enjoyed ! def not my typical fic genre but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless :)

Not even a mile into the woods, blanketed in white, you already caught onto a trail. From what you remembered, it wasn’t out of the ordinary to find wildlife so abundant in these parts; you simply didn’t count on finding anything so soon. These tracks in particular were not as defined in the soft snow beneath your feet. However, you could make out the two toes and their heart-shaped nature by comparing the different prints.

There was no doubt about it. You’d stumbled upon a deer.

A familiar thrill rushed through your veins, the blood pulsating against the thin skin of your throat. The excitement that came with knowing there was an animal nearby was a feeling you hadn’t experienced in years. Your instincts were rusty, but they were slowly returning to you.

Your gloved fingers tightened around the neck of your bow. The crossbow your aunt and uncle owned remained in the warmth of the cabin—that was something you needed more time retraining yourself with. Your intention wasn’t to come out and hunt; your intention was to refresh your archery muscles, and maybe explore the surrounding woods a little. To actually find animal tracks though—talk about beginner's luck.

Eyes darting between the footprints and the surrounding area, you swiftly and carefully picked your way deeper into the forest. Your breaths came out in short, visible puffs, nearly blending in with the abundant snow. An overcast sky hung over your head, high above where the evergreens and birches stretched.

The tread marks you left behind were light, quiet. The snow was fresh from the night before, soft, not icy.

You told yourself you only wanted to see the deer. There was nothing quite like catching sight of one in the wild.

It wasn't denied to you for much longer, in fact.

Several meters ahead, you spotted the light brown fur of a doe. Her lean form was bowed toward a patch of grass sprouting up through the snow. There were delicate, little white spots dotting her side, not quite at her belly.

You kept your shoulder pressed to the nearest tree, the bark scratching against your jacket and your cheek as you marveled at the deer ahead.

You nearly jumped as the animal suddenly whipped her head up.

Your hand tightened on your bow, your entire body tensing to keep from making a sound. It was as if the deer had sensed you watching it, except…

Her head wasn't turned in your direction—she was turned slightly to your right.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood erect and a chill crept down your spine despite the thick jacket keeping out the winter cold. You turned your head in the direction of the doe's gaze, staring out into the white wintry woods.

What had she sensed?

It was as if the whole forest had gone silent while lying in wait. Or perhaps, even the birds had abandoned this neck of the woods, for fear of what predator they'd spied. Not a single chirp was heard nor breath was seen.

You and the deer held still for a moment.

And then another.

After the third beat of silence passed, you decided it wasn't worth finding out what an animal's survival instinct had picked up on. You tried not to make a sound while running back to the cabin.

Your estranged aunt and uncle had entrusted you with their cabin for a month. They were a couple whom your relatives enjoyed gossiping about, with the occasional comment about their reclusiveness and their “uncivilized” nature because they were hunters. You found it rather hypocritical, really. After all, several of them were trained to hunt, too, including yourself.

You kept in touch with your aunt and uncle the most out of your relatives, which was why you suspected you were their first choice to cabin-sit for the month of January. After a stressful season at your investment firm, you were ready to become your own sort of hermit in the mountains. Where else better than the secluded wintry wonderland of your youth?

The chains looped around your car's tires clinked together as you rolled into a parking spot along a curb in town. Your cabin was one of the farther ones out, but the drive into town wasn't terrible. The only issue would be if you were snowed in, but that was what the radios were for.

Despite the temperature being below freezing, the small town was a-buzz with people. They all seemed to know each other—waving hello, stopping to chat, helping one another on their way, and the like. Everyone in town was close-knit, including your aunt and uncle. It had been several years since you were last here; would any of them recognize you?

As the bell twinkled above the café door, warmth swarmed every inch of your exposed skin. The air was perfumed with the smell of cinnamon and butter, leading you straight to the counter as if you were hooked to a fishing line. Stepping inside was like being drowned in a cup of hot chocolate.

“Well, I'll be damned,” said a deep voice to your right.

Your head turned in that direction, tearing away from the baked goods behind the glass display. There was a blond young man seated on one of the stools at the counter, cheekbones smattered with freckles, lips stretched in a smile that glowed like the sun. You felt your memory twitch. He seemed familiar.

“I'm sorry,” you said with an awkward smile. “Do I…?”

The man's smile didn't even budge. In fact, it seemed to widen. “Is this what working on Wall Street did to you? Fry the memory of your old partner in crime right out of your brain?”

Partner in crime?

Then it clicked.

Your eyes shot wide open, and his own twinkled in a mischief that made you a little too nostalgic. “No way,” you gasped. “In my defense, I didn't expect you to look like a fried chicken, Felix.” The last time you saw him, his hair was still its natural color.

He threw his head back in a laugh before lifting his palms up in surrender. “Alright, fair enough,” he relented. He patted the open stool beside him. “Come, sit! It's literally been ages.”

“It definitely has been,” you agreed as you took the spot he offered up.

The older woman stationed behind the counter arrived before you, and you requested one of the pretty-looking raspberry danishes from the display, as well as a cup of coffee.

As she left to retrieve your order for you, you turned to Felix. “And by the way, I don't work on Wall Street.”

“All finance is the same to me,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and lifting his cup to his lips.

You shook your head, then thanked the woman as she set down a piping hot cup of coffee and danish in front of you. “That's exactly what my aunt and uncle say to me.”

They were always rather supportive when you spoke to them, but they hadn't the slightest interest in what you did for work. What interest could they possibly have when they lived in such a quaint place? They lived the perfect little life up here.

Felix brightened. “Oh, speaking of your aunt and uncle,” he piped up, “I was so surprised to hear they were actually going out of town. They aren't the sort to opt for a tropical vacation, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” you mused. You took a bite out of your pastry, dusting the crumbs onto the plate. “They won some sweepstakes trip to an island. I don't think they would've considered it had I not agreed to watch their place for them.”

Your companion gave a knowing nod. His parents owned a cabin up here, as well, which was why you knew each other in your mutual youth. Spending one's childhoods together bonding over snowball fights and cookie-baking was a friendship that was difficult to forget.

“Yeah, my folks rent out our cabin most of the year anyway, and it was hard for me to convince them to pick someplace else to vacation this year. Truly though, they had a bucket list of places. It wouldn't kill them to see new things.”

“For sure,” you agreed wholeheartedly.

“But you know” —his voice dropped a little lower and he leaned in slightly, eyes glancing around as if to ensure no one nearby was listening too closely— “maybe it's best that they're all away this year. People have been saying that we've got a bit of a wolf problem now.”

Your brows twisted together, heart kicking in your chest. “A wolf problem?” you echoed. You knew it wasn't unheard-of to see a wolf here and there deep in the woods, but their population was never an issue. “What do you mean?”

Felix's expression had gradually fallen into something solemn and serious, a strange look for a man whose smiles were his resting face. “Well apparently, a pack of rogue wolves migrated into the area at the tail end of last winter. They hunt, like, all the time and they've nearly decimated the local wildlife population.”

Oh. A frown etched itself into your face.

Since however long you'd known this place, you knew that there was a pack of gray wolves that already occupied this territory. Predator species were usually no trouble; in fact, wolves were the keystone species of this ecosystem. They held up the natural order.

But for there to be a new group of wolves in town? How could they possibly coexist?

You mulled over the new information Felix told you. But hadn't you just seen a doe earlier today? “That’s unfortunate to hear,” you murmured. “Has the town leadership tried to do something about it yet? Maybe call in an external wildlife group to help relocate them?”

“I think they did, but it might not have worked out,” he replied before taking another sip of his beverage. “I just wanted you to know to be extra careful if you're out there.”

“I appreciate the warning, Felix. Thanks.”

The doe from earlier… had she sensed a wolf? But a wolf wouldn't have waited that long to go after the deer, and the deer would've run sooner.

None of it quite made sense to you, but maybe your hunting logic was still a tad unseasoned.

You finished up your coffee and pastry, passed the waitress the money to cover your bill, and promised Felix you would give him a call once you got back to your cabin. It was comforting to know that at least one person remembered you, and that one person just happened to be one of your friends.

You tightened your jacket around you, yanking up the collar around the lower half of your face to brace for when you returned into the cold.

The bell above the door gave another chime as you exited—a more aggressive jangle than the one before, just as an aggressive and frigid gust of wind blew past.

“Good grief,” you muttered with a wince.

You shoved your hands into your coat pockets and continued to trudge down the street. There were a couple errands you needed to run before you could return to the cabin, and that included stocking up on emergency supplies and figuring out what you would eat for dinner.

As a second unforgiving gust of wind rushed you, you slowed your movements and raised a hand to shield your face against some of the icy particles.

You weren't able to see the person walking opposite you then, and you felt your shoulder ram into the hard muscle and bone of someone else's.

“Ow—oh, sorry! I didn't see you there,” you said as you turned to address the person you bumped into.

Your footsteps and breathing faltered as a pair of sharp and dark eyes pierced into you like twin shards of ice. You weren't expecting immediate and direct eye contact. He was a lean and limber young man, about your age perhaps, with short blond hair and a prominent nose. There was a mole beneath one of his eyes, something that drew your attention away from his lack of layers. How he could survive such temperatures with only a thin overshirt, you would never understand.

“No, it was my fault entirely,” he replied. His mouth pressed into a small smile and he clasped a hand onto the shoulder he collided with. “Are you alright?”

His tone and expression were friendly enough, and you took your increased heart rate as a sign of pleasant surprise. He was rather handsome.

“Oh yeah, I'm fine,” you dismissed with a chuckle. “Don't worry about me.”

He withdrew his hand from your shoulder and cupped it over the back of his neck in a sort of sheepishness. “This is a little embarrassing, but… you're new around here, right? I could've sworn I haven't seen you here before, but I could be wrong.”

You gave a slight shrug, grinning at him. “Somewhat. I'm housesitting for my aunt and uncle, but I haven't been up here in ages. I suppose you can say I'm new.” You stuck your hand out to him. “I'm Yn, by the way.”

The man slid his palm against yours, thumb locking your hands together in a handshake. “Wooyoung,” he said. “Planning to stay here long?”

“A few weeks,” you answered. “You?”

“Oh” —he gave a shrug— “I'm here all year 'round. My brothers and I… we've got a place nearby.”

You nodded. “That sounds nice. I've always liked being here.”

His head cocked to the side at your comment, and you thought you saw his eyes narrow, but perhaps that was just the icy wind blurring your vision. “You have, hm? Well, we could always use more pretty faces around here like yours. You should stay all year long,” he said.

His lip twitched upward at the corner and you took that as a sign that his words were light-hearted. His compliment didn't go unnoticed by you, though, and you were glad it was cold enough to prevent yourself from feeling too flustered.

You laughed. “I wish! If I could retire early, I would, then I’d move up here to live out the rest of my days.”

The sound of regular chatter and jolly laughter drew your attention away from Wooyoung momentarily, and it reminded you of your agenda further down the street.

“Do you happen to hunt?”

Your head swiveled back to Wooyoung, who's stare never left your face. “Hunt?” you parroted back. “I do. I'm a little rusty though, if I'm being honest.”

He stuck his tongue in his cheek, smile widening. “No worries, it's just like riding a bicycle—I don't really know how to ride a bicycle, but… y'know.”

“I understand you completely,” you reassured. “Listen, it was really nice meeting you, Wooyoung, but I'm afraid I've got some errands to run. I'm sure we'll bump into each other in town again sooner or later.”

Something flickered across his face, but he nodded. “It was really nice meeting you, too, Yn. I hope it's sooner rather than later.”

You were already beginning to step away, but you lifted your hand in a wave. “Count on it!”

You turned on your heel to continue on your way, shoving your freezing hands back into the safety of your coat pockets. The entire time you walked, you didn't know why, but the hairs on the back of your neck pricked up like they had in the woods earlier—back when you were in the midst of a predator.

There was fortunately still light outside by the time you returned to your cabin later that afternoon. It was light enough, in fact, that you returned to the woods several feet from your back porch, to try your luck once more.

Felix's words from earlier rang in your ears again, and that was partly why you rather wanted to go find that deer.

Did she happen to get away safely, you wondered, as you picked your way through the ice-covered dirt and lifted tree roots. The last couple hours of light filtered through the thin, dark trees, like bars in a prison. You promised yourself you were only curious and would turn back before it grew dark.

But the deeper you ventured into the woods, the more that sinking feeling grew in your gut.

Your feet came to a halt at the sight of a dark lump lying by the foot of a tree.

Even from a slight distance, you knew what a dead body looked like. An animal's dead body.

The doe's eyes were so wide you could still see the light reflect off her black pupils, her mouth open in fear or a frozen snapshot of her screams. Her entire middle had been eviscerated, flesh torn, ribcage cracked open with the bones bloody and red-brown. The snow around her body was a murky shade of rust by now.

A wave of heavy acceptance washed over you. So there was a wolf here earlier, and she hadn't gotten away.

Just as you decided to wait here for a moment in silence, that distinct weight of a stare fell upon you.

It raised the hairs and goosebumps on your skin, made your heart quicken in your chest on its own.

Right, it would be foolish of you to linger out here for too long. That deer carcass wasn't exactly old. Before you could scare yourself anymore, you turned tail and headed back to the safety of your cabin.

two. a learning curve

“You ought to have the cabin checked out, honey. I know your aunt and uncle haven't secured their locks in awhile, but you're livin’ up there alone.”

A good-natured laugh tumbled out of you as you hugged a paper bag of small household appliances to your chest. It had been a few days since you arrived, but everyone in town treated you like family, especially once they realized who you were related to.

This was only one such instance—you met Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins in one of the stores in town while you were grabbing some extra batteries, matches, cleaners, and the like. They once ran a small business of installing security systems for cabins and homes before they retired. Most of the security was to ensure bears or mice couldn't get in, but on the offhand a wolf or something was near, they assisted with that, too.

Mr. Hawkins held the door open for you as you and his wife strolled out of the store. “Charlene is right, y'know, Yn,” he said. “We could give the cabin a quick once-over—free of charge.” He made a gesture with his hands before hooking his thumbs into his pockets. “I know I would be anxious about our daughter living in a cabin so close to the woods on her own.”

“I appreciate it, Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins, but—”

“It's not that we don't think you can take care of yourself,” Mrs. Hawkins cut in with a tender gaze. “Really, with all of these wolf attacks lately, it's better to be safe than sorry. What'd'ya say?”

You bit your lip. “Well…” It wouldn't hurt, would it? They were the best in town and friends of your aunt and uncle's. “As long as it's no trouble.”

The couple smiled warmly at you as your trio stopped next to their truck. “No trouble at all,” she assured you. “Are you headed back now? We can drive up in our car behind you.”

“Oh, yes! My car's parked just down the road—thanks a bunch, Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins.”

They nodded their understanding and promised to be right behind you.

You hugged your bag of purchases to your chest with one arm while you fished around in your pocket for your keys. You hurried over the icy snow to your car, a block's walk from the store you just visited.

As you spotted your car in the near distance, your eyes also snagged on a familiar blond making his way down the street toward you.

It was strange, really. It was a rather small town but you truly didn't think you would see Wooyoung this much. It seemed like every time you were in town, the two of you would just so happen to bump into one another.

At this point, it was too frequent to be coincidence.

“Hey Yn,” he greeted you as he practically jogged the rest of the way to you.

There was a certain energy about him today, a wildness in his eyes and in the wideness of his smile. His lips were slightly redder, making the white of his teeth all the more apparent.

“Hey Wooyoung.” You clutched your keys in a fist and pulled your arm out to hold your bag with two hands. “Funny seeing you here,” you jested.

He laughed. “It really is a small town.” His eyes flickered down to your car keys and the paper bag. “You heading home?”

You nodded, absentmindedly glancing at all of the stuff you bought. “Yeah, just about to…” your words trailed off as you lifted your gaze. A smudge of dark red on the collar of his shirt made you pause. Your eyes shuttered, blinking. “Been out hunting recently?” you asked. That was the only explanation for what looked like blood on his clothes.

He seemed to perk up at that, straightening. “Yes,” he said with a grin. “It was a good exercise in patience, if you know what I mean.”

You supposed you did know what he meant. “Yeah, of course,” you said. “Well, uhm, I should be on my way.” You jabbed your thumb in the direction of your car.

“Don't let me keep you,” he said, raising his palms with a grin.

You pursed your lips together, lifting your fingers in a gesture of goodbye, then making the rest of the way back to your car.

You dumped everything into the passenger seat, cranked up the heat, and scanned the road for the Hawkins's truck. Sure enough, you spotted their black four-wheeler lingering across the street, with the couple inside waving at you.

You returned the gesture and began to peel away from the curb.

Just as you turned the steering wheel, instinct had you turning your gaze back to the sidewalk. Wooyoung was no longer there. In fact, he wasn't anywhere along the street anymore.

He's probably gone into one of the shops nearby, you thought to yourself, almost chidingly.

You thought nothing much of it afterward—not the blood on Wooyoung's clothes, the speed at which he disappeared, nor the fact that there were no indications that he was even there at all.

The familiar sight of your aunt and uncle's cabin came into view about fifteen minutes into driving. Your chained-up tires crunched along the icy road as you carefully steered the car up into the driveway.

You killed the engine in a swift tug, jamming the keys into your pockets and hurrying to meet the Hawkins as they parked beside you.

“Wow, it has been quite a while since I've been out here,” Mr. Hawkins chuckled, shaking his head as he marveled at the cabin. “Joanna and Ethan sure keep this place looking cozy.”

You smiled proudly up at the log cabin. “They do,” you agreed fondly. “It looks like not a day's even passed since I was a kid and it was winter break.”

“Well,” Mrs. Hawkins chirped and trudged over the snow beside you, “we'll test out the doors and windows, then be out of your hair, honey. We'll let you know if anything seems troubling.”

“Sounds great,” you said sincerely. “Thank you again, by the way.”

You and the couple began walking toward the front of the cabin.

“It's not a problem, really. We—” Mr. Hawkins's words came to an abrupt halt.

You all saw it at about the same time.

“Oh dear…” Mrs. Hawkins murmured.

There was a pile of fresh snow littering a section of your porch, right before your front door. The snow being out of place wasn't the problem; it was what physically blocked the entrance to your house that was troubling.

Lying upon the snow like it was the prized game to be carved at a feast, was the body of a deer. It was clearly only recently killed, with its blood still a deep red as it dribbled from gnarly gashes in its side. It hadn't yet begun to smell because of the cold, but it didn't stop the horror curdling in your stomach.

Finding dead animals on one's porch tended to elicit such a reaction.

“I'm glad we came up here when we did, Yn,” Mr. Hawkins said grimly, glancing between you and the corpse at your door. “I don't know who thought this would be funny, but” —he shook his head, a crease appearing between his brows— “you just be extra careful, alright?”

Your fingers suddenly became deadly frozen. “I will,” you muttered, nodding shallowly. Who, or what, could have done this? Surely it was sending a message.

Mrs. Hawkins rubbed her hand over your upper back, eyes sympathetic. “We'll help you get it out of the way. Don't you worry.”

In all your years of life, you'd never once read or heard about something like this happening. When there were wolves out in the woods hunting down all the wildlife, then what could have left their perfectly-dead meal at your doorstep instead?

It was almost like an offering. A rather morbid one, but an offering nonetheless.

Or a warning.

What else could it be?

