#aouad

You have made peace with the incomparable fact, long ago, that if God existed then he was far too busy to attend to you. There is just too much going on all at once: Smartphones are threatening devolution. The planet is on the edge of a burning match. There are bigger things than this.

Still, swirling in the depths of your stomach is the incriminating need to cry, and pray, and perhaps maybe even touch yourself, too.

Your moral compass is a work in progress.

It had a knack for getting nefariously cloudy, especially when he entered the mix…

Gwinam's eyes are blown into saucers as he looks down at you. He is utterly restless, not knowing what to do with himself, when you took so much of him, so well. His satisfaction has you fighting the urge to hum and moan around the head of his cock.

Despite all this, you are clearly aware of the fact that you should not be enjoying this at all. Not one bit.

For starters, your knees are cutting into gravel, your shirt is unbuttoned because Gwinam was like a moth to a fucking flame when it came to your ample breasts and his hand was locked tightly in your kinky curls, forcing his cock even further down his throat.

You clench your toes, trying not to gag.

"Fuck, you're taking me so well," Gwinam got exceedingly verbal during most of your secret trysts. With his slurred speech, the boy could murmur every curse, praise and degradation under the sun.

"Such a good fucking slut," but the invisible word always hung heavy between you two. A word you always wanted to hear him say…

Mine. Mine. Mine.

He had always, and would always fail to claim you, in any capacity, even under the spell of sexual intoxication.

"What they don't understand… Is that I'm actually a really nice guy." Gwinam begins that weird quirk where he speaks to himself while he uses your body for his own pleasure. You were made to question whether you were his therapist or his whore. You love it though.

Every habit or quirk of his was indiscriminately locked away in a safe and buried in the depths of your consciousness.

"I'm really-" You slide your tongue along his shaft, ripping a hoarse groan from his chest and momentarily stumping his verbal momentum.

"What no one seems to understand, is that… I'm a… fair fucking guy, too." Feeling himself get too close, Gwinam eases his cock fully out of your mouth, languidly stroking himself but still assuming a firm grip on your hair. He is operating on that very specific plain of narcissism that

was special to Gwinam. He is aware of your presence, physically, but his words are spoken into the open air, like you are an inanimate object. A glorified fleshlight.

"And that fucking Jinsu," He punctuates his sentence with an incredulous laugh- it blossoms across his usually stoic visage, raising his buttercup cheekbones towards his smiling eyes. All you can do is sit back on your haunches, lift the sleeve of your fitted school jersey to wipe away the excess saliva. You remain kneeled in front of him, knowing he has yet to finish.

As he talks, a slow feeling of admiration seeps into the pit of your stomach which is utterly pathetic, given that your feelings will not ever be reciprocated.

"They wanna make me seem like a murderer-" he exclaims, "Me?! It's not my fault he tried to kill himself,” He laughs incredulously. His smile is utterly dazzling in the unambiguous morning glow, with his rugged hair messy just how you like it. You recognize his black undershirt as the same shirt he might've worn yesterday, and the day before that, and perhaps even the day before that. His school shirt was wrinkled and unkempt and his shoes had seen far better days - even better years.

Brewing inside you is the need to take care of him. You knew the rest of the student body viewed Gwinam as an earth-dwelling parasite. Something that is only capable of thinking within the capacity of its own survival. Something that takes, and takes, and takes. But how could he know anything different? You suspected that his home life was built on the foundation of survival, on needing to be the loudest, and proudest, and baddest of them all.

"What the fuck are you doing?" The sharpness of his words slice through your thoughts, bringing you back to the lot behind the science block. The sound of students trickling in for their morning classes filled your ears but Gwinam's gaze was placed firmly on something below his exposed cock. Throughout this mindless tirade, your hand had taken to rubbing soft, comforting circles against his leg, quite literally on its own accord. Gwinam is bent over, head tilted as he watches you questioningly. You rip your hand away, embarrassed by the weird show of affection. Seconds stretch to a minute, and your stomach sinks as time passes.

Gwinam, eventually dismisses you, as he always does. He shakes his head and resumes his stroking. "Whatever," He says, tilting your own head back and lining your mouth with the head of his cock once more. His visage darkens into a cruel sadistic grin. "Tell me you want me to come in your mouth."

Almost insitinvely, you did as he ordered, and like clockwork, he groaned and cursed and emptied himself inside your mouth. You swallowed his cum, wondering if he knew how deeply and truly your admiration actually was. There is a moment, perhaps imagined, after he's finished, when the aftershocks are still running rampant through his body, in which his fingers gripping your hair, rub along the side of your soft, supple cheek. It stays there for longer than necessary, leaving bits and pieces of your composure scattered in its wake.

Gwinam straightens his posture, stuffing his flaccid cock back into his pants before making himself as presentable as the student body knows him to be (which admittedly is not a lot).

Before he turns to walk away, he leaves you stranded on a glacier with his ice cold words cutting deep into your beating heart.

"Tell anyone about this-"

"And I'm dead," You interject, "I know."

And with that, you pull your ruffled collar over your lint-free school jersey and check your reflection on your phone to assess the damage Gwinam and his iron grip might have left. You needn't wait for an extension on the conversation because your job here was done, (pun so malevolently intended). As far as Gwinam is concerned, you are an easy conduit to release his frustrations because your unpopularity makes you so incredibly inconspicuous. You blend into any given crowd at any given moment, your name seldom reaching the heights of ridicule among his group because you are so forgettable… There had been no reason to point out your flaws, not because you did not have any, but because you were simply invisible.