The wind whistled through the cracks in your windows as you stepped out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel furiously through your wet locks. A healthy fire crackled in the main room, helping greatly to keep your body warm. Outside, white wispy flurries whipped past your windows in the dark; there was definitely going to be a fresh layer of powder on the ground by tomorrow morning.

Sleep had yet to tug at the corners of your eyes and you settled onto your couch to pick up your nightly bout of reading.

Just as you were settling in, a loud trill rattled through the cabin. You leapt out of your skin slightly, head swerving in the direction of the rotary phone spasming to life on the end table.

You crawled over the cushions and latched onto the phone, tucking it into the crook of your neck. “Hello, Ln Residence.”

It was rather late to be getting a call.

There was the sound of a hitched breath from the other side—then, “Yn, it's uhm Mr. Hawkins.”

Oh. You shifted into a more comfortable position on your current couch cushion. “Hi, Mr. Hawkins. What can I do for you?”

“Ah, right—I—we, Charlene and I, were talking.” His words trudged along low and slow, as if they were creeping along the surface of a frozen-over lake. “And we realized that, uhm, we were being a little overzealous with our examination of the cabin earlier.”

Your brows furrowed. How odd. “So you're saying…”

“You're perfectly safe in the cabin, and, ah—you shouldn't need to worry about upgrades.”

“Mr. Hawkins, I don't think I understand,” you replied, tugging your knees to your chest. Frankly, you were deeply confused and rather concerned. “Earlier, you and Mrs. Hawkins were adamant about putting higher security measures in place, especially after seeing that dead deer at my door—”

“Well we were wrong!”

You heart slammed against your throat, and you thought you heard what sounded like a low growl in the background.

Mr. Hawkins's voice came back stammering even more violently than before. “I—I apologize. I didn't mean to yell at you, Yn. It's… it's been a long, uhm, day.”

Your fingers clutched the phone in a tight grip. “I understand,” you replied softly. It was clear to you that there was immense strain in his voice. He sounded like he was distraught or stressed. “Mr. Hawkins, is everything alright? Are you and Mrs. Hawkins doing okay?”

Had something happened to them after they disposed of the deer in the woods?

He cleared his throat loud. “Yes, we're doing perfectly—perfectly fine, Yn. We're sorry for, ah, wasting your time earlier. You don't need to expect us tomorrow mornin’.”

“You weren't wasting my time, Mr. Hawkins, I assure you.” You twisted the phone cord around your fingers, tightening them into a slight fist. You worried your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes darting in the directions of your front and back doors. “But the more I've been thinking about those security measures, the more I'm sold on them. Would you and Mrs. Hawkins possibly be able to still install them for me? I'll pay you for the trouble.”

“No.” The word slugged you in the chest. “That won't be necessary. You'll be fine. Good—good night now.”

He wasn't giving you much room to argue. What happened to all that talk about being a young woman living on the edge of the woods alone? You couldn't help but frown. “Yeah, alright. G'night Mr. Hawkins. I hope you both have a nice evening.”

The phone hung up with a click and steady dial tone.

You set the phone back onto its receiver and stared at the rotary dial for a long moment. Maybe they changed their minds about installing all that stuff for free and didn't know how else to refuse you. But still, hadn't you offered them compensation?

It was so… strange. And Mr. Hawkins's voice over the phone sounded so uncertain of himself. He was stressed, or perhaps, nervous about something.

Should you go check on them tomorrow?

“Would it be neighborly of me to do?” you asked yourself aloud while reaching for your book again. They'd been so eager to offer you a helping hand, only to take it away so suddenly.

Could it have been that they were made anxious about you?

Stranger danger in a small town wasn't exactly a foreign concept. At one point, you were bound to feel like an outsider. You just couldn't take it too personally.

You didn't see the Hawkins couple in town after that day. You wondered what someone could have possibly said to make them avoid you like the plague, or—perhaps more terribly—could something have happened to them?

“Someone mentioned that their house is empty,” Felix said to you offhandedly one morning over a donut and hot chocolate.

The two of you sat opposite one another in the bakery-cafe to breakfast together. You were plagued by concerns over the Hawkins's, as well as the continued appearance of dead animals at your door. Only the first time was the animal left at your front door; every other time since then was at the back.

It was consistently larger game, like deer and mountain lions, that you didn't enjoy hunting. You were a small game hunter and only hunted what you knew you could utilize all of.

There were no tracks and no traces left behind. You'd checked.

The concept of leaving dead animals at one's door had to be an omen of some kind. If a human was doing it, it was bound to escalate from a warning or threat. But if it was another animal doing it… you shuddered to think what animal was large enough and had the intellect to constantly drag offerings to your door like a cat bringing dead mice and insects to their owners.

This was a problem you didn't disclose to Felix. You had a lingering feeling that it was why the Hawkins couple so suddenly changed their minds.

But you did ask him if he'd heard anything about them recently.

“Really?” you voiced aloud, suppressing the amount of interest you had in their whereabouts. “Anyone know why?”

He shrugged. “Apparently they left a note at the door saying that there was a family emergency, and that they'd be gone a few days.”

Ah. Your shoulders visibly deflated, and you started picking at your breakfast. That meant they were likely just stressed about their family emergency.

(Then why didn't Mr. Hawkins just say that?)

Felix considered you from over the rim of his cup. “You seem relieved to hear that,” he noted.

“Yeah,” you let out a laugh that you hoped didn't sound as anxious as you were, “I just chatted with them the other day, and… haven't seen them since. You know how it's a small town.”

Your companion seemed to buy your statement and gave a nod. “Understandable. People seem to be disappearing at a moment's notice a lot these days.”

“Is that so?”

He lifted his shoulders half-heartedly. “What can you do, y'know? Don't stress too much, Yn. People up here can handle themselves.”

You pressed your lips together. “Even after your warning to me about wolves?” you couldn't help but ask.

Felix smiled around his last bite of pastry. “This town's thrived for so long already; the wolves are concerning, but someone must have it handled, I'm sure.”

Must. If no one else was freaking out about them constantly, then you didn't need to either, right?

Wrong, a voice echoed in your head. You lifted your cup to your lips.

With your free hand, you reached back to hold the nape of your neck where the hairs had risen once again. Over the past few days, your body was constantly reacting as if there was something lurking behind you. You couldn't sit still, couldn't feel comfortable in your own skin.

One moment, it felt like ants crawling beneath your flesh; the next, it was as if someone was gently blowing their breath over you.

You weren't about to say you'd grown used to the feeling of being watched, but it was certainly becoming more frequent than you'd like it to be.

One might think that the constant stream of dead animals on your porch would make you lose your appetite for a hunt, but you hadn't gotten the chance to brush up on your skills since you arrived.

The name of the game was rabbit, and rabbits in winter were just as tricky to catch as rabbits in the summer.

Armed with a crossbow and quiver of arrows, you staked yourself up in a perch on a low-hanging tree branch. The evergreen was a welcomed respite from all the slim and frail-branched birches around you, and it provided you with adequate cover to wait for your prey to come.

Guns were usually the weapon of choice to go hunting—they were efficient and convenient in their execution and use. But you didn't often need a rifle to kill something as small as a rabbit; plus, it had been awhile since you'd last used crossbows and bows. They were efficient enough to reach their target when aimed correctly, as well as deliver a quick and painless death.

You didn't have much hope for a rabbit stumbling across your field of vision, but you hoarded a sliver of it still.

A bolt was already loaded up into the barrel of your crossbow. Having it primed would mean one less small noise to spook your flighty prey.

Somewhere in the distance, as you waited, a crow's caw echoed in the weak afternoon sunlight.

As the minutes ticked past, you remained ever vigilant and ever patient. You reasonably had about three hours left of daylight before you would consider heading back, so there you stayed.

It was nearing the one hour mark when you spotted it.

The rabbit was a grown adult, with light brown fur that looked almost like dirty, matted snow. It snaked through the snow-covered leaves, bouncing from tree to tree in search of vegetation that hadn't yet become food for the decomposers.

Nature drew it right to your doorstep.

There was a small patch of grass—weak, little tufts really—poking out of the snow several meters to your one o'clock. The rabbit sniffed the grass before nibbling its way down the stalks, each one disappearing faster than the last.

You brought the scope to level with your eye, finger curling around the trigger, but not yet pulling.

Once the rabbit's body was within the cross hairs—

SNAP!

You didn't flinch as badly as the rabbit, but your head nearly turned away from your target entirely.

The rabbit's head raised from the grass, no longer tempted to stay in this one place. You swore under your breath as it darted to the right, aiming to head deeper into the woods and farther away from you.

You moved the crossbow with its movements—and fired.

The bolt whizzed through the air.

And pinned the rabbit into the snow.

You could barely believe your aim had been true. If you hadn't let your instincts move your arm, you would've been going home empty-handed today.

Carefully, you dismounted the branch in the evergreen tree, eyes scanning your close surroundings. What in the world made that noise? No predator would have done such a thing, not when there was a rabbit so ripe for the taking in front of it.

You frowned after finding nothing and no one in the vicinity.

It wasn't like you imagined it; the rabbit reacted to the noise, as well.

You trudged over the snow to where the poor rabbit was staked against the ground, crimson staining the white beneath its body. It was definitely dead upon impact, you decided, while examining the entrance and protrusion of the bolt.

“Sorry, bunny,” you murmured under your breath, squatting down next to the body to begin preparing it to take back with you.

A few minutes later, you had the bunny strapped to your belt and a bloody bolt between two fingers.

You straightened, body turning in the direction of your cabin. A familiar wave of foreboding fell over you—the weight of eyes, of a phantom presence. The hairs on the back of your neck stood again and gooseflesh littered your skin despite the warmth of your hunting jacket.

As nonchalantly as possible, you made another scan of your surroundings.

It was so quiet, even the crows couldn't spare another caw. By all rational definitions and observations, you were alone. But if you had to ask the demon on your shoulder… It would be a different answer entirely.

three. they simply couldn't be helped

After the day you caught the rabbit, the bodies at your back door grew smaller.

It seemed that whoever (or whatever) was leaving you these… offerings had figured out your preference for smaller game. (You didn't want to admit how they would have discovered this. You certainly had not been alone in the woods that day.)

Nonetheless, you were sure half the reason this area was losing its wildlife population was because of whoever was doing this to you. And you didn't know how to fucking stop it.

You'd even gone and lined your entire property with a tripwire. If someone came by and triggered the alarm, you would know. Though, if there really was someone watching you, how effective would it be if they'd seen you set it all up?

This morning, you trekked about a mile into the woods to find a place to deposit the latest body—another rabbit—in a place where some other animal could have it. If you weren't going to make use of it, the best thing to do was to give it back to nature and let the circle of life run its due course. About a mile in would give some berth between them and your cabin; plus, you usually didn't venture in this area of the forest.

On your way back, you were stopped by the ceaseless sounds of shrill chirping.

Your head swiveled to and fro in search of the noise. It was clearly the strained helping of a bird, but where…?

Down by a pile of snow, dirt, and mulch was a creature just about the size of your palm. It had a round, black-colored head and wings, and a white body that was matted with muck.

“Chicka-dee-dee-dee,” it tweeted up at you as you slowly and carefully crouched before it.

“I'm not a danger to you,” you assured it quietly, keeping your palms facing toward it. You wondered if it understood. Birds were intelligent creatures, and chickadees in particular were known to warn other birds of fast-approaching predators. They were the fire alarm in a building, except instead of blinding lights and high-pitched buzzing, it was a chorus of infamous chicka-dee-dee-dee's.

Your eyes narrowed on its body. It must have been grounded for some reason since they usually stash their burrows higher above the ground in evergreens.

The chickadee's round head cocked to the side, beady black eyes assessing your danger level.

With cupped hands, you reached out toward it.

When the bird didn't express any disapproval, you scooped its body into your palms. “Huh,” you hummed to yourself, spotting a difference between its wings. One was far more crooked than the other. “I think I can help you with that, bud.”

You stepped over the mulch and a protruding tree root, keeping your bird friend cupped in your palms. “This isn't kidnapping, by the way,” you said aloud. “Imagine me as the Emergency Medical Services for birds. We're on our way to the infirmary—my house.”

The bird made a peep sound in reply.

The cabin appeared not far ahead; the air fogged up with your sigh. You lifted your foot so as to not hit the tripwire. “I don't know why I'm talking to you either.”

The back cabin door closed behind you and it took eleven seconds for the locks to click into place on the other side: shunk—that was one; clink—marked two; schick—there was the third.

“The wolf” always counted.

The only reason it took you so long this time was because of the hitchhiker you'd carried right into the warmth of your home. Who knew it would be the most annoying sound in nature to be granted entrance first? It was… infuriating. And yet, enlightening.

A shadow lingered upon the edge of the wood, sinking behind the large trunk of an evergreen. “The wolf” kept one eye pinned to your disappearing and reappearing form in the back window. In one morning, you had taken yet another of his offerings, left it in the forest for some other undeserving creature to feast upon, and took in an injured, living body to aid.

How interesting. “The wolf” finally understood.

For a moment, he could not leave the sight of you. He could not bear to leave your vicinity, to part with the familiar scent of your musk and blood for long. But the thrill beating in his chest—the wild excitement of finally understanding—was a lure strong enough to tear him away. It was all for you, after all. Everything, ultimately, was because of you.

He was careful not to nick the tripwire on his way out.

The forest was deadly quiet as he stalked through the trees. Silent, but never empty. The woodland, even in winter, was stocked full of birds to choose from.

If you wanted one, he could retrieve for you a set. Didn't humans collect dolls?

Once he picked the bird to pluck from its nest, all they would see would be a blur of teeth and wild eyes.

And all that the rest of the forest would hear were the screeches of birds and a sickening crunch.

If birds made noise when danger was abound, so too did people. The town buzzed with an energy akin to the particles of water in a tea kettle as it boiled. You could hear their chatter and gasps and murmurs even through the windows of your car. Everyone milled around in groups no smaller than three, eyes darting from one another.

Despite the commotion, their faces were solemn. There was a distinct weight that had fallen over the town. Something serious must have happened overnight or this morning.

You parked your car along the curb by the town pharmacy and clinic. In the distance, you spied Felix's bright, wheat-colored hair amongst the frenzy. It was the first time you'd ever seen his face lacking a smile, his lips pulled into a flat line and his brows scrunched in a concerned furrow.

“Felix!” you called to him as you made your way over.

He and the older man he was speaking to glanced up in your direction. Recognition sparked in his eyes and he waved at you, beckoning you to join them. “Yn,” he greeted, “boy, am I glad to see you. Did you hear?”

You shook your head, speeding up into a jog to reach them. “No, I didn't hear,” you said. “What's going on? Did something happen?”

You recalled the name of the man whom Felix was with—Mr. Ly, one of the town's teachers at the nearby grade school. He folded his arms over his chest, sighing. “Something happened, alright,” he murmured. “It was a terrible tragedy. Do you know the Hawkins family?”

“The Hawkins's? Yeah, I… I do.” What in the world happened to them?”

You met Felix's eyes, and his expression softened. “We were just talking about them the other day, Mr. Ly,” said Felix. “But Yn—somebody found their bodies this morning.”

You blinked, heart stopping clean in your chest for a second. “What?” Bodies. That meant they were dead.

“Jay Raiden, one of their friends,” Mr. Ly explained, “went over to their house to borrow their toolbox from their garage, 'cause he's got a key. You heard about the note they left, right? About their family emergency? Well, both of their cars were still in the garage.”

“They never left,” you filled in aloud, lifting a hand to cover your mouth in shock. “Oh my god.”

“Jay went 'round back and saw dried blood through one of the windows. He called the sheriff—they broke in and…” Mr. Ly's voice trailed off as he rubbed his face with his hand, distraught. He sighed again, fingers pressing into the corner of his eye. “They think it was some wild animal attack.”

“One of the new wolves,” Felix added.

So the rogue wolves really were a danger to the town. You were right to have harbored some worry about them.

But Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins… You gagged a little at the mental image of what exactly Jay and the sheriff walked in on. Perhaps, had Mr. Hawkins sounded so stressed during his phone call with you because they saw wolves outside their house? That would explain the growling sound you believed to have heard.

Why wouldn't he just say that then? Why wouldn't he tell you to get them help? They never gave you the impression of being too arrogant for their own good.

A hand warmed the place between your shoulder blades and you leaned your forehead against Felix's shoulder. Your eyes fluttered shut. “I feel so awful for them,” you said quietly.

Felix wrapped his arm around you in a small hug, squeezing your arm as he did so. “Yeah, me too.”

“We all just need to be a little more careful.” Mr. Ly thumped his hands onto your shoulder and Felix's shoulder. “Look out for each other, and keep your radios on. I think the sheriff's gonna start up a volunteer watch group.”

“Should've started one a while ago,” you muttered.

Mr. Ly gave a helpless shrug, though he seemed like he agreed with your statement. “Take care of yourselves, you two.”

“See you, Mr. Ly,” you and Felix said as he made his departure down the street.

And then there were two. You and Felix lingered there for a moment in a rare bubble of quiet. All around you, the machinations of small town word-of-mouth ran like the motor on a speedboat. The news was a wildfire and this place might as well have been kindling.

Felix was the one to break the silence. He gently nudged you with his fist. “Hey, you got a radio?”

“A radio?” you echoed.

“Yeah,” he chirped, “like one of those ham radios.” He gasped, snapping his fingers as the thought came to him. “You still got a walkie talkie?”

Your eyebrows flew up. “Do I?” You gestured for him to follow you back over to your car. Despite the grim atmosphere, the simple mention of walkie talkies brought back even a sliver of lightness to the air.

You opened the passenger side door of your SUV, popping open the glove compartment beneath the front console. You dug around for a moment and rifled past all of the motor vehicle papers and registration until—

“Aha!”

You emerged from the car with a pair of walkie talkies, brandishing them with the pride of your seven year old self.

Felix's face brightened immediately. “No way,” he gasped.

“Yours, my friend,” you said, extending one to him.

He accepted it swiftly. “You're a blessing.”

You snorted. “You're welcome.” You fiddled around with the walkie talkie you kept for yourself, thanking the energy gods that the batteries in this thing still had juice.

Felix shifted beside you and the two of you bowed your heads, hunching over in a miniature conspiracy huddle together. “What channel are you configuring it to?”

“They should be configured to one another. I haven't exactly used them in—”

Your words were cut off with the sound of a hissing click and chime.

“Well,” you laughed, “there you have it.” You kept your finger pressed against the 'Talk’ button on the side. “Testing, one, two. Testing, one, two. Do you copy, Felix? Over.”

Chk-chk. “Loud and clear,” you heard from beside you and faintly through the device in your hand. Felix grinned. “Over.”

He lifted his thumb from the button. “This is sick,” he marveled. “I forgot how cool these were.”

“Cool and useful,” you chimed in while hooking the device onto a belt loop. “They should be able to span across several miles.” In an emergency, and when phone lines were down, they could save a life.

Felix expressed his thanks to you as you locked up your car again, and the two of you headed back onto the sidewalk and into the pharmacy. The warmth from the radiator in the corner of the room hit you in a hot wave to the face, nearly making you fumble backward.

You could already feel the sweat begin to bead on your forehead.

“So what did you need from here?” he asked as he trailed behind you, a chick following a mother hen; his eyes were wide as he peered at all the same things you did on the shelves. “Are you restocking your first aid or something?”

“No, not exactly,” you drawled distractedly. You scanned the items in front of you before picking up a roll of gauze to examine. “It's kind of a weird story, really.”