It is particularly strange to have any social interaction beyond the bounds of forced proximity through group projects and class discussions… so Cheongsan gifting you even a sliver of attention had been violently unorthodox. So unorthodox in fact, you failed to look up from the weathered pages of your novel when his gentle voice wafted in your direction. It was second period, English, your teacher was running late and while the class descended into mayhem you decided to read.

"I don't know if you're aware of this but…" Cheongsan leans over your desk, a deep shadow over the pages alerting you to his presence, "They both die at the end."

It was incredibly rare that Cheongsan, who sat at the desk directly in front of you, ever felt the need to strike up conversation that was not purely academic. So naturally, you peer up at him with shocked, questioning eyes.

"Sorry?"

"Y-Your book," He stutters, suddenly overcome by a wave of embarrassment even though there was nothing at all to be embarrassed about… he turns his chair slightly in your direction, his eyes darting to the door and the empty teacher's seat before meeting yours once more.

"'They Both Die At The End. The title of the book you're reading."

"Oh…" You affirm, rocking your head back and forth, "You were making a joke?"

"Nah," Cheongsan waves a large hand in dismissal, "The only thing I made was a fool of myself." You're not sure when it happens but you feel the lower half of your face melting into what you suspect is a smile. You can feel your shoulders relaxing and your novel lowering imperceptibly, to see more of him.

"Work on your delivery next time and maybe we'll be getting somewhere."

"You know- I swear I had a pair of balls before the start of this conversation," He purses his lips and clasps his hands on his lap in a dramatic display, "Now I'm not quite sure where they went."

Gwinam's feet pass over the threshold as soon as the sound of your laughter rushes past him. It is almost charming in its familiarity but incredibly curious in its rarity. He can't recall ever seeing you with your head thrown back while the instinctive sound of amusement races through your throat. He does not know he's staring until someone in his friend group shoves past him, to get to their own seats.

His eyes remain on you as he makes his way to his desk, hoping, perhaps, that you would turn your head infinitesimally, in acknowledgement of his presence in the row of desks to your right. You do nothing of the sort and it not only fills him with a weird sort of dissatisfaction but it bubbles into full blown vexation when he realises who is capturing your attention so viscerally.

Gwinam has never prided himself on his patience or tolerance. Overthinking being something he lived without. Most of his actions were spurred from things he felt in the now, and he was really fucking uncomfortable with what was happening now.

Perhaps if he…

"You didn't let me know we were having a picnic," The sound of a chair scraping against the tiles had both you and Cheongsan rallying into silence. Gwinam appears at your side, pushing the chair against yours so he, too, sits facing Cheongsan. Cheongsan who suddenly appears incredibly uneasy. Gone is the comfortable atmosphere cooked by easy and amicable conversation. Gwinam injecting himself into your little bubble created a suddenly charged and suffocating atmosphere. You cannot keep your hardened eyes off Cheongsan as Gwinam lowers himself to his chair, legs spread as he slouches down, like he always does.

"Don't stop now," He exclaims, completely oblivious to the fact that your Science teacher might walk in at any minute. "What were we talking about?" Your heart wrestles in your chest as you see him turn to address you in your periphery. His slouching puts him a level lower than you but it does nothing to lessen his intimidation. "Maybe I should ask, Cheongsan? What were you guys talking about?" There is not a trace of friendliness present in Gwinam's tone, in fact it's the very opposite. Your nerves, swelling with anxiety, only escalates into full on panic when you feel him place a large hand on your skirt under the table.

Cheongsan's voice is low and his eyes are trained on the floor, "Books-" Gwinam cuts him off with fervour.

"Books! How interesting!" The hyperbolic wonder in his tone is utterly rude and unbecoming, but still you refuse to look at him. "And tell me, Cheongsan… how many books have you read so far?"

It is then that Gwinam's once stationary hand begins the faintest trace of movement. He begins slow and tame, his callouses barely registering on the soft fabric of your chequered school skirt until his fingers prod the lining of your skirt…

your breath hitches in your throat.

Never had Gwinam ever felt the desire to touch you. Not in the way he made you touch him. It was made explicitly clear that only he would benefit from your secret rendezvous' and so you were left to deal with your aching cunt alone, with the image of the face he made when he came, still burned into your mind. It had never been about you.

"A couple," Says Cheongsan, fighting to show this bully that he was affected by his intimidation. If only he knew that with every advance Gwinam's palm made, you simply were not there.

"A couple books?" Asks Gwinam for clarity. He remains lax and languid on the inside, but the nature of his wandering hand underneath the desk tells a new story. He finally slips under your skirt. His palm connects with the softness of your thighs and he seems utterly pleased by it

His hand is immediately restless to explore how far you would let him go. Which isn't very far.

Not at all.

If he thought he could suddenly touch you after myriad occasions of using you like a discarded toy… he had another thing coming.

The tips of Gwinam's fingers make gradually increasing strokes along your thigh until his fingers prod the stretch marks on your inner thigh. It is there when you stop him, clenching your legs together, blocking his hand from any further movement.

Gwinam's voice is strained as he says, "And you like reading, Cheongsan?"

Sensing something brewing between the two of you - your withdrawn, hazy gaze, staring directly through him and Gwinam's overabundance in questions, has Cheongsan reeling backwards.

"I asked you a question, Cheongsan."

"I like reading."