“Can't be that weird.”

You cocked a brow at him, then returned to scrutinizing the label on the gauze. “I need something biodegradable. Y'know, I found a chickadee in the woods this morning—it’s wing was broken. I brought it back to my cabin to make it a little sling, but I realized it would need something more suitable when I eventually let it go.”

Felix lifted his shoulder up as he nodded. “Oh. That makes sense. What's so weird about that?”

For a moment, you hadn't remembered Felix had no idea about why you'd been out in the woods this morning in the first place. That was the truly strange part. “Can I,” you said to him softly, biting your lip and glancing around to ensure no one was nearby, “tell you something?”

His brows scrunched together. “Yeah, of course,” he replied with a nod. Concern twisted his features as he took a step closer, angling his body slightly so you could speak into his ear and he could keep one eye on the lookout. “What's going on?”

“There's been some… things happening.”

“Yn, what things?”

There truly was no easy way to say it, was there? “I think I'm being stalked—or something.”

Alarm flickered across his face, his eyes widening. “You what?”

“Shhh!” You patted his arm with one hand and fisted the roll of gauze with the other. “I'm not sure, but there are signs. I don't know if it's human or an animal.”

“Yn, we both know it's not an animal,” he scoffed. “This is crazy; you wouldn't say it if you weren't sure.”

You licked your lips, pushing out a breath of frustration. “It's just that—everywhere I go, I have this weird feeling. You know that feeling when someone's staring at you, even when you're not looking?”

He nodded.

“And then…”

Felix cocked his brow expectantly. “And then, what? Yn, please tell me. Tell me so I can help.”

You absentmindedly picked at the roll in your hands. “For the past several days, something has been leaving dead animals at my door—freshly killed, and lying on a bed of snow like they were trying to preserve them or something. I don't know. It sounds ridiculous—”

“No, Yn, that sounds terrifying.” Felix placed his hands on your shoulders, keeping your attention on him. You weren't about to escape this talk. “When did this start? Have you reported it to Sheriff Lang?”

“The first time was the day I told you I spoke to the Hawkins couple. They actually were the ones who moved the deer carcass for me.” You added, “And no, I haven't told Sheriff Lang yet.”

Felix swore under his breath, a hand on his hip. “Well, shoot. You have to tell him, especially if you're being stalked and you're being threatened.”

“I just” —you slowly began moving to the other end of the aisle— “don't know, Felix. There's something else.”

“What is it?” he asked, clinging to your heels as you scanned the shelves for some extra cotton balls and medical tape.

You grabbed the items and scooped them into the crook of your arm, against your chest. “The bodies so far had been larger game, like deer and mountain lions; but the other day, I went out and killed a rabbit. It was the first time I'd gone out hunting since I got here. The next day, instead of deer or cougars or goats, it was another rabbit.”

Felix pinched the space between his eyes. “Wait a second,” he said, “so what are you trying to say here?”

“I’m saying that it isn't cut and dry.” You waved your hands in the air, uncertain of what to think or how to articulate your thoughts. “These bodies left at my door weren't eaten or torn to shreds or anything. They were mostly killed by blood loss.”

“Puncture wounds? Knife marks?”

Oh, he was going to hate this. “More like… claw marks?”

Felix lifted a hand and let it fall against his leg. “You're shitting me.”

“I could be wrong.”

“I'm going to hope you're wrong.” He pursed his lips, the sides of his mouth digging into his cheeks. “I don't want to say it has to do with our wolf problem.”

You shot him a pointed look, turning to head to the register. “But you will.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to think, Yn? You said claw marks.”

At the cash register, you and Felix both mutually agreed (through eye contact) to not mention anything about your issue around the pharmacist ringing up your total. Pleasantries were exchanged, bills were given up, and your items were bundled in a cozy, little paper bag in no time.

Felix fell into step with you on your way out of the pharmacy, piping up, “So what? Do you think these are some kind of twisted offering?”

“I don't know what to think, Lix,” you admitted.

He jammed his tongue in his cheek, his stare pensive. “Well then, what do you say if I came up to make sure your cabin was properly locked up? Maybe I can see if there are tracks left around. Did they leave anything behind today?”

You nodded. “They did, but I brought it back out to the woods. And, would you? I would really appreciate that,” you told him, glancing over while you reached for the door blindly. “I think a second pair of eyes is exactly what I—”

You felt the door's swing come to a stop, its surface reverberating as it hit something solid. You glanced up, only to find Wooyoung standing there, mouth pressed shut and eyes screwed tight in a wince with his hand grabbing the edge of the door.

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry,” you blurted out. “I wasn't looking.”

He let out a small chuckle, lifting his hand off the door to show you his palms like it was okay. The movement, however, drew your eyes to the crimson red blooming beneath the thin material of his overshirt sleeve. “You're fine, Yn, really. I—”

“Are you alright?” you asked.

“Hm? Oh,” he said sheepishly, grabbing his forearm with his opposite hand. “This?”

Felix sucked in a breath through his teeth as he watched the blood seep through. “Man, that looks pretty bad. You should get that checked out.”

Wooyoung didn't even pass Felix a glance. “Didn't really notice it until now, to be honest.”

“Well, maybe you should see the pharmacist about it,” you suggested, jabbing your thumb back in the direction from where you just came. “I'm sure they'd be glad to help you out.”

“No, it's okay,” he insisted. “Really, it's just a scratch.”

“Wooyoung,” you chided, “it's going to get infected or something. It's already ruining your shirt!”

He smiled. “I appreciate your concern, Yn.”

Felix gave you a nudge with his elbow, and Wooyoung's eyes whipped over to him. “Don't you have a first aid kit in your car, Yn?”

It was like a lightbulb had gone off behind your eyes. “Oh! Oh, you're so right!” You turned to Wooyoung, fixing him with a firm look. “You're coming back to my car. If you're not gonna see the doctor, you'll at least see me.”

“See you?”

You sniffed. “I know first aid,” you defended. “Come, come. I won't take no for an answer.”

With a flick of two fingers, you beckoned him to follow. The three of you trudged across the snow-covered sidewalk, peppered with shoe-prints, toward your car parked nearby. You popped open the passenger side door once more, leaning in to dig through the middle console for the first aid kit you kept stashed there. The kit had served you well plenty of times before, even while you were living at home in the city.

You stepped down from your SUV and gestured for Wooyoung to roll up the respective sleeve. Felix lingered by, his hip and shoulder leaning against the car door for the back seats.

“Ah,” you grunted as you took his arm by his elbow to inspect the gash there.

The smooth, pale skin there on the underside of his forearm was marred by a nasty scrape that cut through skin. It likely formed on accident as there were differing levels of depth to the wound—one area was far shallower, with only the top layer of skin disturbed and peeled up; whereas the other, deeper portion looked to be where all the blood had gurgled out from.

It was strange, though. For all the blood you saw seeping through, there wasn't a whole lot of it now. In fact, the wound looked as if it was already healing over.

“How's it look, Doc?” Wooyoung asked, peering at you through his lashes, tongue wetting his lips.

You glanced at him, then twisted around to crack open your first aid kit. “You're lucky it's just a surface wound,” you told him. You ripped open a packet for an antiseptic wipe. “This might sting a little.”

You gently pressed the wipe to the cut, cleaning up as much of the exposed wound as possible. You heard the tiniest hiss from his mouth and murmured an apology.

As you worked, you couldn't help but let your mind wander to one of the other times you'd bumped into Wooyoung. “Was this from a hunting trip?” you asked him. “I feel like I'm always seeing blood on you.”

“You could say that,” he said.

“Do you go out hunting a lot, Wooyoung?” Felix chimed in.

Wooyoung's eyes darted to your friend, then to you, and finally back to Felix. “Yeah.”

“I hope you're careful out there then. You've heard about the Hawkins couple, haven't you?”

Wooyoung stared at you, but you kept your eyes on his arm, carefully placing the stitch bandages over the gash. “I haven't,” he drawled. “Who are they, again?”

You raised your head to share a look with Felix. “They were found dead in their home this morning,” you told him. You reached behind you to grab a roll of bandages from the kit and began wrapping up your handiwork. “Folks think it was a wolf attack.”

“Oh. Right.”

When you released his arm back to him, Wooyoung ran his thumb over the section of bandage that the scrape was hidden beneath. “Thank you.”

You shot him a small smile as you packed up the plastic kit box. “No problem,” you said. “I hope it heals over fast.”

“I'm sure it will.” He chuckled, “I feel like it's already halfway there.”

“You're a regular medical professional, Yn,” Felix joked. “I mean, first the bird, and now a person?”

Wooyoung's eyebrows flew upward. “A bird?”

You shot Felix a look, but couldn't help the sheepish grin on your face. “Yeah, I found a bird in the woods near my house earlier with a broken wing. I'm trying to fix up a sling for it while it heals.” Swiftly, you tossed the kit into the open middle console, wiping your hands over the surface of your jeans. “Speaking of, we should probably start heading out now. Felix?”

Felix pushed off the car. “Right! Should I meet you there?”

You paused in thought. “Maybe I can drive you?” you suggested. The last time someone offered to come inspect your property, it was the last time anyone ever saw them again. You massaged your lips together to calm your worries. “I'd be happy to drive you back to your car afterwards.”

“Sure, whatever you're most comfortable with.”

“He’s going with you to your cabin?” Wooyoung piped up. His face had become a rather unreadable slate, an unusual and uncanny state to find him in. At least, for you.

“He's, ah, helping me out with some cabin maintenance.” You stepped away from the passenger side door to make way for Felix to climb in. “I'll see you around, Wooyoung. Take care of yourself.”

“Yeah, see you, Yn.”

You jogged around to the other side of your car and clambered into your seat, your whole body shivering from the stagnant cold outside the door. Felix cranked up the heat as soon as you started the car up. It seemed you both had the same idea.

“So…” Felix dragged out the word, leaning the side of his head against his fist as he looked at you. There was an impish smile dancing on his face.

You pulled out of your parking space, eyeing him suspiciously. “What?”

“He seems… nice.”

You snorted. “Nice? That's all you can say?

He hummed, straightening out in his seat. “I mean, what else can I say? He didn't talk to me a whole lot. I'm pretty sure that man only thinks you exist.”

“Oh, please.” You'd noticed that Wooyoung was a little short with Felix, but you figured it might have been because he'd never met Felix before. Then again, your own memory contradicted that observation. The first time you met Wooyoung, he had been the one to initiate a proper conversation. He'd spoken freely and smoothly. “Maybe you give him a weird feeling.”

“Me?” your friend squawked in indignation, shooting up in his seat as if you'd shocked him with lightning. “Maybe he gives me a weird feeling!”

Your brows creased together and you casted him a brief look. “Does he?”

Felix sobered and scratched the place behind his ear. He blew a breath of air from his mouth. “Shoot, I don't know. He seemed to treat you alright, so I'm guessing he's not a raging misogynist.”

“We can only hope,” you joked.

You couldn't help but glance through your back windshield in the rearview mirror. Even from down the street, you could still see the sidewalk outside the pharmacy quite clearly. There were different shades of white and gray where tire tracks and bootprints cut through the snow. Townsfolk continued to mill about with the latest news and their own errands.

But again, Wooyoung had seemingly disappeared from the vicinity immediately.

The only thing you could do with your thoughts about him was to brush them under a mental rug. After all, you and Felix were heading to your cabin with an express purpose.

There was still a healthy amount of winter sun left in the sky as you pulled into your snow-covered driveway. The sounds of the car doors slamming reverberated off the facade of the cabin and the nearby trees; you and Felix trudged through the snow side by side, low murmurs exchanged between you about your plan of action while he was here.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins and I found the first deer here” —you motioned to your front door with the hand that wasn't holding your bag of fowl medical supplies— “and that was also the last time the bodies were brought to the front. Every other time since then has been on my back porch instead.”

Felix climbed the steps onto the front porch, eyes squinting as he considered it. “Huh,” he muttered. “You said the Hawkins's were the ones who moved the carcass for you?”

“Yep.”

He glanced back at you. “Maybe I'm reaching, but it could be that moving their offerings to the back ensures that less people see it.”

A chill spider-crawled down your spine. You nervously moved a strand of hair from your eyes as a breeze blew past. “I never even thought of it like that,” you stammered out.

Something troubled contorted your features as you stared at the floorboards of your porch. It wasn't like they were hurting you—yet. Whoever, or whatever, they were, their approach could change at any moment. Who cared if they changed their game from big to small based on your preference? It could have been that they had hunted all of the big game to the point of scarcity already.

“Your locks seem to work fine,” Felix said as he wiggled the front door knob. He shoved his shoulder and body weight into the door, the wood and metal holding firm against his force. “Hinges and door, too.” He scanned the doorframe, fingers running over the linings as if it had all the answers.

“What could all of this possibly mean?” you wondered aloud. “I mean, what did I do to provoke this kind of behavior? I just got into town.”

Felix frowned, eyes softening sympathetically. “It's not your fault. I don't believe it could've been anything you did on purpose. All of this—it’s sick, really. I'm telling you, Yn, you should just report this to the sheriff. He'll want to help you.”

Your gaze shifted from him to the forest on your left, then back to him. You knew he was being the voice of reason. There was a large part of you who knew that the sheriff needed to know about this. “Okay, yeah. You're right,” you relented at last. “When I drive you back into town, I'll let him know—”

Chicka-dee-dee-dee—chicka-dee-dee-dee—chicka-dee—

“What on god's green earth?” Felix mumbled, hopping down the stairs and tilting his head toward the sky.

The chirping rang a few bells in your head. “Why would the chickadee be alerting if it's…?”

You and Felix both froze. The realization came at once, your eyes meeting as it did—a mutual agreement passed between you, and the two of you crept back over to your car. You always left a small handgun in the glove compartment; you were licensed to carry, and you had been for over a decade now.

Felix was handed an emergency flare. It wasn't just to signal for help; used a certain way, it could be a weapon on its own.

Together, you both moved toward the back of the cabin, in the direction of the ceaseless chickadee calls. It couldn't have only been the chickadee inside your cabin, you realized. There had to be more out there. And they were seeing something that made them afraid.

As you rounded the structure, you held the pistol out in front of you, your finger steady on the trigger. The sound of your blood rushing thrashed wildly in your ears, your heart palpitating in your chest with every step you took. Whatever was out there, you would get to them before they got to you.

You kept your back to Felix and covered the woods. You weren't able to see his movements, but you could hear him and a mixture of bird calls somewhere behind you.

A beat passed. There was nothing in the forest that you could see. No sudden movements, no rustling branches.

“Uh, Yn?”

“Yeah?” you called back. When you cleared the woods for any immediate danger, you whirled backward and joined Felix on the back porch.

He stood stock-still over a section of it just beneath the back window sill. At his feet was the source of all the yelling.

There were three birds grounded on the floorboards of your porch—another chickadee, a robin, and a crow—all an assortment of horribly crooked, broken wings; all alive, but mutilated.

You couldn't decide if this was better… or so much worse.

four. don't you ever listen?

“Hit me.”

“The wolf” watched as one of his eldest brothers fixed him with a strange look. “You've said weird things before, but this is—”

There was not a single trace of mirth on his face. He opened up his limbs, spreading them away from his middle—an open target. “Make it look bad.”

His brother stood slowly from his seat. “This is about…”

“The wolf” nodded. He'd watched you and that damned human boy take those broken birds into your home. It was so easy. It was too easy. And it had been there the whole time. He was almost giddy at the prospect of finally crossing this threshold of your relationship. He'd observed, tested his theory, and was prepared to apply his findings.

“If you insist,” his brother murmured, head cocking to the side. His eyes narrowed into a predatory sharpness and weighed his options while examining the body before him. What would leave the worst impression?

“The wolf” watched as his brother reached over to his desk drawer and pulled out a pair of thick, leather gloves. “What are those for?”

His brother's response was to don the gloves before fishing out a pair of pure silver knuckles from deeper within the drawer. The accessories winked in the low lamp light. He grinned. “To make it last longer.”

“You should just come stay at my place, Yn. Your aunt and uncle's cabin is so isolated—it’s not safe at all,” Felix insisted over the phone line. It was something he'd been saying since the two of you left the sheriff's office earlier this evening. As planned, you and Felix went to report your escalating issue to the police, only to be told that because you had rid yourself of the dead bodies (evidence), they couldn't do anything.

Furthermore, the only other witnesses to any of the slayed animal carcasses were conveniently dead.

(Well, screw you then for cleaning up your own cabin. Birds didn't just break their wings en-masse either.)

You rubbed a hand down the side of your face as you sat hunched over your knees on the couch, the phone receiver pressed against your ear. “I would, Lix, trust me. But I don't want them to start showing up at your house, too.”

This evening was not one characterized by the fall of snow. There were only dark clouds shrouding the night sky, casting a rather ominous shadow over the community. You didn't particularly enjoy the way it aligned with everything happening.

“I don't really care about all that, Yn. I'm much more worried about your safety.” He let out a sigh, before saying, “Listen, we don't know what this guy's next move is. How would you feel if I came over and just slept on your couch?”

Your eyes went to the empty bedroom your aunt and uncle usually occupied. Now that you thought about it, it wouldn't be terrible to have another person over here with you. Maybe just for the night. “Alright, but you're sleeping in my aunt and uncle's room, and not on the couch.”

He laughed. “I’ll take it. In the morning, we'll finish putting out the rest of the traps like we planned. You've activated them, yeah?”

Your head dipped in a small nod. “They should be activated.” Absentmindedly, you glanced over to the birds you'd set up close to the back window sill. They were close enough to the hearth to feel the warmth of the fire, but far enough to not be burned. Felix had helped you put the birds’ wings into makeshift slings and casts; they all quieted down rather fast once within the safety of the cabin.

Any time you weren't taking care of the birds had gone toward setting up traps around the perimeter of your house. The tripwire could only warn you when someone was coming. At least traps might buy you more time.

“I remember turning on the front ones after you left, but I'm gonna go check on all of them, too,” you said and stood up from the couch, lifting the landline as you did to keep the phone cord from pulling.

“Maybe you should wait until I get there,” he suggested. “It’s quite dark out tonight.”

There was an impenetrable wall of dark blue-ish black outside your window. The only reason you could even make out the eerie silhouettes of the trees were because of the glow of your house lights. “Yeah,” you murmured in agreement. “Just knock when you get here, alright?”

“Sure. I'll just be ten or fifteen minutes while I pack some stuff.”

You nodded. “No problem. I have extra toiletries,” you replied. “Thanks again, Lix.”

His voice was warm even through the phone. “No need to thank me. See you soon!”

After reciprocating the goodbye, you reset the phone onto its dial and returned the entire machine to the couch's end table. The birds warbled and cooed amongst themselves, peering at you curiously through beaded eyes as you made your way over to the back window to stare out into the cold night.

Who knew this place that had filled your childhood for the holidays could become such a nightmare?

You folded your arms over your chest, jamming tongue into cheek. A single shot hunting rifle leaned against the opposite sofa, beneath the window sill. It was only several feet away from the back door—if you moved fast enough, you could arm yourself before an intruder could reach you.

As long as they came in through that door.

An abrupt shudder rippled down your spine. It was probably a good idea to get ready with a coat on for when Felix—

You stopped short as the small radio box on the end table lit up.

One of its bulbs had gone from a dull red to a bright maraschino cherry. Every fiber in your body went taut.

That was the tripwire.

Something had just set it off.

You launched yourself over to the other sofa, ducking behind it as you grabbed the rifle. The box of ammo was tucked just behind the leg of the sofa, and you sat up against it to load a bullet into the chamber.

Carefully, you peered over the ledge of the sofa and the window sill, out into the abyss of ice and darkness.

The tripwire wasn't too far out on this side of the house, but you weren't exactly sure which side had been triggered.

You swore you could hear the sound of a voice, muffled through the wooden infrastructure and glass. It carried like a human voice, one that sounded suspiciously like a cry for—

“Help! Help, someone please!”

You leapt to your feet. That was someone calling for help. And it was coming in this direction.

You craned your eyesight, pressing your nose against the cold glass in an attempt to better see into the woods.

Lo and behold, you could make out the shape of a man running for his goddamn life. It wasn't just any man—it was Wooyoung.

“Oh shit,” you swore, cocking the rifle as the shell casing fluttered onto the ground. You flew for the back door, ripping it open and letting the winter night swarm you.

Wooyoung was running, but his gait was unsteady, one arm wrapped around his middle as one leg went faster than the other. He kept glancing behind him, over his shoulder, running from something.

“Wooyoung! Wooyoung, keep running!” you shouted at him, raising the rifle up to prepare to aim at whatever was chasing him.

His wide eyes made contact with yours. “Don't shoot!”

What?

And there, emerging in the swell of darkness behind Wooyoung—as the man tumbled through the bramble of forest to your cabin—were a pair of eyes. They seemed to glow, even from deep in the confines of the woods, even in the moonless swath of night. Unforgiving, unforgettable.

They pierced into your memory and etched themselves there for eternity.

“Yn?”

Wooyoung's voice snapped you from your fearful stupor. He wasn't glancing back at the predator who had stopped chasing him; he was now gazing up at you on your porch, your rifle loose in your grip.

That was when you saw them—a whole lot of them. Wooyoung's once flawless skin was now blooming with dark purple splotches. There was a particularly nasty one beneath his right eye, one that busted his lip open, one swelling at his cheekbone. He still had an arm clutched around his stomach as he limped toward the steps.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, hurrying down to meet him. Your head whipped backward to see where the eyes had gone—only to be met with an empty forest. Your heart would not cease as you scooped Wooyoung's arm over your shoulder and helped him up.

The back door slammed shut behind the two of you, and you deposited him onto the closest couch before locking up the door. Your eyes darted feverishly between the window and Wooyoung; even after you yanked the curtains closed, you couldn't stop your eyes.

The birds were chirping and cawing and making a ruckus. You tried to put the noise to the back of your mind as you rested the rifle up against the sofa again.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” you asked Wooyoung, crouching before him as his body sank against the couch cushions. “What was that out there? Did that… did it…?” No, these injuries were not something an animal could do. These were…

A lump formed in your throat as you drew your eyes down his form. These were very human.

“It was just chasing me,” he rasped. He winced, reaching up to gently run a finger over his throat. There was purple there, too. “Smelled my blood. I think I got cut at some point. Gagh.” He tried to sit himself up, only to fall back onto the cushions.

You leaned forward swiftly, gently pushing his shoulder down to keep him there. “Don't move; it's gonna hurt more.” You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth. “I should call the clinic in town—”

“No!” He stammered to reply to the confused look you shot him. “I—I don't want any trouble. It's already bad enough that I ran onto your property, but if people found out that…” his voice trailed off, and you thought the wet gleam in his eyes was something wobbly like vulnerability.

“Wooyoung,” you said softly, settling yourself next to him on the couch. “Who did this to you?”

Behind you, the birds would not stop screeching.

Wooyoung pressed his lips together, eyes squeezing shut when he remembered his lip was busted. “It was—one of my brothers can get really aggressive when he drinks. It was just a bad night.” He was swift to add, peering up at you imploringly, “Don't tell anyone. Please. We're already outsiders around here, and I don't… I don't want any trouble.”

Your chest twisted violently at this news. It was a wonder that not many people knew him around town. He'd never seemed hurt before, but you should've known that he would have hidden it well. It would explain why he was so nonchalant about the scrape he got earlier today. The dressing was still there, dirty and unchanged. “I'm so sorry,” you murmured to him in earnest. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“I just need a place to lay low for the night. I'll be out of your hair by morning, I promise.”

You shook your head. “You can stay until you're better, Wooyoung. I can't let you go back there in good conscience. Look at what he did to you.” Your eyes swept over his visible injuries again, your mind filling in the gaps. It didn't leave much to the imagination anyway.

He must have had to flee as soon as he could, because he wasn't even wearing an overshirt anymore. No, you definitely couldn't stomach sending him home in the morning.

“You're really too sweet.”

Your mouth pressed into a sad smile, hand warming his. “It's the least I can do. I do think that calling the town doctor would be best though. I don't know how to properly handle all of your injuries—”

His hand on your arm stopped you from moving. “I,” he said, “know how to treat them. I just need a little help.”

Oh. You wanted to give this guy a hug. “Of course,” you replied, shooting to your feet as you nodded. “I'll grab my medical supplies. You just wait right here.”

Just as you were about to go, you turned on the ball of your foot and went over to the birds in the corner. They turned their beady eyes and loud beaks toward you, hobbling around on unsteady feet. You fixed them with a stern look. “Guys, I need you to relax a little. Whatever's in the forest is gone now,” you said, scooping up the birds’ makeshift nest. “At least, I hope.”

You carried the birds out of the main room and left them in your bedroom, where they mercifully quieted down as you hustled to find all of your medical supplies.

Wooyoung was waiting patiently for you when you returned, head perking up when you came back into view.

“Okay, I hope all of these will be enough,” you said to him while rifling through the box. “I can get you an ice pack once we're done here, too.”

He nodded, screwing up his face in an attempt to sit up again. You were quick to lean over and guide his back into an upright position, arms curling around him without putting too much pressure anywhere. “Thank you,” he exhaled out. “I think my ribs are just bruised and my ankle’s a little twisted, so we can treat the other areas for now.”

He said it so calmly, it startled you.

“Right,” you stammered. You ripped open an antiseptic wipe and raised it up to his face. “Sorry, this is gonna sting like before.”

He didn't react as physically as he had earlier. He was quiet while you worked—hyper-focused even. You had to scoot closer to him on the couch, knees brushing as you did so, hand taking his chin to give you better access.

As you dabbed some ointment over his black eye, you found the little mole beneath his other eye again. His eyes were asymmetrical, you came to realize the longer you were focused solely on him.

“You have pretty eyes,” you muttered absentmindedly. Your fingers swiped over where his cheekbone was swollen with the ointment. It would hopefully lessen the swelling overnight.

There was a glint in his eyes, and the corners of his lips tilted upward. “Thanks,” he chuckled. “I don't usually get compliments on 'em.”

“Well, you should.”

Wooyoung's lips parted as if he was about to respond, but no sound came out. Instead, he sat still and the lift of his lips slipped off his face like melting snow on a mountainside. It was like he'd heard something, sensed something. There was a change in the air that you couldn't pick up on and he wasn't too pleased with it.

Moments later, a frenzied pounding rattled your front door.

You leapt out of your skin, hand jerking back from Wooyoung's split lip. “Christ.”

“Yn, it's Felix! Can you get the door? It's freezing out ‘ere!”

Your eyes shot open and you cursed. “How could I forget?” you whispered to yourself. The memory must have slipped your mind in all of that chaos. You set the used cotton pad on the lid of the box, standing up to get the door. “Don't worry, Wooyoung,” you said to him from over your shoulder, “Felix will be discreet about this. I invited him over earlier because I was… I was feeling anxious.”

You didn't hear if Wooyoung answered, but you thought you heard him grunt in acknowledgment.

After a quick peek through the peephole, your fingers deftly undid the locks on the front door. A shivering Felix bumbled in through the doorway, hands jammed into his pockets and face practically hidden in the collar of his jacket. His nose and cheekbones were already bitten red from the cold. As mentioned, he had a bag slung over his shoulder with anything he needed, as well as a hunting rifle that rivaled your own.

“Thanks,” he said with one, last violent shiver. “Sheesh, it's cold out. It wasn't even this cold earlier; I swear it's like a gust from the Arctic Circle just arrived.” Felix's smile turned into something confused as he lifted his gaze and made eye contact with Wooyoung on the couch. He instinctively took a step backward. “What a surprise—woah. Are you alright, man?”

You tugged at the collar of Felix's coat. “Here, give me this so I can hang it up.” Your eyes flickered between one man and the other, hesitating. “It's” —you bit your tongue— “complicated.”

“Ah.” Your friend didn't need you to say anything else.

You tucked Felix's coat into the closet by the door before returning to Wooyoung's side. His jaw was clenched, you noticed, and he was eyeing Felix with the resolve of a wounded animal—no, not a wounded animal. It was something far more calculating.

You didn't want to label it. “I know I said I'd give you my aunt and uncle's room, Lix, but I hope you'll understand if I let Wooyoung stay in there tonight.”

Felix nodded readily, lowering himself onto the couch across from you and setting his backpack on the floor by his feet. “Yeah, of course,” he said. “I completely understand.”

“I'm not intruding, am I?” were Wooyoung's first words since Felix arrived. He didn't need to physically gesture between you and Felix for you to understand.

“No, no,” Felix replied with a shake of his head. “Yn's been having some issues—well, I'm just concerned for her safety, is all. So I was going to at least stay the night.”

Wooyoung's eyes shifted back to you, a crease forming between his brows. “Are you in danger? Why would he be concerned for your safety?”

You licked your lip, sharing a glance with Felix. He only shrugged at you helplessly. This would be your decision, whether you wanted to tell Wooyoung about the troubles plaguing you recently. But there was a feeling prodding at the back of your mind.

It made you stop and think about it for a few moments longer. Maybe it wasn't something you should tell him, at least not tonight.

“It's nothing for you to worry about,” you reassured him. You stood and collected the medical supplies into their box. “I think you should get some rest now. Let me help you into my aunt and uncle's room.” You inclined your chin down a small hallway to your right. “It's just down that way.”

Wooyoung gladly let you sling his good arm over your shoulders again, and used you as a crutch to get down the hall. Every small movement was followed by a labored breath or a barely-audible hiss. It became a reminder of everything Wooyoung divulged to you earlier.

You helped him to settle onto the edge of the made-bed.

“I'll grab you the bandages and things so you can dress your ribs and leg,” you told him. You raised your pointer finger as a thought came to you. “Oh, and an ice pack or two. Are you sure I can't help you with any of your other injuries?”

Wooyoung smiled up at you, a sheepish, little thing. “You’ve already been so generous, Yn. I'll be okay.”

You nodded, then promised to be quick.

In a few minutes, you had set Wooyoung up with an abundance of supplies so he never had to get out of bed if he didn't have to. The bedside table was covered in an array of bandages, ointment, painkiller pills, and water. There were a couple bags of frozen vegetables there, as well, for him to prop under his ankle and to press against the bruises on his face.

You lingered in the room for a second, uncertain why you felt awkward in your own cabin. He kept his eyes on you most of the time without speaking as much. You chalked it up to his exhaustion.

“Well,” you drawled by the door, hand over the knob, “I'll just be down the hall if you need anything—and Felix is in the main room, too. I'm sure you'd like some alone time.”

“Wait.” He stopped you from closing the door completely. “Could you leave it open?”

You considered him again, tense shoulders softening. “Of course,” you said quietly. “Good night, Wooyoung.”

He shot you a smile. “Good night, Yn.”

You lifted your hand from the door and disappeared down the hallway, out of his sight. As you entered into the main room again, you found Felix lingering by the mantle, his gaze buried far within the burning embers in the hearth.

“Read any prophecies in there?” you murmured in jest, leaning against the opposite side of the mantle from him.

He spared a grin. “Very funny,” he said in his low voice. He cleared his throat, his expression suddenly sobering. “So what did I miss?”

You pursed your lips and glanced down the hall in the direction of Wooyoung's room. “He was running from home,” you told him. “He stepped on my tripwire and I was alerted to it. I thought it could've been something or someone else, but I heard him screaming out for help. When I looked out, I saw that he was being chased by something.”

Felix's brows twisted in concern. “Could you see it?”

“No.” You paused, then amended, “I saw a pair of eyes. My cabin lights must have reflected off them or something, because they looked like they were glowing.” You shook your head in disbelief. It must have been a trick of the light.

“Well, shit.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

Your friend carded a hand through his blond hair. “We’re both probably super tired and I don't think it's safe right now to go tend to the traps, even together. I'll just be vigilant.”

You sent him a look. “Don't lose sleep on my account, Felix.”

“That's why I'm here, isn't it? To make sure nothing happens.” He flashed you a grin that was far too upbeat for a situation like this. “And I can't exactly do that if I'm snoozing.”

He had a point, but it didn't mean you had to like it. You'd survived this long; you could survive one more night, right?

“Oh, by the way,” Felix piped up while clearing his throat, “where are the birds from earlier?”

The birds? “They're in my room. I had to move them there because they kept on alerting even when Wooyoung and I were safe in the cabin.”

A pensiveness possessed your counterpart's face. “Huh. They were able to sense danger even from all the way in here?”

You gave a half-hearted shrug of your shoulder, but nodded nonetheless. “They were going berserk. Y'know, they could probably see through the back window,” you said, inclining your chin in that direction. Felix followed your gaze. “He came from that direction anyway.”

There was a long beat of silence.

Felix's voice seemed to drop off a cliff in volume. “Yn, no one lives out there in that direction. It's just forest for miles and miles.”

That thought sank in.

“Are you sure he came from that direction?”

Your eyes flitted down the hall, then back to Felix. “I'm sure,” you whispered. “I know what I saw, and I know what he told me. He was running for his life, Felix—you saw the damage.” You flung your arm out in the direction of where you'd left Wooyoung; you wouldn't be able to unsee those bruises and the vulnerable sheen in his eyes ever.

He seemed hesitant to agree, but eventually, he bobbed his head. “Alright,” he relented. “It could make sense if he came from the direction of the road and got lost, then somehow ended up on this side.”

“Right,” you chimed in.

Even if your own brain was actively poking holes in this theory, there was still rationality to it.

Wooyoung was an experienced hunter and likely knew a lot of the woods around his home, but it was dark and he was in distress. Humans weren't known for their ability to move in straight lines, and that wasn't about to change while they were running for their lives.

(Felix's hesitation nestled itself deep in your brain, though. After what you knew about Wooyoung, you wanted to believe him. It could have just been fate that brought him to your door.)

You kept your gaze on the floor, arms folded loosely across your chest. “Why does this kind of feel like I've been offered another sacrificial lamb?” you thought aloud. It was a morbid kind of musing, but in times like these… One of your hands came up to unconsciously rub the nape of your neck. Why were your hairs standing on end?

Felix's mouth was set in a line. “Maybe the pattern you think you see actually is a pattern.”

The hearth was ash and the main room was dark when “the wolf” emerged. It had been a few hours since the fire died out and the human boy fell asleep. One did not need supernatural hearing to know that his breathing had fallen into a shallow, steady rhythm characteristic of sleep.

While the entire cabin slept, including you and the birds in your bedroom, “the wolf” remained awake.

The silver pill he'd swallowed down earlier had been a nightmare to deal with. As it ran its course through his bloodstream, he'd been practically chained to that bed, sweat matting the hair against his forehead and dripping down to the mattress beneath him.

The room he was given smelled only slightly like you. It was enough to drive him mad, having you only a thin wall away when you were so close to him earlier. He could recall the smell of your skin, the shared space of your intermingling breaths. Your compliment of his eyes rang clear as bells in his ears.

It almost drowned out the deafening rage that accompanied the conversation that you and the human boy shared.

Felix was his name, wasn't it?

Despite “the wolf's” success, it shattered as soon as Felix arrived.

“The wolf” could move without disturbing even the dust in the air. It was an important skill for hunting. He loomed over the back of the couch that cradled the sleeping human—your so-called guardian.

How pathetic.

He wrestled down the growl trapped in his throat. The root of his problems now manifested in this creature. “The wolf” glared down at Felix's sleeping form, watching his nose twitch.

Wolves eat chickens, “the wolf” mused lightly to himself.

He gripped onto the backing of the couch to steady himself as a wave of silver-induced nausea swept through him. The silver kept his natural regeneration and strength from kicking in. He knew you weren't yet ready for his true identity and purpose, but once you understood all that he had done for you, it wouldn't be hard to convince you he was your perfect match. That he was your perfect mate.

When the nausea passed, he considered the human beneath him in a slightly new light. Tonight would be the last time Felix would ever come between the two of you.

If there was anything good to come from this situation, it was putting a human in his place.

five. what was never just a wolf

You decided that Wooyoung was to remain at your cabin until he fully recovered. Even after sleeping on what you and Felix discussed, it didn't change your immense sympathy for the man. How could one forget horrible things that have happened, especially when they were so blatant?

The next morning, you fixed up a quick breakfast for the household before getting dressed to head out. Felix was also up-and-at-em, blinking the sleep away as he stood over the coffee pot to pour himself something bitter and dark. He did end up falling asleep last night; you didn't blame him, and all three of you were perfectly fine.

Whether the perpetrator had left something at your door yet though would be another thing to check for.

You announced your arrival to Wooyoung with a light knock on the doorframe.

He was seated upright in bed—not for lack of struggle, of course—a mug of piping hot coffee cradled in his hands. He peered up at you quietly, and in the morning light, he almost seemed docile. The coloring on his face and neck were still angry purples, but the swelling was nowhere near as bad as it was last night.

“Hey,” you greeted him quietly with a small smile.

He reciprocated the expression, nodding his head. “Hey. Thanks for the breakfast and for letting me stay.”

“No worries.” You stepped into the room and looked for where he'd put the box of medical supplies. It was left in the corner of the room closest to you, on the far side of the nightstand. Huh. It was a rather inconvenient place to have it if he couldn't move very well.

You picked it up by the corner and brought it with you to the bed. Settling on the edge, you said to him, “Could I help clean and redress anything before I head out?”

Something flickered across his face. “You're leaving?”

“Only for a couple hours,” you assured him. “Felix and I were going to put out some traps, but we'll be as quick as we can, and we'll be close by.” You examined the injuries on his face more now that you were closer. “The bruises look a bit better,” you said. “The swelling went down a lot last night, which is good.”

“They just needed some tender love and care,” he chuckled.

You let out a small laugh. “More like a good night's sleep,” you mused.

There was something needling at the back of your head. You were forgetting something.

“Oh!” You snapped your fingers together as it came back to you. “I have an extra radio to give you. You can use it if you need to get in contact with me.”

With hurried steps, you shot out of the room and down the hall, nearly sliding into Felix as you did so.

This morning when you and Felix finalized your plan, you'd dug out an extra walkie talkie from your aunt and uncle's electronics box. It worked well after you plugged in a fresh pair of batteries. At least with the radio, Wooyoung could still have a way of getting in touch with you if the phone lines were down.

“Ready to go yet?” Felix asked just before you turned on your heel.

“Yeah! Just a sec.”

You returned to Wooyoung's room with the walkie talkie in hand, and extended the device to him. “Here you go. Have you used one of these before?”

Wooyoung set his coffee down and fiddled with the switches. “Once or twice.”