"Good! That's really good!" Quite suddenly, Gwinam tilts the ends of his half-moon nails into your thigh, forcing them to weaken and unclamp. Before you're even able to think, his palm is cupping your cunt through your panties- forcing an indecent yelp from your throat which you quickly (and very badly) disguise as a cough.

Gwinam is utterly pleased while he continues mindlessly stroking your cunt. Not for the purpose of any glorious stimulation it seems. His hand is just there to show you (and perhaps maybe himself) that he has access to the most private part of you. That thought alone has an unforeseen and sudden wave of lust coursing through his veins and surging straight to his hardened cock. He thinks of all the things he could have done to you but failed to do. He thinks about how, up until this point, he had ever been satisfied with using your mouth alone, not when he was denying himself the softness of your pussy all along. He felt angry with himself, for being so fucking stupid, he is angry at Cheongsan for seeing whatever it is he saw in you, way before he did and, possibly most harrowing of all is the fact that he is angry with you. And he can't help but be angry at you. How easily you whore yourself out to any and every man. If this thing with Cheongsan had gone far enough, would you venture as far as to suck his cock in deserted sectors of the schoolyard? Had you even fucked Cheongsan before?

You bite down on your lower lip as your head bows to your book once more. The words blend into one another, and all you can feel is a rise in temperature and Gwinam's suddenly restless fingers, pressing rudely against your clit - or the sole purpose of ripping an orgasm out of you right then and there, at the very back of an unsupervised classroom, with Cheongsan still very much a part of the conversation.

"You've got so many books to read in your lifetime," Says Gwinam. He sits up slowly, likely spurred on by the dampness seeping through your panties.

"Don't cut your life short by trying to entertain other people's girlfriends, okay?"

Your skin feels like you are bathing in magma and you hope Cheongsan could not see the slight tremor on your hand as you gripped the sides of your book with more force than necessary. His words, however - they have you shifting forward and widening your legs minutely. You crave for nothing more than to roll your hips in tandem with the circles he's pressing against your clit.

"Understood?"

Your orgasm is dangerously close, with the promise of sheer, disgusting shame and embarrassment if he continues. You feel Cheongsan give you one final look, perhaps pleading for an interjection of denial at some point but you've taken to bouncing your knee under the table, hoping the vibrations might create enough friction to aide Gwinam's hands. He is keeping you trapped in a space of wanting. So much so, that this almost feels like a punishment.

Once Cheongsan is turned back around and facing the front of the class, Gwinam lowers his lips to your ears. You're so completely stimulated, even the warmth of his breath as you fight the urge to hump into his hand like a naughty little thing until you make a mess all over his hand.

"You're such a fucking slut, you know that?" Your book drops to your desk - muffled by the sounds of the classroom cacophony.

"Fuck," You whisper to yourself, blinking your eyes shut, fighting to ward off the need but to no avail. His fingers are long and limber, and they have you nearly cumming right there, in front of your entire fucking class. Had it not been for Mr Lee's haphazard arrival into the class, and the swift removal of Gwinam's fingers from between your legs… you might truly have become the slut he so often labeled you as.

Instead of moving to his designated seat, Gwinam lifts the same hand that has previously been in between your legs, right into the air.

"What?" Asks Mr Lee, his voice as lacklustre as his appearance.

"Can we go? We were excused by the Principal to assist Mrs-"

"Fine, fine," Says Mr Lee with a wave of dismissal before turning his attention to the rest of the class. "The rest of you, open your textbooks to page 56."

Gwinam's hand is clamped around your forearm, already leading you swiftly out the door in a long and wide stride. Had it been any other teacher at all, they might have recognized this for what it so clearly was.

"Here," you have barely made it fully into the girl's bathroom before Gwinam is stuffing his fingers down your throat, making you gag and yelp at the sudden intrusion. "Tell me how good you taste." He doesn't even bother to make sure you're truly left alone in the bathroom before pushing your front against the bathroom counter.

"Answer me when I'm talking to you," He forces his fingers deeper down your throat, causing you to cough and gag around them. You're supposed to be afraid because you've never seen him like this. Gwinam is always a ball of energy between trysts, but it's usually an energy he can somewhat contain.

You don't know what to do with him, not when he's watching you choke on his fingers through the mirror, while his other hand fondles at your breasts and rips your bra down until your nipples are poking through your school shirt.

The figure in the mirror distorts as your eyes begin to water. Thick beads of water grow pregnant at the ends of your eyes before rolling down the side of your face.

"My girl," Gwinam presses his face into your hair, breathing you in, pressing his front against your back. His hard cock in unmistakable through his pants, "My messy little girl,"

You finally moan candidly around his fingers, your fingers gripping the countertops while your hips buck into nothingness. Your eyes plead with him in the mirror, hoping they relay how utterly useless with lust you have become. It would not take hard work to cum, you're sure one more flick against your material-clad nipples might send you over the edge.

"Fuck, why didn't I think of this sooner," This is all new, even for the two of you.

"Spread your legs." He commands, even though his feet are already kicking them apart. "Come here," you break eye contact in the mirror to face the boy behind you.

Gwinam removes his fingers sitting in your mouth, leaving a trail of unbreakable saliva in its wake before replacing it with a long and messy kiss- one that has his tongue forcing itself inside.

Gwinam weaponizes your distraction to slide your panties to the side with one hand and rub your clit with his other, spit-coated hand.

You break away from the kiss, neck craning back and mouth hanging open while your eyebrows dissolve into crescents. You cannot look away from him, as you hump his hand.

"You wanna cum?" You nod enthusiastically. "And what if I told you, you can't cum until I've cum? Hm? What then?" His words have you mewling from the sheer pleasure they bring and your orgasm threatens to snap once more.

"Fuck," He hisses, feeling unable to remove his hand from your wet cunt but needing to, in order to undo his belt and pull his aching cock out. "Don't you dare fucking touch yourself," He says in a deadly quiet voice before bringing his hand up to your mouth. "Spit." You don't ever think of disobeying him, not when you're swimming so deeply in your subspace, not when he's the one to bring you here.

Gwinam collects every bit of saliva you offer him before coating his cock in the stuff.

Deciding not to waste anymore time, Gwinam does what his body is screaming for him to do: he bends you over the bathroom counter and pushes cock right through your slippery folds. It's tense and painful and your voice is hoarse from doing all that screaming but the sudden contact strokes a deeply sated part inside yourself. His curved and pretty cock ram your insides with reckless abandon, all while he delivers harsh and sharp slaps against your cheek. Gwinam keeps a firm grip on your throat. His mouth is inches away from you while his hips rut into yours. His words are being delivered through clenched teeth.

"You think you're so fucking cute, huh? You think you can walk around fucking any guy who even looks at you, huh!?" It doesn't even register that Gwinam wrongfully suspects that there had been something between Cheongsan and you, but you keep your mouth shut. For all his indifference in the past, this is how you would make him pay.

"Oh~ Fuck." His cock bruises your cervix, leaving Gwinam balls deep and feral inside you. "Fucking Cheongsan?! You wanna give what's mine, to fucking Cheongsan?!" It's utterly depraved and animalistic and it has your orgasm cresting. "What would Cheongsan think? If he saw me raping you in the bathroom like this? What would he think? Would he still want your slutty pussy knowing I've been inside it? Knowing that I've cum inside you and completely ruined you for anyone else,"

"You…" The tears threaten to spill, "it's only ever been you, Gwinam- oh my God! I'm so fucking close!" You fight down tears as the lava begins to bubble at the pit of your stomach.

"S-Say it again. Tell me you want me!" He exclaims, "Tell me you fucking need me."

"I fucking need you, Oh my God" You push your hips back to meet his thrusts.

His voice wavers after your confession. His strokes becoming sloppy, "F-Fuck! I am your God, baby. You need me so fucking badly…" He nods to himself while his heavy cock finds purchase in a specific clump of sensitive tissue inside your cunt. It has you clamping your own mouth shut, your elbows falling to the counter with your ass sticks out towards him, only allowing him better excess.

"I need you," You agree, swallowing a ball of saliva as you nod towards him through the mirror, "I need your cum inside me."

"Yeah-," Gwinam says, "M'gonna fucking breed your pussy right here, in the school bathrooms- fuck!" His grip on your throat grows tighter until you're wholeheartedly cut off from your air supply. You hump his cock until you feel it twitch inside you.

"Fuck! You're fucking making me cum you stupid slut!" You feel his hot cum spurting inside your walls, triggering your own orgasm that has you gripping his cock like a vice. "Oh fuck- you're fucking milking my cock, baby. Fucking take it." His hips stutter against yours until you've completely drained him of his cum. A sharp tremor settles over your bones and you gasp in vague increments, waiting for the overwhelming state of euphoria to subside… but it never does.

The weight of what you had done comes crashing back down but you are unable to feel anything besides an immense wave of satisfaction at having your deepest need satiated.

"I think I nearly killed Cheongsan today." His voice is a hoarse echo within the school bathrooms.

"There is no Cheongsan," You say, watching him through the mirror, "In my whole world, there is only ever you."

Somehow, in a blink of an eye, you'd watched person after person succumb to a man-eating monster in the span of seconds. There was blood everywhere, with guts hanging from bodies and the sounds of screams as people were eaten alive that was slowly driving you insane.

You'd gotten separated from the rest of your friends in the midst of all the madness. After being cornered by one of the zombies, you'd been forced to run another way, to leave On-jo and I-sak.

Sweat coated your skin like a second skin, there was dried blood caked onto your skin and you were starting to strongly dislike your schools uniform as a skirt seemed really unhelpful for surviving a zombie outbreak.

Your heart, still beating madly against your chest, was starting to ache as you pressed both your feet against the door in front of you. In a last mad dash for survival, you'd locked yourself into the janitors closet, just managing to shut the door as the zombie that had been chasing you reached you.

You were positive there was at least two, maybe three zombies pressed against the door trying to break in.

Eventually, they'd stop trying to get in. Despite how quickly everything had happened, you knew that the zombies were attracted to sound and since they couldn't see you, they'd either wander off or something else would catch their attention.

That didn't erase the fact that there were a lot more zombies wandering in and outside of the school. Even if you managed to get out of the janitors closet, the chances are survival were pretty slim to none. At least not on your own. You were just one person, scared out of your mind.

As the sound of the zombies drifts off, you slowly pull your feet away from the door. Your heart is beating erratically agaisnt your chest, fear coursing through your veins and making every movement hard. But, you push yourself, shifting until you're sat more upright.

Pulling your knees to your chest, you hug yourself. It had been a long run from the cafeteria and many near death experiences, not to mention the multitude of people you'd seen eaten and turn into a zombie right in front of you. Your hands were still frantically shaking, and all you wanted was Suhyeok.

It seemed silly, but you knew his presence would make you feel better. It was one thing to be alone, but another not knowing if he was okay.

He'd left lunch early to play some basketball and with a smile, a kiss and a promise to join him later, you'd continue chatting with On-jo and I-sak after he'd left. If you'd gone with him, sure, maybe you'd be dead, but you wouldn't be alone.