“It's pretty easy once you get the hang of it,” you said. You tapped your finger against the side of the device. “This is the talk button; hold down on it while you talk, but you have to release it in order to hear the other people on the line. The volume buttons are here—then this is the dial to change the frequency, but it should already be in tune with mine and Felix's.”

He glanced up at the latter mention. “It contacts both of you?”

You nodded, propping your hands on your hips. “We're all on the same frequency; it's just easier that way.”

“Oh,” he replied, attention wandering back to the walkie talkie as he bobbed his head in understanding.

“Are you sure there isn't anything else I can do for you before we go?”

Wooyoung met your eyes once more. “No, thanks. Stay warm out there.”

“I'll try,” you chuckled. Satisfied, you left Wooyoung to his devices and went to get Felix.

Bundled up in a warm hunter's jacket, scarf and gloves, you led Felix out to the garage where you'd stashed all of the leftover traps that hadn't been put out yet. Your aunt and uncle liked to use the garage as a miniature workshop, fitted with conventional tools and all of their ammo and weaponry. You slung a crossbow and quiver over your shoulder, and attached an ax to your belt. The cabin was in desperate need of firewood.

Felix equipped himself with his hunting rifle and fresh ammo, then grabbed the box of traps to rig. Both of you brought along your respective walkie talkies; the forest was much less intimidating in soft sunlight, and splitting up to get the job done faster was an enticing endeavor.

As you made the trek through the fresh snow toward the back of the house, you lifted your gaze far out in the direction you'd seen the glowing eyes last night. From your position, the only thing that could be seen were miles upon miles of trees.

“Hey, look” —Felix inclined his chin toward the back porch— “it's empty.”

You followed his gaze, and sure enough, there were no dead animals, and no injured ones either. You released a breath. “I don't wanna get too excited,” you murmured back in response, “they've been delivered later in the day before.”

Felix frowned. “Oh.”

“I appreciate it though.” You nudged his side with your elbow. Truly, you needed some optimism at this point.

You resumed the walk into the woods, stepping over invisible lines and checking that the traps you'd set last night hadn't been triggered.

They were all untouched, it seemed.

“He ran from this way,” you said suddenly, raising your arm in alignment with the path you remembered Wooyoung had run. “There aren't any tracks—it must have snowed sometime last night.”

Felix hummed. “Interesting. There really aren't any properties out that way, Yn, at least that I know of.”

You weren't quite sure what to do with that information. It could've still been as you hypothesized last night: Wooyoung had veered off course due to his own human nature and fear.

At this point in your hike, Felix set down the box of traps to pick out a couple to set up in this area. You were going to take the few left in the box out north; once you'd emptied the box, you could at least use it to collect small pieces of firewood.

“Radio me if you need anything!” you called to him over your shoulder as you departed.

He waved to you with a sunny grin. “And if I need to bother you?”

You only laughed in response.

Snow crunched beneath the soles of your heavy boots, leaving footprints in the hills of white. Though it was rather quiet out here, the sound of birds trilling and chirping echoed from nearby. You'd nearly forgotten why you were out rigging traps around your property.

For the first time in weeks, the peace you felt while being in these woods returned.

A sigh flew from your mouth in visible smoke. This situation was taking too much out of you. Any ounce of relaxation seeped out of your body, replacing itself with skittishness and anxiety.

You were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But it never seemed to come.

Half an hour later, you were crouched by the base of a tree about a mile out from the spot you originated from.

Three down, one to go, you thought to yourself as you straightened from your position. The knees of your pants were cold with a wet spot from the snow, and you brushed any remaining bits off your clothes.

You brushed a bead of sweat from your forehand with the back of your hand. Once you were done with this last one, you could start making your way back in Felix's direction.

Chrr-click!

“Shit.” You definitely skipped a heartbeat there. You snatched the walkie talkie from your waistband just as Felix's voice travelled through.

“Hey Yn, I just finished my set. Over.”

You lifted the radio to your mouth. “I'm almost done, too. Over.”

“I might head for a walk in the direction you were interested in. I probably won't walk for long, but if I do end up being gone longer, I'll radio you.”

The direction you were interested in? Right, Felix knew that Wooyoung was on this line, too. The organ in your chest gave a kick. Why did this feel treacherous? “Copy that,” you replied. “Let me know if you see anything, Lix. Just be careful. Over.”

The device clicked once more with Felix telling you the same before you were hooking the walkie talkie back into place.

You finished rigging the last trap in a couple minutes, and soon, you were hiking back in the direction of the cabin in search of firewood. There was a part of you that wondered if you should check on Wooyoung. But the other part of you didn't wish to bother him.

He was fine, you assured yourself. He was probably asleep—sleep was good for his injuries, after all. It was best not to disturb him.

The walkie talkie chirped again.

“Yn, where are you?”

You felt your brows twist together in confusion as you yanked the device up to your mouth. “Headed your way. How far out are you? Also, why—’s something wrong? Over.”

Felix's breath came through in light pants as if he had been jogging. You could hear the awe in his voice. “No, nothing's wrong, per se. I just didn't realise there was a lake out here. Did you know there was a lake out here? Over!”

In your memories somewhere, you fished out the vague scene of a body of water, frozen over. There had been a couple of boating accidents in the spring following your first and only trip out there—your parents were far too worried to let your aunt and uncle take you there ever again.

You'd completely forgotten about it.

A skip in your step launched you in that direction with giddy speed. “It slipped my mind,” you admitted. “But I think I know where it is. I'll meet you there—over.”

“Roger that. You know, it's strange.”

“What's strange?”

“I get that feeling you described before—that someone's watching you.” You heard him chuckle again. “It's kind of un—”

The line broke so abruptly, you nearly skidded to a halt.

Your eyes went wide as you smashed the “talk” button. “Felix? Felix, do you read me?”

No answer.

“Felix. Felix, are you still there?”

Panic began to rocket up your throat with every passing moment of radio silence. You dropped the box in your hands and took off in the direction of the lake.

You grabbed the axe at your side and ran with it gripped tightly in your hand, letting its heft launch you forward. Blood thundered in your ears as you bolted through the forest. Even with the snow a couple inches deep, you had to keep your feet moving, had to get there fast. Every single bad scenario in your mind projected itself before you like a Nightmare's Greatest Hits marathon.

The crossbow at your back clattered with its weight, and you stripped it off without a single thought. It was one less thing to weigh you down.

You tried the radio again, its chirping an empty sound next to your ragged breaths. “FELIX! Felix, answer me!”

With each silent second that passed, your heart dropped further into your stomach.

At last, the wide, frozen body of the lake appeared through the curtain of trees. It was a solid gray mass lying still in the winter landscape. Just looking at it made a cold chill pinball down your spine.

You skidded down the embankment, eyes widening and noting the other pair of tracks that led to the edge of the lake.

But the blood was something you could not miss.

Scarlet stained the white snow by the frozen shoreline where Felix's footprints ended. Drops of blood trailed out onto the middle of the lake before disappearing completely. Like he'd been snatched straight out of reality.

“Felix!” your voice carried across the lake. Your head swiveled in search of any life. Not even his hunting rifle was visible.

Fear coursed through you, pure and unfiltered.

Where had he gone? There weren't any other footprints here, so what happened?

Your lungs scorched as you cupped your hands around your mouth and screamed, “FELIX!”

Something banged up against the ice—beneath you.

Your feet jolted into action as a blurry mass hit against the ice again. It was… it was a hand.

“Oh my god,” you croaked. “Oh my god!”

Felix's blond hair fluttered out around his head as his face contorted in an inaudible scream. Bubbles flew from his mouth, hand banging up against the ice. His eyes were wide, movements frenzied.

“Felix, oh fuck,” you cried. You lifted the axe in your hands over your head. “Fuck—just hold on!”

The axe crashed down against the ice.

Hit after hit after hit—seconds passed. Then a minute.

Tears streamed down your face now, your hands sweaty and raw from your axing. Shards of splintered ice flew into the air, some slicing into your flesh to leave angry, bloody gashes in their wake.

But the ice was too thick, your axe far too weak. The dent you'd formed wasn't enough.

Felix's hand continued to bang up against the ice. You kept your own eyes pinned to his pleading expression, features contorted as if he was crying.

You could save him you could save him you could save him YOU COULD SAVE HIM—

His eyes rolled back.

A cry slipped from your throat, raw and guttural. Adrenaline bullied its way through your system as you brought the axe down like a strike of lightning.

He choked on a lung full of water.

(Fear, you knew. Fear would be the last thing he felt, and you would be the last thing he saw.)

“No!” Your vision watered as his hand fell away from the ice. “Nononono—”

The axe clattered to the frozen lake, and pain shot up your legs as your knees slammed against the ice beneath you. You pummeled your fist against it in a delusional attempt to keep fighting.

You kept punching, scraping, clawing at it until your knuckles were split open, until your nail beds tore, until your blood spilled over the ice to join the last bits of life Felix left.

The reality of it wasn't just hitting—it slammed into you. Your entire body trembled as you hunched over the pathetic divot you made in the ice.

All of your energy was spent; and yet, in the back of your mind, you could feel that someone else was there.

But it didn't matter.

You couldn't save him.

They said it was a freak accident.

You thought different—knew different. The last remnants of Felix's voice echoed in your ears like a goddamn church bell; every time you closed your fucking eyes, he was there, banging up against the ice, scared.

He didn't deserve to die scared. He didn't deserve to die.

There was a hole in the ice found on the surface of the frozen lake. His walkie talkie and hunting rifle were abandoned in nearby shrubbery. No one could tell you what really happened.

Your eyes stared into the fire flickering in your hearth, but you weren't truly looking. Anything to not feel the chill of the ice between your fingertips anymore.

What are his parents going to say? you wondered horribly. You wondered if they would blame you—in a way, you hoped they did. You would, too. After all, the whole reason he was remotely close to that lake was because of you.

“Can't sleep again?”

Your entire body jerked.

And then there was Wooyoung.

Something had shifted, not only in you, but in your newest house guest, after Felix's death. You didn't want to confront it, but when it didn't dissipate after the first day, you weren't sure what to think.

His mood was… lifted. Easygoing. His ankle healed magically, and he could walk around the house without limping. There was constant energy behind his facial features—no solemnity or dread. He didn't mention Felix, never uttered his name.

You liked to believe it was out of respect for you, but deep in your chest, you could feel the vine begin to tighten.

“No,” you rasped, clearing your throat of the hoarseness trapped there. You brushed your hair out of your face as you turned back to the fire, letting its warmth curl over you.

You felt the couch dip beside you. “I'm sorry to hear that.”

The two of you sat by the crackling fire with nothing to say. Your hands, wrapped up in your own biodegradable bandages, clasped one another in your lap, willing the trembling to go away.

“Can I tell you a story? To help you fall asleep?”

His words drew your attention back to him. They were the first normal sign of human comfort he'd exhibited thus far, but when you looked at him, the firelight reflecting across his face was far from comforting.

You decided it was something about his eyes. Beautiful, but terrifyingly sharp. It wasn't that beautiful things weren't allowed to hurt, but there was a glint in his irises that scraped at your skin.

He took your silence and your staring as a sign. His lips curled into a smile. (When had his busted lip healed over? How had the purple gone to sallow yellow to normal skin so quickly?) “Maybe you should lie down,” he said softly, voice curling into your ear, a cat crooning. His hand cupped the side of your face and gently guided you to lean on his shoulder.

His fingers danced among the strands of small hairs by your ear. They were warm, but rough at the pads. Your body remained stiff as a board, but you let your eyes flutter shut in an attempt to relax.

Wooyoung’s hand continued to pet the side of your head. “My brothers and I were adopted together by a woman we called our den mother. Every night, without fail, she would tuck us into bed and tell us the origins of a creature called the werewolf.”

Werewolves? How fitting, you thought. After everything that happened, you'd forgotten that this town was infested with rogue wolves.

“The werewolf was a creature trapped between two forms—man and wolf,” he continued. “Upon the full moon, wolves newly born to their dual forms shed their human skin for the body of a wolf. By morning, they would have no recollection of what transpired.

“They said that werewolves were bloodthirsty, carnal creatures, ruled by their basest needs and desires. Their teeth were as sharp as knives for a reason. They were more animal than they were man.” His fingers paused on the side of your head, before picking a lock to twirl around his index. “But what man did not know was that the werewolves were conscious and intelligent; they were imbued with divine purpose.”

Though his storytelling wasn't conventional, you clung onto every word. Your hand gripped the fabric of your pajama pants, eyes remaining shut.

Wooyoung's nose nudged the side of your head. “Though their bodies were a curse, their abilities could be used to find their blessings. The universe tends toward balance, after all.”

“A blessing?” the two words slipped from your lips, barely audible.

But doubtlessly, he heard it. You couldn't see the very wide smile on his face at your interest. “Yes, sweet girl, a blessing,” he said, brightened. “Each soul, born to the body of a werewolf, was given one divine mate. A soul that made theirs whole; a soul made exclusively, mutually, for each other.”

The organ occupying your chest gave a hard thump against your bones.

“And it was the werewolf's divine duty,” he murmured against your hair, “to find this soulmate and do everything in his power to have her.”

Your heart throttled in its cage and your eyes flew open. All feeling bled from your fingers again; they were as numb as the moment you watched Felix die.

Because of you. He died because of you.

You lifted your head from Wooyoung's shoulder, ignoring the burn of his gaze and the way his fingers curled into your hair like he was going to root you in place if he had to. “I—I think I've actually become quite tired,” you stammered, knees shaking as you stood.

“Yn—”

“Thanks, Wooyoung.” You flashed him a smile that would convince no one, but it faltered when you caught the look on his face.

Maybe it was the angle of his body positioned against the fire, but a dark shadow had fallen across him. His features were unreadable again—no, just unfeeling. Calculating. You couldn't ignore it this time, nor could you ignore the near-painful spike of fear that pierced your chest.

That glint, that flash of steel in his eyes—you should have known by now what light reflecting off the edge of a blade looked like.

It took everything in you not to run.

six. there's something out there in here

You didn't sleep a wink. The nerves in your body remained taut and uncomforted, fueled by the presence of your house guest. You waited in your bedroom for the feeble rays of winter sun to lift night from the sky. As soon as the dark sapphire lightened to a shade of frozen ice, you got dressed.

It gave you too much time to think and mull over everything that had happened recently.

The rational side of you couldn't put stock behind Wooyoung's supposed bedtime story. And the rational side of you also knew that one didn't have to be a fucking werewolf to pull off any of the messed up shit you'd endured the past few weeks.

Right?

Nonetheless, the five injured birds you kept harbored away in your room were to be freed today—fully recovered or not. They needed to get out. You didn't know why the urge suddenly consumed you like wildfire, but you would set them free before something prevented you from doing so.

The birds sat together in their makeshift nest, chirping up at you as you slipped out of your room and into the hallway.

You swiveled your head—left to right—marking no presence of your house guest. The other bedroom door was ajar as it always was, but you knew he didn't need it to be able to get around without a sound.

(You should have known something was wrong when you suddenly felt that the eyes were in your house, too.)

“Don't start yelling—I mean it,” you chided all of your birds as you continued out into the main room. They seemed to still at once, as if sensing that they had left the safe haven of your bedroom. You could relate; a tingling sensation cascaded down your body from your shoulders, down your spine, and curling in your toes.

The main room was dark, but you could smell the distinct char and bitterness of roasted coffee beans from the kitchen.

“Sleep well?” asked Wooyoung from where he stood behind the coffee maker, arms crossed over his chest, the corners of his mouth curling upward.

“Uhm yeah—yes—”

The birds started their symphony.

You jerked as they each bellowed their individual calls, beady eyes transfixed upon the man who stood in your kitchen, across the room from you. It wasn't a trick of your eyes or ears when you witnessed Wooyoung narrow his gaze and pull his lips back in a snarl.

A dull thunk sounded from the couch's end table—you didn't know how you noticed it.

“What the hell?”

The tripwire had just been triggered again. There was absolutely no time to fully digest everything that was happening. There were too many things happening.

You could deal with the birds later, you decided. Them and you were all on the same page about your house guest, but there was something out there trying to steal away your attention.

“Wait here,” you voiced out instinctively, marching over to grab the rifle leaning against the couch. You didn't wait to hear Wooyoung's response over the sound of the birds.

The back door slammed shut behind you, wooden slabs rattling against its wooden frame. The cold bit your cheeks as you cocked the rifle. Your boots sank into the snow and you stalked along the first rows of trees around the perimeter of your home.

It could be that regular wildlife just happened to set it off this morning. That would be the best case scenario.

Then what's the worst case? you asked yourself, keeping the rifle level with your eye, finger wrapped around the trigger.

You didn't want to admit that Wooyoung's story from last night flashed through your mind. It was only a children's bedtime story; it wasn't real.

It couldn't possibly be…

In the stagnant winter morning, not a soul could be heard. Only your fears and your breath kept you company as you weaved yourself through the trees.

You made sure to check any traps you came across, your heart pounding in your chest with each empty one you found. Whatever it was, it tripped the wire, didn't get trapped, and showed no signs of being around anymore.

(You knew someone like that.)

You had almost made a complete circle around the property when something blurred past in your periphery.

You whirled, muzzle aimed in the direction in question.

Ba-bump, ba-bump, went your heartbeat echoing in your ears. Ba-bump, ba-bump.

The bark of a tree dug into your arm as you held position for another minute, and then another.

Until finally, in the distance, you watched in thinly veiled horror as a shadow emerged from between the trees. It was a large, hulking silhouette, black as a winter's night.

You swore to god it took the shape of a massive wolf—until it moved a little. It might have been a wolf. And then it turned its head toward you, and your stomach dropped clear into your shoes—definitely not a wolf.

It was gone as quickly as it came. One minute, its yellow eyes, a pair of glowing amber stones, pierced your soul in an all too familiar way; the next, it stepped out of sight, as if it had walked between the folds of the trees to disappear.

Your hands trembled as you brought the rifle down. The wolf—that thing—was certainly still out there. It was a feeling that wouldn't go away, the heavy, phantom weight of an unwanted gaze. You didn't believe you could kill it or hunt it down.

Your next best option was to head back and perhaps call the sheriff. There was a good chance he wouldn't take you seriously again, but you had to try.

Setting a fast pace, you slung the rifle across your body and made your way back to the cabin. Every so often, you would glance over your shoulder expecting to see even the phantom glow of those eyes.

When you let yourself in, you shucked the rifle off and went straight for the landline on the end table.

The rifle butt thudded as you set it down and replaced it in your hand with the phone.

Your finger stopped while going toward the dial.

Why was it so damn quiet?

Your eyes scanned the room first for Wooyoung. He was (arguably) the easiest to spot. He was nowhere to be found, but your makeshift nest of birds sat on the kitchen counter by an untouched pot of coffee.

You set the phone down and stepped over to the nest. Dread began to seep into your bloodstream, a ship with a leak in its hull, slowly filling with seawater.

Bile lurched up your throat at what you saw.

There was far too much blood everywhere for such small creatures. There was too much meat, tendon, and bone showing; too much for any of it to be considered remotely humane.

They were dead. Every last one of them.

Wooyoung was not in the house. He had left sometime during the night or early morning when you were locked up in your room, “sleeping.” He left without a sound, without a trace.

The only way you knew he'd left was because you looked.

Your heart thundered in your chest and you feared it was so loud, it might start echoing within the silent cabin. You grabbed a handful of clothing from the dresser to throw into your bag. There was little time to lose—you didn't know when or if Wooyoung would be back, where he had gone. For all you knew, he could have walked down the road and was on his way back now.