And you wouldn't be sat in a janitors closet wondering if he was okay.

You could imagine your boyfriend trying to make you laugh, even in a situation like this, and even if it would be ridiculous to anyone else, he'd still make you laugh. And that? That would be enough to comfort you, even if only a little.

Least of all, you knew you'd feel ten times better as Suhyeok always made you feel safe.

You're not sure how long you sit in that closet, hugging yourself and trying to fight back tears but it's long enough for you to realize that sitting there wasn't going to do anything. Suhyeok, if he was alive, wish you had to believe he was, wouldn't have left the school without you.

And you wanted to know if your friends were okay too.

When you'd ran from the cafeteria, you'd run up the stairs to the second floor. You bet that your friends and maybe Suhyeok were on the first floor, and maybe you could even escape out that way.

Maybe.

Inhaling sharply, your mind is made up then. You needed to get out.

Your eyes flicker around the closet. The janitors closet is small and, of course, filled with cleaning supplies of a variety. Your eyes, however, instantly zone in on the mop against the far wall. It was the best you had and you knew, no matter what, you couldn't stay locked in this closet. You were scared, terrified, but you'd go crazy locked in a small closet all by yourself. You also had no food or water.

Plus, you needed to find Suhyeok.

You remember seeing a few movies where one of the characters would snap the mop or broom over their knees to make a sharper weapon. You figure that'd be better that swinging slightly damp cotton at a zombies head. So, determined, you grab the mop and brace yourself.

Your first attempt, naturally, goes terribly. All you manage to do is make a loud thud and a resounding ache travel across your leg as you bite your lips to stop yourself from crying out in pain.

Breath halting, your eyes shift to the door, as if expecting to hear the zombies back at it. After minutes pass of nothing, you let out a light breath of relief.

Well, damp cotton was just going to have to do it.

Taking another survey of the closet, you look for anything else that could be helpful. Theres a few disinfectant sprays, a bucket and some paper towel, but other than that, nothing. Letting out a sigh, you shake your head.

Looks like this was the best you were going to get.

Setting your hand on the door knob, you pause just before opening it. Beyond the rapid pounding of your heart, you try to calm yourself best you can. Nothing would make the fear go away, but you couldn't go out there with any hopes of surviving if you didn't do it logically.

So, after a minute passes, you nod to yourself, determined. You slowly open the door, cautious to be as quiet as possible, peeking your head out enough to see outside. There's a few zombies wandering around and you can only assume more outside of your peripheral. But you see the stairs and you know that's your best shot.

And you couldn't stay there any longer.

Tightening your grip on the mop, you make your way out of the closet. You're deliberate in being quiet, making every step slow, cautious and silent.

It goes good for the first five minutes. You make it out of the closet and across the hallway, getting closer and closer to the stairs, when a loud squelching sounds from below you. Body freezing, you lower your gaze, realizing you'd stepped on...

Oh God, was that guts?

You have no time to dwell on it when you hear a load croak beside you. Head snapping up, your eyes widen when you realize a zombie is heading right towards you. You freeze, body tensing, hoping the zombie will think the sound was nothing and go away.

Except, it gets close enough to smell you and suddenly, it's letting out a cry as it starts running at you.

Letting out a gasp, you take the mop and swing it right at the zombie. You put all your strength into the swing, hitting the zombie right across the side of the side of its head. It's head turns and you feel like you hear a cracking sound, but a second later, the zombie's head snaps right back to look at you.

"Fuck," you whisper, breathless. "Stupid mop."

Turning without a seconds hesitation, you break out into a run yourself, heading straight for the stairs. You know you're attracting more zombies, but your best bet is reaching those stairs.

You never do.

Just as you ran past another clossroom, you lose your footing beneath you as a body falls on top of you. Instinctively, a scream tears past your lips as you roll so your back hits the ground with a harsh thud that has your vision blurring momentarily.

The zombie snaps its jaw at you, trying to eat you, as you brace your arm against it's chest, trying to hold it back.

You realize in your fall you'd dropped the mop, cursing yourself as you try to reach around for it. You can hear more footsteps approaching and know that if you don't get this zombie off you and start running, you will be eaten alive.

"Get off!" You scream, trying to shove the zombie off of you. "Stop!"

Your head turns, cheek pressing to the ground as you just narrowly miss a bite to your face.

You feel your eyes well, certain that this would be your death, when suddenly the weight is off of you. You blink, dazed and confused, breathless on the floor as you glance up only to see a familiar face.

Suhyeok stands in front of you, staring down at you with wild concern, as your head turns, only to see the zombie that had been trying to eat you on the ground next to you. Your mop, snapped in half, was through it's neck.

You can hardly believe your eyes.

"Suhyeok..."

"Y/N..." Suhyeok breathes, shaking his head as he reaches for you, pulling you up to your feet as you latch onto him desperately.

It's so nice to see another person, alive, but even more to see Suhyeok.

Holding you in front of him, Suhyeok's eyes glance around you frantically, looking for any injuries as you stare up at him in disbelief.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" Suhyeok breathes, "you haven't been bit have you?"

Panting, you shake your head. "No, no... Suhyeok--"

Whatever you're about to say is cut off as a loud screech catches your attention, both of your heads glancing back to see a handful of zombies headed right your way. Instantly, Suhyeok's grip shifts to your hand, threading his fingers through yours.

"We've gotta go. Come on!"