You buried the birds in the forest a few minutes’ walk from your back porch. Cleaning the blood from the basket and the wooden table had been misery-inducing. Your hands wouldn't stop shaking.

You’d cleaned animal remains before, but you had never seen it done like this—their tiny throats removed, like a pair of fingers had torn them out by the vocal cords. Their dark, beady eyes stared up at you as soulless glass.

He'd smiled at you when he walked into the main room. I thought you'd like some peace and quiet, was what he said. There had been something dark reddish-brown staining the bed beneath Wooyoung's fingernails. His disposition had grown even lighter in the absence of all the noise.

That was the moment you decided to run at the first opportunity.

There wasn't much for you to pack, despite the original intent to housesit for a month. Everything could be replaced in due time; nothing was worth lingering here any longer than you needed to.

You yanked the zipper closed and slung the strap over your shoulder.

In the living room, you found the hunting rifle leaning against the couch as it always did. You picked it up and checked the cartridge, scrambling onto the floor to find where you'd discarded that box of ammo all those nights ago.

With ammo, gun, and bag in your possession, you practically launched yourself toward the front door.

Your breath came out in sharp, white puffs in front of your face as the winter air snapped its cold fangs at you. You hobbled through the snow to your car in the driveway, praying to any being watching over you that this would be a smooth drive down the mountain. There hadn't been a terrible amount of snowfall lately; if anything, any powder on the ground was now old, sludgy ice.

But as you reached your car door, you patted down the pockets of your jacket, your pants, your bag—

“Shit,” you muttered, abandoning your bag on the hood and jogging yourself back into the cabin.

Your keys. How could you forget your fucking keys?

You cursed yourself all the way back up the porch steps and while shouldering into the cabin. The keys were not on the counter by the front door, nor were they on the kitchen island, or the end table by the couch, or on your desk in your bedroom.

The longer you went without finding these damn keys, the stronger your heart palpitations became. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

You could feel your extremities numb and quake as you strapped the gun across your back, so you could rifle through the kitchen drawers with both hands.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

Spoons, knives, forks, chopsticks, whisks, spatulas, scissors, strainers—no keys.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

Where were your fucking keys?

Ba-bum—

“Looking for these?”

The entire drawer of silverware clanked together as your hands jerked with the rest of your body, head whipping up far too fast to be normal. Every fiber of your being stood on edge.

How had he opened the door without so much as a peep?

Wooyoung stood across the main room from you at the back door, one arm crossed over his chest while the other dangled your car keys from his fingers. You didn't notice any visible weapons on him, only the unsettling amount of blood smeared across his cheeks and hands and torso. There was a luxurious fur coat hanging from his shoulders, and while he wore a pair of pants, his chest was bare. Slashes of white scarred the toned lines of his chest—you didn't want to know what those were from.

“Yes, I was actually,” you said, somehow managing to keep the obvious shaking out of your voice. Your hand went straight to your rifle. “Can I please have them? I was going to go into town to—”

“You don't need to lie to me,” he said. A smile played upon his lips, but it wasn't the good kind. There was something amused about it, as if he found it entertaining that you would even try. “You can have them back.”

Relief was still out of reach. It couldn't be that easy. “Really?”

Wooyoung shrugged. “Sure, sweets. I'd give my mate anything she wanted.”

The terminology made your freeze as dread coiled itself around your ribcage and squeezed.

“As long as,” he added airily, lifting his other hand to give his bloodied nails a cursory glance over, “you can tell me you won't be leaving town. I'd really hate to take something as important away as your car, Yn.”

He raised his eyes to meet yours again. “Or any ability to leave at all, in fact.”

You swallowed. “I just want to go home,” you said quietly, hand tightening around the rifle body. You shifted the weapon in front of you, like doing so could shield you from him, could warn him from getting any closer.

“You are home though.” His lips pursed into a pout, eyebrows creasing together. “Well,” he paused, the innocent expression fading away, “not yet, at least. We've got a bit of a walk, but we're practically there. I'm ready to go whenever you are.”

What? “I'm not” —you bit your tongue before the words could slip out.

“You're not what?” Wooyoung's head tilted to the side, that predatory gleam returning to his eyes. “Didn't you want to stay here forever? Live out the rest of your life in this idyllic, secluded place? You said you liked it here.”

Those were your words to him when you first met. He had taken them literally.

“And you know, I did everything I could to prove I would be a perfect mate for you,” he continued on, pushing off the door and beginning to take slow, stalking steps forward. “When you came back for that deer we hunted together, I found you another to eat—and when that man and woman took the body from you, I punished them for stealing what was yours.”

Oh god. The Hawkins's…

“I apologize for not realizing you liked the smaller animals better, but I fixed it! I paid attention. I got you what you liked.” Wooyoung stood halfway across the living room now, arms spread wide in gesture to his generous actions.

Your lungs weren't working. Something horrid crawled up your throat, bitter and acrid and terrible. “Oh my god,” you croaked. A hand came up to cover your mouth. “Oh my god, that was you.”

“Yes, it was,” he said firmly. “You understand, don't you? I told you the other night. I even waited until there would be absolutely nothing obstructing our relationship.”

The other night? He meant the story about the werewolves and their supposed, fated soulmates, then. And as for any obstructions… Oh, god you were going to be sick.

When you could only continue to stare at him, his expression fell into that blank slate again. “Joong said this might be hard, but I always pegged you as smart, Yn.”

“Tell me you didn't do it.”

You knew the answer—it was as certain as if it had been clawed into the ice. If he had done all of that, then there was no question about it. Your voice shook as you said, “Tell me you didn't kill him.”

Wooyoung stared back at you for a long second. “The human boy?” he spat out like it tasted disgusting on his tongue. “I thought we were over this. Why does his death even matter? I did all of it for you—”

A sound expelled from your lungs, something on the verge of tears and a scream. “You killed him for me?”

“Yes! And I would do it again,” he snarled, lip curling over his gums to reveal the point of his canines. “He kept getting in the way—he deserved it, really. You should have heard how pathetic he sounded when I dragged him out onto the ice. I don't understand what you saw in him, Yn.”

“I didn't see him like that,” you exclaimed. Tears watered your vision, lungs seizing in your chest. “He was trying to protect me from you!”

“And some protector he was.” Wooyoung scowled. “If he couldn't even protect himself, he couldn't possibly protect you. But I can.”

Felix died because he lost. He lost in some sick and twisted game he didn't even know he was playing. That wave of grief from before returned tenfold.

“The wolf” eyed you. “Now, it's time for you to take your place where you belong.”

“With you?” you asked, scoffing at the absurdity still.

“Yes.” His eyes narrowed, dropping your keys against the floor. The clattering noise it made nearly had you flinching. He began making long, purposeful strides toward you. “Don't be stubborn—”

You raised the rifle, the cocking mechanism reverberating throughout the cabin. His footsteps faltered. “Stay away from me.”

“I really,” he murmured, movements slowing, “don't think you want to do that.”

“I think I do.” You wrapped your finger around the trigger. “Take one more step and I'll kill you, I swear to fucking god.”

“Yn.” His foot inched forward.

You didn't think, only squeezed the trigger. The shock from the shot vibrated through your entire body, energy traveling from finger, to arm, to chest.

His expression turned downward as if he was disappointed that you'd held true to your word.

BANG! You loaded another bullet and fired it. BANG! BANG! BANG—

He stumbled back from the force before his body collapsed backward onto the wood floor of your living room.

Smoke wafted from the end of the muzzle as you lowered it from your line of sight. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes glued to the body. Something dark, viscous, murky began to seep out from under him where the bullets had flown through: two through the heart, three through the lungs. You'd shot to kill.

You let the butt of the rifle hit the floor as you buried your face in your hands and sucked in about a dozen shuddering breaths.

He was dead.

He had to be dead.

And when you crept over, one small step at a time, his eyes were closed and the bullet holes were unmistakeable.

You pressed your fingers to your mouth and crouched down beside him to pick up your car keys. Don't feel bad, you thought to yourself. He killed Felix. He terrorized you for weeks. He was finally dead.

You stepped around the blood pooling on the ground.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, goosebumps raising over your skin. Why did your nerves still feel as taut as a bowstring?

The danger was over, was it not?

You clenched the car keys in your hand and shifted the rifle across your back.

A low growl resonated through the room.

“I told you not to do that.”

Fear had you turning around.

Instinct wasn't fast enough to load your gun again.

A scream tore out of your throat as the creature pounced at you, and the sight that filled your vision—teeth, jaw, fur, and eyes that glared like warning signs—was not a wolf.

It was cold, was the first thing you thought when your conscience came to. Your eyes couldn't open yet, and you could only feel the muffled friction of your body sliding over snow.

It was so cold, you were numb to it. The nerves attending to every junction and crevice of your body had been blocked. A ball of cotton had been shoved into your head; you couldn't breathe quite right. It smelled like a penny—metallic, heady.

One of your legs was dragging along the ground; the other was lifted up in the air, ankle clutched by an unwavering grip to the point that it was numb just like the rest of your body. But something throbbed, distantly. You couldn't pinpoint where it was, only that it pulsed with its own heartbeat.

When your eyes fluttered open, you squinted up at the blinding white sky above your head. The thin, wiry branches of winter trees passed through your frame of vision every so often; and the whistling… there was a soft, muddled whistling somewhere.

“Oh, you're awake.”

Your body couldn't even react to that voice. That voice was supposed to be dead.

You didn't have strength in your neck to lift your head and confirm your fears, but he spoke again anyway. “I really didn't want to hurt you, Yn, but you didn't give me much choice. Bullets hurt, y'know?”

He chuckled, a sound that might have been warm if you didn't know him. “I forgot to mention that you can't kill me like that,” he said pleasantly. “It was cute that you tried. Your aim was perfect.”

Where are you taking me? you wanted to ask, but couldn't. Your voice was trapped away inside your throat, body too numbed and in pain at the same time. The only thing you could do was let out a little whimper.

“It won't be too long now,” he reassured you. “I think… just a little further…”

His voice dragged out for a couple moments, then stopped when he physically halted.

Your leg was set down onto the snow with its partner, and your blurry view was captured by the face of a man whom you thought you killed. Your pulse began to race as fear and adrenaline were injected into your veins. He was wearing the coat still, but the bullet holes you were certain you saw were nowhere to be found on his torso.

“I killed a bear for this hide,” said Wooyoung while slipping the fur from his shoulders. He draped it over your body, wrapping you in its entirety—a glorified corpse. Your body left the ground as he scooped you into his arms, and was pressed to him, his face in your clear view. “I figured you might be cold where we're going. Joong said it would be a great mating gift.”

Where…? Your mouth moved, but no sound came out. What had he done to you?

“Where?” he repeated after reading your lips. “Home, sweet girl. And don't you worry—”

He turned around and showed you the path from which you came from. Another round of bile crept up your throat. The white snow was marred by a streak of crimson red, undoubtedly your blood. There were remnants of footsteps within the dark sludge, but not enough to truly identify them. The bloody river snaked a path through the forest; you couldn't even see the cabin from here.

He leaned down toward you, nose nudging at your cheek with affection. “—they’ll never find you.”

the end.

Sheriff Lang was at odds with the evidence before him. The evidence told a story—albeit, a vague one—but none of it made much sense.

According to what he was seeing, you were in the kitchen shooting at something or someone in the living room. You'd succeeded, in fact. The only issue was there was no body, and there were no indications that you or anybody else could have dragged it away. It was simply a puddle of blood.

Rifle shells were scattered over the floor where you had stood. He was slowly trying to piece everything together. None of this pointed to an animal attack; no wild animal was this neat.

(He didn't want to admit that it could've been the other way round: that somebody had been shooting you, and all of that was your life force, seeping into the wooden floors of your relatives’ home. With what you'd told him the other day… It wasn't that he didn't believe you or Felix; he just didn't want to risk it.)

A distraught sign fell from his mouth as he rubbed a hand over his face. “Damn it.”

What was he supposed to tell your aunt and uncle? You had already been missing for a couple days. Mr. Ly had been the one to find the pool of blood in your cabin when he came to check up on you. After the tragic death of your friend Felix Lee, he'd been concerned after you failed to answer your phone several times, only to be met with the smell of iron, death, and dread.

It was all just fucked up.

“Sheriff Lang!”

The sheriff's body reacted before his own brain could. It was prey instinct, recognizing the sound of a predator.

Except—Sheriff Lang raised his head and watched as a tall, young man stepped into the cabin. He was, by all definitions, normal; if a wolf in sheep's clothes could be normal. Outwardly, the man was not threatening. He had a smile that was infectious and a soft kind of laugh he employed to force an air of ease into rather uneasy situations.

He'd shown up in town eight months ago, and that was when all of Sheriff Lang's problems had begun.

He called himself Jeong. “Mr. Jeong,” Sheriff Lang greeted him slowly, eyes scanning the lanky body of his counterpart to clock anything that could be considered a threat. “This is an active crime scene, so I'm afraid you'll have to leave.”

How did he even know where to find him?

Mr. Jeong flashed him an easy smile. “No problem, I only came to say that I'll be leaving soon.”

The sheriff could hardly believe what he was hearing. He couldn't help the twist of disbelief in his eyebrows.

Mr. Jeong laughed. “My superior is very pleased with your cooperation, Sheriff Lang,” he said, that unnerving smile still plastered on his face. “And now that we have what we came for, we will be moving on.”

“Moving on, you say?” What in the world did any of this mean? Eight months ago, he didn't have a pack of rogue wolves terrorizing his town. Eight months ago, there weren't four people dead or missing. Eight months ago… What exactly had he and his party come here for?

A nod. “Yes. Not to worry—you won't be seeing me ever again. You and your family will have nothing to fear, as long as you adhere to our agreement. Your town and your life will return to the way it was before.”

“You mean,” Sheriff Lang deadpanned, “before bodies started dropping dead?”

“Well, yes.” Mr. Jeong smiled again and clapped his counterpart on the shoulder. The sheriff had to try hard not to flinch. “Goodbye, Sheriff Lang.”

“Sheriff!” A deputy poked his head in through the back door, eyes as wide as the moon. “You need to come see this.”

“You should probably follow him,” Mr. Jeong said. He turned on his heel, then walked out of the cabin without another word.

Sheriff Lang heeded the strange man's warnings and went after his deputy, but glanced over his shoulder to ensure Mr. Jeong had really gone away. When he was satisfied, he turned his focus to whatever his officer was calling him about.

They emerged onto the back porch, and the sheriff stopped cold in his tracks.

Well, that seemed to explain some things.

It could only be described as a river of blood. What was once likely pure crimson, was a trail of dark, murky brown-red winding deep into the forest. The path began at the foot of the back porch steps and disappeared between the trees.

Sheriff Lang let out a low swear, and he and his deputy could only follow the trail to find its end.

“There are partial footprints here,” said the deputy, pointing out divots where the snow hadn't been levelled out. There were other, smaller animal prints occasionally, but they were rare; no animal wanted any part of whatever this was.

He felt his stomach tank.

A body. Only something as large and heavy as a body could have made this trail. The body had been dragged for this long.

The two continued onward, carefully picking their way around each wide bend and narrow curve of this wicked path. Whoever this was had to have lost a lot of blood. There was simply no way they were alive now.

About two miles into the woods, the pair were brought to a halt.

Sheriff Lang bristled. “Where the hell is the rest of it?”

“I—I don't know,” stammered the deputy.

“Well, we have to find it! They couldn't have just disappeared into thin air.”

They set off in different directions in search of the conclusion they were missing. But as the minutes bled into hours bled into days, it was clear that there was no conclusion.

The bloody trail ended and there were no more footprints in the snow.

a/n: remember to comment + reblog if u enjoyed ! def not my typical fic genre but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless :)

Though the teachers in this institution are excellent, and even your father will agree that you're better off studying at KQU over any other school, you wish the other kids could mind their own business for once. No one really knew about your true capabilities. You'd been hiding them for so long. There's no way they'd be prepared if they ever got a glimpse of the true monster hiding under the fragile skin of yours. Though you would definitely enjoy their horrified expressions after beating their asses at a sport of their choice. After all, fighting was all you did back home.

Oh, to punch someone for fun. You sigh at the thought. You truly miss the old times back home where a bloody nose could be easily passed off as a fall and bruised knuckles weren't something to worry about. Your parents knew, obviously, and your brothers, but other than that, not a soul in KQU would ever expect someone as timid as yourself could ever fight for fun, or even defend themselves from harm, for that matter. Your parents hoped that you would join a club to vent your pent-up stress and aggression, and you couldn't agree more, although, in all honestly, clubs sounded dull.

So, here you are, on a Thursday evening after classes, sitting in your father's office, bored out of your mind while waiting for him to be done with grading his students' projects for the term.

"Why don't you go join a club?" Your dad's voice wake you from your slumber, and you lift your head to peer at your old man tiredly.

"What if I went to go pick a fight outside instead?" Your question, of course, earns a deadpan look and a dismissive wave of the old man's hand.

"Y/n," your dad sighs heavily and you internally wince, "You promised to find a better way to deal with your frustrations."

"But-"

"No buts," he interrupts, not even sparing a glance as his head remains down, eyes focusing on grading, "Do you really think I want my daughter, the youngest and the most precious in the house, to get caught up in some bloody fight somewhere? Think about your mom, kiddo."

You lay your head back down with a resigned groan. For the life of you, you can't imagine why this conversation always go the same way, though you suppose you can give the old man some credit for even trying. Not that you'd actually follow through with joining any club at KQU anyway. Why should you make an effort to get along with a bunch of stuck-up, snobbish pricks when you didn't have to?

"So boring..." You whisper against the table you're slump against.

"You know the university has a Taekwondo club right?" He hums distractingly, never averting his gaze, and you scoff lightly.

"Why are we talking about taekwondo?" You tilt your head with a confused frown. "Does Yunho-oppa have a match or something?"

"Why not join, kiddo? Sounds like a fun way to expend that excess energy, and you can punch and kick all you want, like you always wanted to do," he smiles lightly.

"It's not the same," you grouch, making his eyes soften on you.

"Why don't you at least try it. Your mother would certainly appreciate if you found another outlet, kiddo, instead of running off outside all the time."

You groan again, muttering, "Fine, I'll go give it a go."

Your father simply nods with a satisfied hum. The both of you continue the comfortable silence until it's time to go home, with the only sounds echoing in his office are your soft sighs and the quiet flipping of paper from time to time. Your older brothers left the house earlier in the day, both making plans with their respective friends, leaving your mother and yourself to dine with the old man tonight.

When you reach your home, it's getting pretty dark already. Your brother, Yunho, the eldest, greets you at the front door. "Welcome home, dad. Shortie."

You scrunch your face at your nickname, but nevertheless let out a small greeting and skip up the stairs straight to your bedroom. To be honest, Yunho was kind of the sole reason as to why you hadn't gone into another fight in months. Well, in other words, your older brother has been stalking you the moment your parents notified him of your little "extracurricular activities". Letting you keep on with your antics is one thing, but your elder brother, the smart and level-headed man that he is, can't let it continue, even when your mother and father has already let it slip. No doubt his efforts have paid off as you tone down on fighting other kids after a serious heart-to-heart.

"Stop calling me that," you turn away from him, your feet pitter-pattering up the wooden stairs of the old traditional home to make your escape. "And why aren't you with your buddies?"

"I don't feel well today, so I just finished my online lecture and have decided to just spend my evening on the sofa," Yunho shrugs. "Wooyoung is the only one out at the moment."

"Booooring."

"Says the kid who hangs out in her dad's office," he points out with an eyebrow raise.

"Better than a couch potato!" You retort back childishly.

"Did dad tell you to join the Taekwondo club already?" Your brother says out of the blue, causing you to turn towards him with a nod. "Give it a try. I told the coach you'll be checking it out tomorrow."

Your eyes widen in shock before narrowing into slits. "What the hell, Yunho? Give me a heads up will you, asshole."

"Chill," your brother rolls his eyes. "Imagine all the eye candy you'd be able to see, lil sis." His words earn an even deeper grimace, and you scoff, unimpressed.

"Ew," you groan. "I am going to find the biggest and ugliest guy on the team and hit on him and make you witness everything. Screw you, bro."

Yunho doesn't seem bothered by your threat as he waves you off. "Suit yourself, shortie. As if anyone would ever believe you'd date such a man."

You blink. The fuck does this guy take you for? You huff in annoyance and roll your eyes as you walk off towards your room with a bit more force to your footsteps.

When Yunho told the team that his little sister might join, San did not expect her to be this little. Honestly, as soon as Yunho mentioned that Y/N would come down to practice and "observe" in a rather unimpressed tone, the members in their male exclusive group all shared a knowing look. None of them expected the newcomer to look this, uh, small and cute. She definitely doesn't look anything like Yunho or Wooyoung when the latter had shown them a picture during their lunch break earlier.

San can't help but notice your petite figure as you introduced yourself to the squad with a tight smile and a slight bow. All the guys nod curtly as the coach continues with introducing the team and its achievements to you. All the other male members are clearly thrown off guard as well, when the coach invites them to showcase their individual tumbling, kicks, and flips. They expected some sort of reaction from the girl, an excited or impressed squeal, a breathy compliment, or perhaps a few gasps here and there as most girls do when watching athletes, but they all received none.

Not a word is spoken nor is there an exaggerated action in sight. You remain unmoving the entire time. Didn't blink an eye nor move an inch. It's like a wall had erected itself around you the second you arrived, isolating you from the rest, and creating an invisible barrier to prevent any form of interaction, making the guys question your presence, and for Mingi to speak out loud exactly what's on every other members' mind.

"Is she on drugs?"

"Mingi!" Seonghwa scolds with a roll of his eyes, smacking the man at the back of his head. "That's not a nice thing to say about a lady."

Yunho sighs and shakes his head. "Nah, she's just bored."

"Bored?" Yeosang shares a confused look with the rest of his group, the odd reaction still fresh in their minds. "That's impossible. No girl ever shows up to one of our matches uninterested in the sport, Yunho. This has to be a first for us."

"Dude, trust me," Yunho laughs, patting his friend's shoulder, "She's not interested in sports of any kind."

"Why is she even here then?" Asks a thoroughly confused Seonghwa, causing his friend to shrug nonchalantly.

"For eye candy?" Yunho chucks a wink their way. "I wouldn't be worried about her though. Y/N can handle herself."

"Bullshit," San immediately challenges with a shake of his head. "She looks like she'll break the moment any of us touch her."

Yunho shifts a questionable gaze toward his group members, wondering why they were all still riled up. A small smirk appears on his lips at the thought of their reactions, and his baby sister's plan. "Just you wait. Shortie would be making your life a living hell real soon."

With that final statement, Yunho begins walking toward where you are talking to the coach. The other guys all look at Yunho as he takes the spot beside you and slips an arm over your shoulder, towering over you in height, a teasing glint sparkling in his eyes as he looks back and wiggles his eyebrows. Yunho isn't kidding, they realize with a defeated groan.

At the beginning of your arrival, there's been a weird aura around the petite lady. You're hard to read. Never offering words, you mostly reply in non-verbal nods and small hums of understanding or approval, but not until Yunho comes over to your side, do you completely flip the switch. Gone is your expressionless face.and replaced with a scowl as you try to shrug your brother's impossibly, heavy arm off your shoulder.

"Y/N, just to get a good grasp on your skills, I'm going to pair you up with San," the Coach gestures to the male beside him, and you quirk a brow in wonder. "San is the team captain and one of the best in the club. Don't worry he won't bite." The man laughs and you nod mutely.

"Are you sure coach?" One of the members asks. "She's so small!"

"What if a little cutie like you get hurt?" Another remarks, concern on his face as if you're his little sibling.

You can't blame them, and honestly it's been hilarious seeing these reactions. "I can take care of myself, thanks," you shrug nonchalantly, earning more comments and jokes as they talk in hush tones, probably hoping that you can't hear anything that's being said about you. You know what they're saying. After all, this is how your interactions always end up going down. It's funny though, because they have no idea that the 'weak' little girl that they all talk about could most likely be able to throw their sorry asses halfway across the room if they mess with her, especially the ones who seem to have the confidence of an alpha.

"Shut the hell up guys, she's new so be a bit nicer," the man next to the coach, all muscle and broad, chides the other team members, an exasperated frown pulling on his insanely handsome features. "Ignore those idiots. I'm Choi San. Captain and star athlete here in our humble Taekwondo Club."

So this is Wooyoung'sbest friend, huh? You catch the sarcasm in his tone as the other members scoff, pushing San jokingly as he playfully shoves them back. This guy sure does have a bit of ego going on in that head of his but it's easy to see how genuine he is. He seems like a great friend to have around with his contagious personality.

"Don't introduce yourself as a star athlete. That's totally a turnoff, dude," Yunho speaks up, snickering quietly, "Girls don't like guys with big egos. Isn't that right, Y/N?"

"If he has the skills to back it up, then why would it bother me?" You simply shrug your shoulders, eyes landing on San's surprised gaze at your reply. Though a little smirk's tugging on his lips, he gives an affirmative nod as everyone else goes dead quiet, eyes wide as they slowly exchange glances between them. This is obviously new for them, to meet someone that will say it straight to their faces rather than giving them some excuse.

"Enough chitter chatter!" The coach calls out. "Time for practice."

"Give the cutie some slack, she might break easily," someone comments and the other guys laugh.

"Go to Hell, man," San flicks his friend's forehead with a little pout, making him shriek as he backs away, causing more laughs.

"Five bucks that the new girl can stand her ground," one of them pipes in from their little cluster behind San as another member silently places a $5 bill on top of the plastic mat before his friends were off shouting another bet as another person joins.

"Ten that she knocks him flat out on his ass," you overhear another.

San turns his head back, visibly frowning at his friends before giving you a concerned look. "I don't want to hurt her..." His lips slightly forming a pout as the taller of the two placed an arm around his shoulder, and patting his back encouragingly.

"Just be easy, dude!" They answer, trying not to chuckle when San smacks the other's chest and turns towards you.

"You don't have to go easy on her," Yunho clasps the smaller guy's shoulder with a squeeze.

"The hell kind of brother are you!?" One of your brother's teammates shouted, mouth dropping in disbelief. "Is she even okay with this!?"

"Chill guys," Yunho laughs with an easy wave. "Trust me."

"Come at me, I'll do the best I can but we'll stop the moment you start to struggle," San says as his stance changes. Holding out his arms in front of him as you copy the posture, slowly settling in a comfortable yet challenging spot. "I'll start a little slow, okay?"

You simply nod, accepting the fact that, even if he does put some strength behind it, he's still going to hold back and treat you as if you were made of glass. You know he isn't trying, that he's being cautious. Okay, maybe you'll let that slide since this is a new training, and the last thing you want is to scare him. You obviously don't want any of these goofballs to know that you actually have a mean punch. For now, the less people that knows, the better.

Shaking off the thoughts, you let your brain concentrate on San's movements in front of you, ready to catch him off-guard. The man before you starts out slow, and is so, so damn careful to the point of overstepping. It's nice he's being cautious but at this point, he's becoming predictable and easy to read, and with every step that he makes closer towards you, it gives you enough time to calculate just where he's going to grab next, or which part of your body he would aim.

It definitely annoys you.

Hell, his face even annoys you. You're no stranger to a handsome face or two; after all, there's no shortage of those in the campus. It's just that his face is doing some weird stuff to your insides that you aren't ready for. That annoying, fluttering, gut wrenching stuff. And he is a senior, so... you can't really punch his attractive face without good reason, or could you...?

Focus, Y/N, you curse silently. The point of the drill is to analyze how the opponent will approach, predict their movement, and land a perfectly timed defensive or offensive maneuver. Nothing's going to change if you keep distracting yourself because you find a certain guy a little (read: really) cute.

"You ready, cutie?" San calls out, using the newfound nickname everyone else started referring you to. Great, exactly what you need. It's one thing being called 'shortie' by Yunho but now you're being stuck as an apparent adorable child under the eyes of your future teammates. Perfect. The whole university's going to call you 'cutie' forever until you graduate and get out of here. "Hey cutie, any time today."

That only manage to piss you off even more. You don't need his damn sympathy, his soft taps, or him holding himself back just so he can avoid accidentally hurting you. You know damn well that this is Taekwondo, that bruises are definitely going to happen, so you'd rather be prepared, prefer if your potential injuries are given to you as the result of actually sparing, and not because some idiot feels that he needs to treat you differently. If there's anyone out there who can really manage to have the ability to touch you, they can. Period. So you need him to stop babying you.

He lunges for you first, testing the waters, his leg barely sweeping close enough as you kick the air where his attack had been aiming for. From the corner of your eye, you can see the club's other members gathering around, perhaps to observe the match or just enjoy it while it lasts. They'd eventually want a good show. San holds himself back and treats you with care but you can also tell that it's getting tiring and so are the whispers coming from those idiots at the back, joking and laughing, probably thinking you aren't aware of the mocking remarks that are being made about you behind your back.

Poor girl probably won't be able to put a scratch on him, much less get him to fall. Heck, she doesn't even look capable enough to be doing any kind of exercise. Just look at her. She looks small enough to break like glass.

And that's your final straw.

No one sees it coming as you let out a perfectly controlled, powerful back kick. Landing it straight at San's stomach, catching him by surprise. There's an immediate hush that covers the entirety of the gym, all of them in shock and awe at the scene happening right before their eyes.

"What the-"

"Did she just-"

"Is she crazy?"

Everyone's voicing their opinion loudly, trying to make sense of everything that just occurred. San looks at you in a state of awe and you can see that it takes everything in his system to prevent his mouth from dropping to the floor at the sight before him.

Yeah, now he's seeing you.

"Dude, can't believe that you got your ass handed to you," Mingi jokes, patting a dumbfounded San's shoulder, who's still processing everything that happened. It's embarrassing to say the least, because in his eyes, you turned the situation around with no one seeing it coming.

Practice is already over for the day and yet San's still running the series of events in his mind. San, the golden boy of the Taekwondo Club and as well as a well liked student overall, is quite the charmer. Everyone knows that there's no chance in heaven, or hell even, that he'd ever lose. However, the events that just took place before his eyes aren't a figment of his imagination. It's very much reality and he doesn't know if he's mad or absolutely fascinated by your skills. It's honestly a mystery how you seem to fly under the radar and keep the facade of not knowing a thing or two when it comes to the sport and maybe, just maybe, San's intrigued enough to want to see more from you, and isn't a hundred percent sure if this is some kind of a sign to stop giving you the attention of a wounded puppy or not.

"So..." an arm flings around San's shoulders, "heard from Yunho that our cute little sister knocked your ass out," a loud boisterous laugh erupts right next to his face. Wooyoung, his best friend, snorts and nearly chokes on his own saliva as he wipes his wet eyes, probably not believing whatever the hell Yunho had told him in the first place. "Can't believe my kid sister, wait I can believe it, took the mighty Golden Boy, Choi San, down."

San lets out a huff of annoyance at the title he's given by the other members of the club. Of course they'd use a dumb nickname just to tease and rile him up. Maybe the nickname they gave you doesn't sit well with you. Maybe that's why he got his ass handed to him. But still, San can't shake off the feeling of wanting to know where the hell you learned to fight like that. Who did you train under? No. Did you train on your own? Hell no. You had to have studied under an athlete or someone as skilled. Otherwise the Golden Boy of the School wouldn't have taken a nasty hit.

"Dude, what's your sister's name?" He asks, turning his gaze to the side to catch his friend's expression.

"Huh?" Yunho let out a confused hum, "what for?"

"Cause I'm interested in who trained her."

"Pft, no one trained her, Sannie," Wooyoung chides, shaking his head. "She picked it up somewhere when we lived back in the country," his friend pause, a wicked grin suddenly blooming onto his handsome face. "Interested in my little sister, are we?" He jokes, the spark of amusement lit up in Wooyoung's eyes. "Looks like she won't have a problem beating up your ass this time."

"You guys are hilarious," San push\ off his friends' weights from his body and begins to walk towards his sports bag in hopes of forgetting about everything that occurred in the gym just minutes ago. He never got the chance to tell you his thanks for sparing with him. For some odd reason, the adrenaline's pumping through his system more than the pain as San stares back in shock the moment you had thrown the blow.

Perhaps, Yunho's baby sister did, in fact, pack a serious punch. Maybe San might've been overreact on the whole getting beaten in front of everyone else. Did he get beat by a girl? Hell yeah he did. Is he angry at her for hitting him harder than expected? God no. Actually, he's a little, just a little impressed. Even the others seemed a bit mesmerized, but he isn't about to openly admit it to them anytime soon.

He's not going to deny that you aren't cute, that's for sure. Though, he never thought that someone as small as you are capable of throwing such a big hit to his gut. He clearly doesn't want to hurt you, that's one thing for sure. He might be the star athlete, the big boy in the team, and a little bit cocky — but that didn't mean he doesn't know how to care and be mindful of someone else. As a matter of fact, if any of the club members are on the ground and hit really, really hard, San would rush by and check their injuries first. In all honestly, he hadn't thought about what kind of girl was going to show up but he didn't really expect to run into someone so... amazing.

Okay, maybe he needs to tone it down a bit with all the compliments for this tiny, adorable, and totally capable-of-murder-if-she-wanted-to girl.

It's not only the fact that he finds you cute as a button, but the fact that he can't deny his true thoughts of wanting you on the club's team and getting a little closer to you after that incident. With just that one encounter alone, you piqued his interest and curiosity; enough for him to want to know if there is anything you didn't show the others, and as the good hearted person he is, he is actually willing to go along with your ruse of innocence. He doesn't know you all that well yet and so far you're nothing but a pretty and somewhat-mysterious stranger, though he hopes, silently and sincerely, that he'll get to know you better and have some conversation soon enough.

Though as fate would have it, that may prove to be a challenge all of its own. You didn't even acknowledge his existence nor his compliments after the first week of training as you seem more interested in joining your brother's practice instead. Apparently, you have no intention of teaming up with him anymore. San can't understand why that bothered him just a little. Perhaps a bit of irritation at your snob and aloof attitude that somehow sparks more and more of his curiosity. Maybe he'll end up trying harder next time.

Whenever there is a next time.

You hate to admit it, but you ended up joining the Taekwondo club simply out of spite and boredom. That, and the fact that your family made it a personal goal to get you more involved with sports so you will stay busy, and focus on anything other than picking street fights. Though Yunho had sworn up and down that there's no fighting outside the mat, that if he hears that his beloved baby sister is hurting people, he'd throttle the living crap out of you and then proceed with locking you away, never to see the light of day again. Did you believe his threats? Absolutely. Would you follow through with them? Hell no.

"Will you quit whining? All these whiny voices are making my head hurt," you growl, spinning around to give everyone on the practice mat an unimpressed and mildly irritated stare, looking each of the boys directly in the eye as if daring them to disagree with the sudden demand to be quiet. You're really starting to become annoyed.

After landing a super impressive hit on a certain 'Golden boy' (you can't resist adding those air quotations every single time because you feel like it fits him so nicely), people always come around to ask questions and if you want to spar. All of which you decline the moment they finish their request. Yes, they look strong and very capable but you're not much into showing off your skills to the entire school just yet. No, thank you. As of today you'll stay right where you are, seated and undisturbed in your spot across the gym.

"Cutie!" Mingi calls out, making a beeline for you as you're mindlessly scrolling away on your phone while waiting for the Taekwondo Club's meet.

"Call me cutie one more time and I'll break something, Song," you glare, briefly removing your gaze away from the device in your hands before giving the grinning idiot your attention. "What do you want now?"

He snickers quietly as he bends slightly to lower himself, so the two of you are on the same level. His towering frame is something you aren't very much fond of since it reminds you of how tall Yunho is. "I heard something interesting recently."

"As long as it isn't a love confession then I'm not interested."

"Oh c'mon, don't be like that, Y/N-ah. We're friends here," he pouts childishly, a frown adorning his handsome features.

"We're not friends," you mutter as you point at him and yourself, "You're my brothers' friend. Simple as that."

"Rude!" The taller man huffs, crossing his arms defensively and pretending to be insulted.

"Mingi! C'mon, get your ass over here already. Practice isn't waiting for you!" Someone in the crowd calls out. "Y/N! You too!"

"What now?" You let out an annoyed grumble as the annoying figure of Mingi smirks and runs away, leaving you alone without another word. Oh you are going to punch that grin right off his smug little face once you get the chance. But you sigh instead, tucking your phone away for now and join everyone. Maybe today won't suck.

Turns out, you're mistaken. It sucks big time, especially when the coach announces that they're going to have a mini exhibition at the upcoming university festival and, you have a strong, ominous feeling in your gut that this entire thing isn't going to bode very well in the least bit. Everyone seems excited, all except you that is. What does he think you are, some freaking entertainment puppet for the entire student body to ogle and gossip about? Hell no, it's definitely, definitely, not happening. Not that anyone is really paying any attention to your reaction and quiet grumbling.

"Any volunteers?" The coach calls out, taking his attention from you and scanning the circle, "No? None? Okay then I'm choosing," he announces, looking over all of the members, taking his time with each person, contemplating his decision for a solid minute before he lands his eyes on someone. And then another.

And when your gaze follows, it's as though all hell had frozen over.

"Y/N, you. Come here and stand right next to San," he orders with an unsettling amount of joy and glee. "The two of you will be this year's main showcase."

Oh no. Absolutely not.

"Excuse me?" The question accidentally slips out as you point at yourself and give the club's leader the most deadly glare. You with the Golden Boy himself? In a showcase at that? That was like hell froze over and is probably still burning to the ground at that very moment. "Do I have to?"

"Yes," the coach bluntly answers with the straightest of faces.

"Ugh, okay fine!" You sigh, raising your hands in surrender. If it isn't for his pleading gaze, the other members looking excited and begging through their eyes to make them part of the main event, you would've walked right out the damn door. "Fine," you huff and turn towards San, "I'll help your ass this one time."

San lets out a laugh. "Then we'd better make the best showcase we've ever had, right partner?" His tone of voice comes out teasing, amused as though this entire thing isn't such a drag, especially when the majority of the boys starts yelling in excitement, chanting that you're a goddess who walks upon the mortal world.

Goddess. Yeah.

Pfft, bullshit.

You sigh in defeat as you see San, looking so happy, excited, and enthusiastic. His eyes are practically sparkling like stars. "Please don't tell me it's going to be the usual stuff we're doing now."

"No. It'll be way harder and I won't hold back," he replies in a gentle tone of voice. "Think you'll manage?"