He pulls you with him, racing right for the stairs you'd been aiming for. Instead of going down as you'd intended to, he races up the stairs, taking two steps at a time as you desperately try to keep up.

It isn't until you reach the third floor that he turns, moving into the hall as Suhyeok continues to pull you with him. You both narrowly avoid zombies, with Suhyeok having to kick a few out of the way. Eventually, Suhyeok slips into a classroom, the both of you stumbling in breathless.

There's a zombie on the other side of the classroom, to which Suhyeok quickly lets go of your hand to race at it. Using the stable point of a desk, he kicks it across the face before grabbing one of the chairs and using it as leverage to force the zombie out the other door.

He slides the door shut instantly, using the chair to lock it shut before moving to the curtains across the far wall, shutting them all.

You watch him, breathless, wide eyed, completely useless, in disbelief that he was even in here with you.

Once Suhyeok's satisfied with the room and the both of you safe, at least temporarily, he finally turns back to you. He takes your hands in his, brushing back your hair and holding you close.

"I was so worried," he breathes. "On-jo said they lost you in the haste of everything."

You already feel like a mess but the tears that well in your eyes is inevitable. You'd been so scared, so alone, that the sight of the person you'd wanted to see the most is enough to send you into a fit of despair.

Suhyeok's eyes widen, instantly panicked.

"Y/N?" He calls, voice pitching. "Y/N? What's wrong? Are you hurt? Were you bit?"

Raising your hands to hold his own, you shake your head.

"No, no," you whisper, meeting his eyes. "I'm okay, I promise. I just... I was so scared."

Shoulders falling, Suhyeok frowns down at you.

"I won't leave you alone again, okay? I promise."

Nodding, you lean into his touch.

"The others," Suhyeok breathes, as if suddenly remembering. "They're alive... I left to look for you but they're... they're okay. We'll get back to them, yeah? I'll keep you safe."

Your relief at your friends being okay is immense, squeezing his hands as you nod. But the fact that Suhyeok had left them to find you... it's more than you can handle.

Smiling softly, Suhyeok leans forward, pressing his lips against your own in a gentle, warm but brief kiss. Your eyes flutter shut at the action, relishing in the warmth and safety of the feeling, meeting his eyes once more as Suhyeok pulls back.

"We'll get you a better weapon than a mop, too, yeah?"

For the first time since this all begin, you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head.

The classroom buzzed with a strange energy, an odd mix of fear and camaraderie. Despite the ever-present moans and thuds of the undead outside, the boys managed to find ways to distract themselves from the grim reality. The latest distraction? Wujin’s endless monologue.

"You know," Wujin began, leaning back against the wall with the confidence of someone who definitely thought they were the main character, "if we survive this apocalypse—and I mean if—I’m taking Y/N out for a fancy dinner. Like, steak, dessert, the whole deal."

The group burst into laughter. Dae-su nearly choked on his biscuit, while Cheong-san shook his head with a grin.

"Bro, you can’t even afford steak," Cheong-san teased. "Your wallet’s emptier than the cafeteria right now."

"First of all," Wujin retorted, holding up a finger, "rude. Second of all, Y/N is worth it. He’s got that whole ‘strong and silent’ vibe going on, you know? Like, the kind of guy who could carry you bridal style through a horde of zombies and still look cool doing it."

More laughter erupted, and even you—sitting across the room sorting through supplies—couldn’t help but crack a smile. Wujin was nothing if not persistent.

"You’ve got it bad, huh?" Dae-su said, nudging Wujin with his elbow.

Wujin sighed dramatically, clutching his chest like he’d been shot. "Of course I do! Have you seen him? He’s like... the human equivalent of a survival handbook. Practical, reliable, and ridiculously good-looking. If I had a chance, I wouldn’t just shoot my shot—I’d cannonball into it."

Suhyeok, who’d been leaning against the wall a few feet away, stayed silent. He twirled a metal pipe in his hands, his expression unreadable.

"Y/N’s great and all," Cheong-san said, throwing a glance in your direction. "But don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?"

"Me? Dramatic?" Wujin gasped, mock-offended. "It’s not dramatic to acknowledge greatness when you see it. He’s a ten out of ten."

The group burst into laughter again, but Suhyeok barely reacted. He simply shrugged, his voice calm as he said, "Yeah, Y/N’s cool."

Wujin grinned, turning to him. "Right? I mean, come on, Suhyeok, even you’ve gotta admit he’s a catch."

Suhyeok gave a nonchalant hum, his tone light. "Sure. He’s a good guy." His fingers tightened on the pipe for just a moment before he set it down, his movements smooth.

The conversation drifted to other topics, but Suhyeok’s mind stayed stuck on Wujin’s words. The casual teasing and compliments shouldn’t have bothered him, but they did.

He glanced at you across the room, the corner of his mouth twitching up as you focused on organizing the supplies. You were completely oblivious to Wujin’s crush—and to Suhyeok’s growing jealousy.

Later that night, the group settled down, some asleep while others kept watch. You slipped away with Suhyeok under the guise of checking the rooftop, craving a moment of peace.

As you leaned against the railing, the cool night air brushing against your skin, you sighed. "You know, Wujin’s been talking about me all day. He’s funny, but man, he really doesn’t stop."

Suhyeok leaned beside you, his jaw tightening slightly. "Yeah, he’s got a lot to say."

You chuckled, completely missing the edge in his tone. "He’s harmless, though. Honestly, it’s kind of sweet. I think he—"

Before you could finish, Suhyeok turned and kissed you, cutting you off mid-sentence. The force of it pushed you back against the railing, his hands gripping your waist firmly. The kiss was intense, almost desperate, as if he’d been holding back all day and finally snapped.

You froze for a moment before kissing him back, your hands clutching at his jacket. When he finally pulled back, his lips red and slightly swollen, you were left breathless.

"What the hell was that for?" you asked, your voice low and shaky.

Suhyeok’s eyes locked onto yours, his expression unreadable. "You really don’t know, do you?"

"Know what?" you asked, genuinely confused.

He smirked, brushing his thumb along your jaw. "You’re mine, Y/N. I don’t care who else thinks they have a shot—you’re mine."

The words sent a shiver down your spine. "Wait… is this about Wujin? You’re jealous?"

Suhyeok didn’t answer. Instead, he kissed you again, rougher this time, his hands sliding up your back as he pulled you closer. The kiss grew sloppier, your breaths mingling as his lips moved down to your neck. You couldn’t help but let out a quiet gasp as he nipped at your skin, his grip on you tightening.

Your hands moved to his shoulders, as he trailed down to your pants, pulling them down with a firm tug, making you gasp with surprise.

“Here? What if someone–” he interrupted you with another searing kiss as he tugge your boxers down too, leaving your lower half bare.

Out of nowhere, he pulled out a small packet of lube (magician I tell you), and ripped it open with his teeth. You simply stared at him wide-eyed, wondering where the damn thing came from. Suhyeok merely smirked, and poured the cold liquid onto his fingers, watching it run down to his palms.

He gently turned you around and prodded one lubed finger against your ass, slowly inserting it, with you covering your mouth. He then added one after the other– and soon, three fingers were steadily pumping in and out of you.

Your back arched, pushing forward into the wall in front of you– hands digging into the paint, coming off with flecks in your nails.

Deeming you to be prepped enough, Suhyeok removed his fingers and replaced them with his erection, his pants hanging low at his ankles.

He pressed the tip in– followed by the rest of his length, until he fully bottomed out inside of you. He groaned at how your hole was clenching tightly around his cock– feeling every twitch and pulse.

“Gonna move now baby,” he uttered before pulling out all the way before slamming back in. You moaned at the feeling– almost forgetting that the zombies or your friends could hear you at any moment. 

Suhyeok turned you around to face him– having an almost death grip on your waist. One of your hands tightly clutched his shoulder, while the other covered your mouth so that you wouldn’t let out any noises.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, groaning with almost every single thrust. You felt so fucking good around his cock.

"Suhyeok," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Someone could walk in."

As if on cue, the rooftop door creaked open.

Both of you turned, startled, to see Wujin standing there, his face a mix of shock and horror.

"I—I was just—" Wujin stammered, his eyes darting between you and Suhyeok. "You know what? Nope. Didn’t see anything. Carry on."

Before either of you could say a word, Wujin spun around and bolted, the door slamming shut behind him.

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. "Great. This is exactly what I needed."

Suhyeok laughed softly, still thrusting gently inside of you, "Guess we don’t have to keep it a secret anymore."

"Yeah, and now I get to deal with Wujin thinking I’m a jerk."

"He’ll get over it," Suhyeok said, pulling you closer. "And if not, who cares? You’re mine, Y/N. That’s all that matters."

You sighed, leaning into him despite yourself. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

"And you love it," he teased, pressing a kiss to your temple, before pulling out and slamming back in again with full force– making you let out an almost pornographic moan in surprise.

It was going to be a long night.

the fluorescent lights in your homeroom buzz like they’re seconds away from giving up. they’re flickering just enough to make the whole classroom feel half-awake, shadows leaping across ceiling tiles in flickering stutters. the hum blends with the low drone of pencils scratching and the occasional cough — the sound of a hundred exhausted seniors pretending to care. a faint scent of pencil shavings and stale coffee lingers in the air, sticky and uncomfortable.

you slump lower in your chair, balancing your phone under the desk, scrolling through college entrance deadlines like they might rearrange themselves if you glare hard enough. spoiler: they don’t.

the screen’s glow paints faint shadows on your hands, the kind that make your knuckles look like bones, and the edges of the desk seem sharper than they should be. you groan quietly in exasperation, dragging your palm down your face. senior year was supposed to be stressful, sure— but not apocalyptic.

a vibration in your hands jerks you wide-awake. mi-jin’s name flashes on your phone, and your stomach knots before you even open it. she texts ravenously about a junior girl biting another student in the nurses’ office earlier this morning, adding ominous embellishments. she must have been eavesdropping again, as usual. you scroll past the texts without reading — your brain refusing to digest another piece of chaos.

“miss kim,” your teacher calls to you, not even glancing up from his attendance sheet. his brow is furrowed, and his glasses droop down the bridge of his nose, one lens perpetually smudged. “if you’re done trying to mind-control your phone, maybe you can remind the class what today’s date is?”

you blink, caught mid-scroll, then mutter, “october twelfth.”

he grunts, approving, but still waves his hand toward the confiscation basket. you bite back a sigh, drag yourself up, and shuffle to the front, every step heavy. the floor creaks under your sneakers, loud and accusing. somewhere behind you, someone snickers. you resist the urge to roll your eyes, drop the phone into the basket, and sink back into your seat, shoulders slumping.

outside the window, the world looks bleached — gray stretches pressed low over the football field. wind pushes through the bleachers, bending the half-mast flag against the pole. parked just beyond the track, an ambulance waits again, lights off but ominously present. you frown, unease curling in your stomach.

whispers snake around the room. another ‘incident’ in the science wing, someone says. fainted, seizure, maybe something worse. gossip moves faster than truth here; you stopped trying to parse fact from fiction long ago.

you rub your wrist absentmindedly, tracing the skin that stares back, still blank. no mark. no shimmer. most soul marks don’t appear until people are older — eighteen, twenty, sometimes never. you shove the thought away; advanced placement deadlines are more pressing than destiny.

still, when you’re alone, the curiosity gnaws. what would your mark look like? where would it show? who would it belong to? you imagine a faint gold thread on your wrist, or a strange symbol on your collarbone, perhaps glowing faintly in the dark. maybe it’ll mean something beautiful. maybe nothing at all.

halfway through zoning out again, the intercom crackles to life, buzzing and warping your daydream into static.