"As long as you don't treat me like fragile little flower then, yeah, I guess I can deal with that, pretty boy," you joke, "I like it hard and rough anyway."

And apparently that statement really sets something in his expression and core, for in seconds the look on his face and the whole feel of the atmosphere in the entire gym changes. The other members start whistling and calling out teasing words and jokes. Even the coach starts patting San's back and grinning from ear-to-ear.

What's with the sudden attention?

"Now, now, I think the real question here is do you have enough experience?" San questions with a smile.

"Fuck off," you roll your eyes, huffing under your breath. "Do you, pretty boy?"

And the Golden Boy could no longer hold himself together as his cheerful laugh resonates throughout the entire gym. The atmosphere around the two of you begins to melt and relax as he gazes softly, the tips of his ears reddening. It doesn't take him much to feel an inkling of what you're all about now. It makes his stomach flutter a lot. "Probably more experience than you, Cutie."

"Bold of you to assume that, Golden Boy," you retort, shifting your feet back as the rest of the students finish up their drills and head towards the bench to grab some water and their towels.

"Good luck, guys, and please don't accidentally kill one another," Yunho interrupts, patting your head like a child. He turns to San, "If I were you, I'd start praying."

"Not funny," you glare, batting away Yunho's hand. "Can we just start already before I walk out of here?"

"So impatient. So very impatient," your older brother laughs. "Whatever happened to the old sweet you?"

"I don't know that person," you flip him off. "That person disappeared long ago."

Yunho laughs, "Now this is the tiny terror I love so dearly," and with that he spins around and leaves, rushing the others off to the bench with a wide smile.

"Well," San hums and steps closer to your space. "It'll be interesting to work with you. That's for sure, cutie."

"I'm telling you what I told Song," you glare, "if you keep calling me cutie, I will break something."

He chuckles, "Alright, alright. I understand," he moves closer until there's no gap between the two of you, no distance as you feel his breath tickling your neck, sending a chill throughout your core. "What do you want me to call you?"

There's an insufferable smug smile tugging his lips as he moves an inch further, looking you dead in the eyes, gaze serious. And, surprisingly, he never moves another muscle, never steps closer and never moves away. You're not going to deny that he's gorgeous with his pearly, white teeth. He's attractive and he probably knows it too but what he doesn't know was that you're not falling for those dazzling doe-eyes.

"Don't be that guy, Choi," you grumble, moving an inch away. "I'm not going to be won over by a pretty face."

"So you admit that I have a pretty face?" He retorts back.

"For fuck sakes..." you swear under your breath, trying not to get so heated over how calm and cocky and confident San was. You hate how calm he's acting in the situation. He's frustrating yet charming, and it's infuriating that a guy like him exists, a guy that could seemingly shake things around you.

And to make matters even more complicated, and that's an understatement, the Golden Boy throws on another charming, smile, adding on, "You're quite the fascinating little firecracker."

"And you're quite an ass," you retort. "Don't see how all the girls drool over you. Such a waste of your attractiveness." You take a step forward and close the space between the two of you. Gaze locking. The muscles in his jaw twitches as you reach up and gently pat his cheek, "Be careful. One day I may just bite that cute nose."

San smirks, reaching out and gently tilting your chin so you'd look up, a knowing glint in his eyes as he whispers, "Careful there, cutie. I just might bite first."

Oh this Golden Boy is seriously tempting fate, or in this case, you.

"So you and San are paired up for the showcase, huh?"

"How does everyone know?" You groan, throwing yourself on a bench with a sigh. You look at your two older brothers, hoping one will get you something cold to drink to help soothe the nerves that are suddenly spiking.

"Because Wooyoung has a big mouth," your taller, bigger, and somewhat slightly intimidating brother replies, "but really, you shouldn't be surprised. Either way, everyone is bound to know especially if dad finds out."

"He won't. Because no one is allowed to tell dad," you stuck your tongue out.

Wooyoung snorts loudly in amusement. "Too late. Dad found out."

"Of course he found out," you say, dropping your head in annoyance as a headache begins to grow as you rub at the bridge of your nose. "I hate attention."

"Uh huh, sure you do," Wooyoung puffs with a wry smirk, nudging you. "How many fights have you been in and always drawn attention? Face it, little sis, you're an attention magnet and you aren't about to hide from that fact," he snickers as you smack him on his arm, letting out a yelp. "Ow, hey!"

"Call me an attention magnet again, and I'll eat all your lunches until the end of this month," you threaten, lifting yourself off the bench, "and then we'll see who's laughing."

"Alright, alright." Yunho cuts in, "Quit it, you guys," he flings his arms around both of his siblings, patting their heads. "Remember when Y/N was just an innocent little sweetie, she would always hug me and sleep with me to fight off her nightmares, I would—"

"No, no, no, shut up shut up shut up," you interrupt, "We are not bringing up the past again. The past stays in the past where it belongs, in the history books and none of us should look at it. So no."

"Okay, I got it," the oldest sibling snickers, "maybe later. Anyway, good job at not killing anyone today, baby sister," Yunho laughs, ruffling up your hair and pulling away.

"Wasn't going to," you grumble in annoyance, "because someone," you glare at Wooyoung, "told dad."

Wooyoung tries looking oh, so very, not, guilty but fails miserably. "How can I not? Your situation is gold! Absolute freaking gold!" He hollers in between his fit of laughter, not able to hold himself still. "My kid sister and my best friend? Hilarious!"

"Are you done laughing at my misery now?" you hiss, sending a quick death glare and hoping he'd be quiet. But of course he won't since he's Wooyoung. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go find Hongjoong and Jongho to get dinner. See you losers at home." You turn and head off, eager to find either your friends and bribe them with the possibility of buying dinner or snacks if it means taking you off campus. Anything is better than being here.

"Hey, be safe and watch where you're going!" Yunho calls after you.

"Yeah, sure," you throw back at them, waving a hand lazily as you continue along your merry way, rushing to the courtyard where Hongjoong or Jongho frequently spends time after classes.

Of course, since you're preoccupied on your phone to text and see where they could've been, you fail to realize you run right into someone's back, making contact. A curse escapes your mouth and you mumble words under your breath as you attempt to regain your balance but fail to as the other body spun around quickly and catches you by the arm in time.

"Damn it, dude," you curse, holding onto your poor phone which is still in your hand before looking up and meeting a very familiar set of eyes. "Fuck me, it's you."

San laughs lightly as he helps steady you once more, not letting go of your arm. "If we were dating, I'd definitely would," he replies smoothly, a cocky smirk on his lips. "Anywhere and everywhere you ask."

"Oh my God, you're fucking awful," you gasp, tugging away and rolling your eyes. "Get your dirty thoughts away from me and out of your filthy mind," you scowl, dusting off your outfit. "It's tiring enough to see your annoyingly handsome face at club practice everyday."

"You think I'm handsome, huh?" he raises a brow, looking smug. It doesn't take a genius to see where the conversation is going and you'd be an absolute idiot and fool to fall for such a trick. "Could've told me earlier," he huffs, looking somewhat upset. "But that aside, where are you rushing off too, Cutie?" He teases.

"Don't. Call. Me. Cutie." Your sharp gaze cuts him to the core, letting him feel the intensity of your irritation and anger at being interrupted and taunted.

"Okay, okay, my mistake," San raises his hands in surrender. "No need to go off the hinges."

"I have a name, use it," you grit.

"I'll use it if you call me by my name and not 'Golden Boy'," he retorts.

"Good grief," you hiss, rolling your eyes and turning your body away, ready to leave.

"You aren't going to?"

You smirk. "Nah, you don't deserve it," you move a few inches.

"Y/N."

The sound of your name spilling out of his lips in such a beautiful, soft and warm way makes your heart thump with anticipation, and a pleasant heat swirls inside, rushing towards your stomach. You hum in approval, stepping away to gauge the handsome guy's reaction, watching him intently and listening.

"Hmm? What did you say?" You turn your gaze away, pretending that what happened a second ago wasn't much to behold.

He blinks a few times and opens his mouth and nothing comes out. This is totally new to him. San never had any girl treat him like this and it's sending his senses spiraling. He doesn't know what exactly you're playing or are even up to but it's driving his interest even higher.

"Focus, pretty boy. My friends are waiting and I'm starving," you pat his cheek, "save the flirting or whatever this is," you motion a finger at the two of you, "for another day when you aren't such a mess."

"Then have dinner with me," he suggests in a haste.

You freeze in your spot. "What?"

"Have dinner with me. My treat," he offers once more, voice holding the most sincere of intents. The offer sounds sweet and thoughtful, an idea you'd really not mind accepting. "You mentioned about being hungry and finding your friends to have dinner right?" He moves closer, leaning in. "Have dinner with me instead."

Oh this pretty, little thing. He's persistent, very much so. "Tempting," you admit and bit your lower lip as you ponder a bit. A quick thought flashing by. What the hell. "Fine but it's not a date," you warn, "just us having food is all. Got it? We're just having dinner between club members," you correct before he gets any sort of idea that there's more to the two of you other than being temporary club partners.

"Right," he nods quickly. "Not a date."

"Good," you breathe, somewhat feeling relieved as he moves and motions his hand, holding an arm out in the direction he plans to head, inviting you, and allowing you to lead. The gesture itself made your stomach do a small flip-flop. What the actual fuck is wrong with you? "Well," you take a moment to gather yourself, "lead the way, Choi."

"As my lady wishes," he coos with the daintiest, smug smile as the two of you begin to leave together and San is secretly praising himself for how smoothly he's able to maneuver. The sudden burst of courage gives him hope that this will change and turn into something more than just the normal boring routine, for you.

"So Y/N," he casually throws your name around, enjoying the little perk and curious, soft gaze in your eyes when you turn to him. Oh what he'd give to keep it train on him forever. "I have a few questions about you. If you don't mind."

"What questions, San?" Oh, he likes hearing his name roll off your pretty lips.

"Where did you learn to throw a back kick like that?" San inquires. "Knocked the air right out of my lungs."

You shrug, "I picked it up. Didn't Yunho and Wooyoung ever talk to you?"

San raises his hands in defense, "Oh believe me they did. But," he breathes, "no offense, I had a hard time believing any of those rumors."

"The rumors are true, believe it or not. I'm no golden girl," you tell him with a devious grin and flick your finger against his shoulder, watching the spark ignite in his expression. "I was a stupid delinquent back in my senior year of high school. I'm actually surprised that I got into KQU with my track record of getting into fights and stuff."

"You? A delinquent? i find that hard to believe," he argues.

You laugh. "So many people don't believe me until they see for themselves. And then, " you turn your body around, facing the pretty boy and reaching up, poking him at the center of his chest, "it'll really, truly sink in that I can pack a serious punch if they ever decided to step on the wrong toes." You laugh. "But I'm trying to change, pretty boy, I've learned to suppress it. Haven't had a fight in quite awhile. Pretty great, huh?"

San merely nods and gently takes your wrist, giving it a gentle tug so you face him. "Pretty great. Yes," he agrees, a teasing tone. "And I wouldn't mind being the subject for your rage if you feel the need to let off steam," he chuckles and brushes the top of your head with the palm of his hand. His touch gentle and feather-light, bringing butterflies to erupt in your tummy. The simple action ignites a wild fire within your body and you desperately need to stomp it down, control it.

"Tempting," you laugh, "Let's just...try to get used to each other first. Sound good to you?" You offer, glancing up and meeting his eyes.

A smile plays on his lips. "If that's what it takes to have a shot, then sure, we can do that, cutie."

It becomes a routine over the course of three weeks; the two of you practicing drills early in the morning when the gym isn't packed to the brim with other club members. At first, the two of you work quietly. You barely talk for the first two days, except maybe you mutter and swear at the way he stands and shows certain motions. Your criticism is strong and he finds it endearing the way you observe him from head-to-toe before yelling out 'pretty boy, stop, stop, stop', 'hold on, let me show you, stupid' or any variation of that. It doesn't really offend him or bother his pride. He feels a rush every time you scold him.

San notices many things about you in a span of a few days. Most important is that, even though you're blunt, a delinquent at heart, and slightly mean at times, you cared. You always chew him out over the slightest mistakes because you knew better than most. The demonstration on stage is going to be intense and requires your focus on everything because the last thing you want is for the two of you, and the university as a whole, is to leave a bad impression on the local community.

Some days you're softer and kinder than the previous. One morning he arrives to find a bottle of his favorite water by the bench where the club bags are and you already stretched out. Ready for another intense practice round of sparring and leaving bruises. Sometimes you'd comment how you enjoy that he doesn't hold back as you pick yourself up from the floor. At first, he thought it was weird, but then San remembers that talk about you getting into fights a lot. He concludes that perhaps the whole thing about liking violence wasn't far fetched and was quite literally a possibility.

Days blended, the routine the two of you made continued and you found yourself both thankful and happy about it. San, much to his surprise and delight, enjoyed your company even more. You were so hard to read, quiet at times but also expressive and quick to bite back, the comments flying and the fights not needing to come to physical. Oh, they definitely did but this time around there were verbal jabs, teasing jests.

And he loved those expletives tumbling from your mouth in frustration and aggravation. It wasn't his intention to tease you too much, to piss you off in such a way that drove you crazy, but it was becoming a thing; the two of you rarely seemed to communicate with each other normally. All you did was banter and bicker. But it's all in the name of fun and a good spar, right?

"Cans I ask you a question?" you ask San one night. You're not usually one to ask permission from people but your curiosity was spiking today and you desperately wanted to know the answers before the showcase was officially announced in a matter of days and it was near impossible to ask any other teammate. "Pretty please."

San grins and pretends to think. "Depends," he shrugs playfully, "depends on what kind of question." He sat up, no longer sprawled on the mat and making an attempt to sit neatly across from you, he looked intrigued. "What is it?"

"You've ever been with one of your fan girls, before?"

"One of my what?" San blinked rapidly, seemingly a bit startled with the bluntness of your question. Where did this question come from all of a sudden?

"A fan girl, Choi," you enunciated. "Don't play stupid." You huff, frowning, arms crossing over the span of your chest, growing more impatient.

"Dated? Yeah," San sighs before looking at you. "But in love? Nah. Haven't fallen head over heels for anyone yet." He turns away for a bit, wondering why the conversation had suddenly turn to the direction. "You? In the romance game before?"

You laughed and shook your head, "God, no."

"Ever?"

"Ever." You confirmed, cheeks pinking the slightest bit.

San looks at you with a questioning brow, his head tilting slightly, eyes meeting yours. "Someone as pretty as you never dated anyone, not even once?" he questioned.

"I've been too preoccupied fighting for anyone's attention," you replied truthfully, scratching your cheek shyly and attempting to avoid San's unwavering gaze. "I mean I've been with someone before but it it stopped after he realized that I was a bit too violent for him, and apparently 'normal couples don't do shit like this', he'd said."

"Like what?" San is genuinely intrigued now.

You shrug as if it didn't bother you at all. "Fighting together and having an equal role in the relationship, I guess." You lean over and grab your bottled drink off the floor before taking a swig of your water. "I know I should've change, be like all the other girls," you added in, taking the water bottle down and closing it with the twist cap. "but I don't want to lose who I am, especially with who I date." You sighed a little before continuing, "If I'm gonna get some guy interested, he needs to accept that I'm a fucking hurricane, and he's gonna need to be a lot stronger to stand beside me. Or even dare try and match my pace. Or put in the effort at least." You laughed before realizing he was quiet, as if pondering your words.

You exhaled and tossed the bottle to the side, rolling onto your back, hands going behind the back of your neck and feeling your hair wrap around your fingertips as you relaxed into a cool spot of the mat. There was something soothing about the sensation, feeling the coolness against the burning skin, your chest raising slowly as you inhaled and let the air slip past your lips. The quietness surrounding you, your companion, and the moment the two of you shared.

For once, everything in the gym was silent. No yelling and yelling or cursing from a sparring pair, no slamming of weights. Just silence and your beating heartbeat echoing in the forefront of your ears, reverbing the drumming.

"San?"

"Hmm?" The boy hums softly, a reply that came immediately, sounding close as well, startling you a tad when you lifted your head slightly to the side. You hadn't realized he inched himself closer, his left shoulder brushing against your own.

"If I told you that I have a fat-ass crush on you, would you feel repulsed, disgusted?"

"A bit late to repulse," he breathed out, "when I can't stop thinking about you."

Your cheeks tint a gorgeous red shade. "Fuck," you cursed under your breath, not sure on whether you should turn and meet him or to continue looking away.

"We can make that happen," he flirts. "I know a quiet place nearby."

The lewd implication catches your off-guard, sputtering. "Oh god no, San," you gawk. "That's not—" you suck your teeth, frustrated.

He snickered, obviously enjoying the moment. "Just messing with you."

Your eyebrow twitched, irritated. He's gonna pay for the snide remark and teasing. "Fuck you, Choi."

"Sure," he chuckled. "Want my help or?" He trailed off, obviously sending an underlying message that you couldn't miss.

"Fuck you." You snapped back at him once more.

"We'll both benefit from such an act," San reminded.

"Fuck you!"

"If that's what the lady demands!"

"Good heavens, why am I stuck with you again," you grumbled before sitting up abruptly, now glaring directly and angrily into his smug, handsome face, irritation clouding your mind. It took every fiber of willpower not to knock out his damn teeth. "You and your stupidly handsome face, what did I do to deserve you and your stupid flirting, your stupid one-liners, your fucking face," you rattled off.

"Pretty girl likes me," he puffs his chest out, like an arrogant child and it further grates your nerves.

"Only reason I haven't clocked you in the throat," you spat back, your hand balling up.

His eyes flashed, an unknown glint but the smug smirk faded for a moment. "And what if I actually liked the sound of you clocking me?"

Your heart thuds and a chill races through your spine. He's insufferable and frustrating beyond imagination, it makes you wonder how can anyone deal or put up with San day in and day out. "Your mouth," you warned, "it's going to get you into trouble one day."

"Be my guest to cause all the trouble you'd like," he says easily.

"Christ, do you ever shut up?" you scowl.

"Perhaps with the right methods." His confidence is a key factor here and the way he was so carefree, so suave, and unbothered made your nerves feel the sensations.

He's not even trying to hide his intentions and it drives you insane to hear. This isn't even his type. This shouldn't even work. He shouldn't have been interested to begin with and yet, there is no mistaking the twinkle in his eyes and that soft smile, the way his voice feels in your ears, and his scent as he sits close to you. He's got the scent of clean citrus and sea. It feels heavenly and soft. So inviting.

He inches forward with you unaware, closing the distance and leans forward. Warm breath hitting the expanse of your ear. Your hand automatically flying to the left side and feeling his soft cheek as his lips met the shell, hovering over, a few seconds. "Tell me how you want me to ruin your day," he uttered the softest demand and it makes your brain stop functioning for a minute, allowing his hands to gently rest on your waist, fingers dancing across your sensitive sides and waiting for an answer.

"F-fuck," you managed to say.

"Yeah? Wanna? No one's here, doll." His thumbs caressing slowly and then pauses before he starts moving, coaxing you towards him slowly as you give in, and allowing his hand to wrap around you, holding your tiny, round form between his arms, eyes hooded and heavy as his eyes look into your own, waiting. Searching. "Unless... unless you don't want to?"

"Next time," you say breathlessly.

"Oh?" he teased.

"Maybe after the festival..."