“attention students,” the principal’s voice drones, slightly distorted, hollow in the stale air. “due to a minor health concern, please remain in your classrooms until further notice.”

the class freezes. pencils pause mid-scratch. a metallic tang creeps into your nose, like copper — your nerves reacting before your brain catches up.

a beat of silence.

then, faintly, from down the hall — a scream. short, sharp, wrong in a way that twists your stomach. heads snap toward the door; the chatter dies completely.

someone laughs nervously, a high, brittle sound that doesn’t reach their eyes. another whispers, “probably a prank.” you’re not so sure.

your teacher frowns, stepping toward the door, but the scrape of his shoes against the linoleum sounds too loud, like it’s echoing from a different, empty place. “everyone stay calm,” he says, but his voice trembles just enough to betray him.

a second scream cuts through the air — closer this time, rawer, wet at the edges, and it seems to reverberate through your ribs. your pulse thunders, rapid and chaotic.

the lock clicks. his hands shake visibly now, fingers fumbling. a cold draft snakes under the door, carrying with it a faint, pungent scent you can’t place — metallic, acrid, like burnt ozone. the classroom feels suddenly smaller, the ceiling lower, the walls pressing in.

someone in the back stifles a sob. a chair scrapes violently across the floor. the fluorescent lights flicker in irregular bursts, buzzing louder, closer to death. shadows stretch unnaturally across the room, crawling over faces frozen in wide-eyed panic.

you press your palms into your knees, trying to ground yourself. every instinct screams at you: run. but you stay, paralyzed by the suffocating weight of fear that seems to hang over the school like a storm cloud, ready to break.

your chest hammers in your ribcage, each beat like a warning drum. then — the classroom windows alongside the doors shatter. the sound rips through the room, glass spraying across desks like deadly rain. a smell hits you first— stale blood, decay, and something sour beneath it.

a weight crashes through the door, sending it flying into the wall. your teacher screams, a high, panicked sound that’s swallowed immediately by guttural snarls. you scramble backward as the first of the things — pale, gnashing, skin stretched tight over bone — pulls itself through the doorway. its eyes are milky, unseeing, but full of hunger.

“run!” someone screams behind you. their voice, sharp and frantic, is cut off by a guttural hiss. you spin toward them. they’re just barely keeping a zombie at bay with a desk, but its claws tear into her shoulder. she yells something, then she’s dragged into the chaos, vanishing into the surge of bodies pushing into the room.

your teacher lunges to help, swinging a chair, but a second wave of pounding weight bursts through a side window. he grabs a student’s arm, yells, “this way!”— and then another of the creatures slams into him. he disappears beneath the pile, screaming, swallowed by the monster’s guttural roar.

you don’t stop to think. survival instincts take over.

you sprint toward the back door that leads to the hallway, heart in your throat, limbs pumping harder than they’ve ever had to. glass and debris crunch underfoot, the smell of iron heavy in your nostrils. behind you, a chorus of snarls, screams, and splintering wood fills the classroom.

you burst into the hall, the fluorescent lights flickering violently above. the space feels cavernous and hollow, echoing every scream. lockers rattle as some creatures shove through them, their claws scraping metal, teeth gnashing at any sound, any movement.

you hesitate for barely a second, hearing your classmate's screams somewhere down the hallway, distant now. your chest tightens. you can’t save her — not this time. the teacher is gone too. panic clawing at your mind, you focus on the next goal: the teacher’s office. if you can make it there, maybe you can barricade yourself, find a weapon, figure out a plan.

you dart down the hall, keeping low, hands scraping along the walls for balance. doors slam behind you as the things smash through, chasing whatever sound you make. you pass a corner and hear more screaming — students splitting off in every direction, some fleeing, some trapped. one group vanishes around a bend, another is dragged back into darkness.

the stairwell looms ahead like a promise of temporary refuge. you tear toward it, adrenaline blinding you to the pain in your legs. a hand grabs your arm — someone else, panicked, screaming— but instinct kicks in and you wrench free, elbowing them hard. sorry. survival first.

the hallway behind you erupts with chaos. you catch sight of a pale face at the edge of your vision, teeth bared, lunging — then another, and another. you dive through the doorway to the teacher’s office, slamming it behind you. the lock clicks, but you hear the muffled pounding against the wood.

breath ragged, hands trembling, you press your back against the door. the office is dark, papers scattered, the faint smell of coffee and disinfectant clashing with the metallic tang of fear. you peek through the blinds covering the small window in the door — hallway empty, for now — but you know it won’t stay that way.

your classmates. the homeroom teacher. they've already left. everyone has already left. only you remain, heart pounding, mind screaming — what now?

“yah.”

the voice comes from the dark, low and sardonic, and it makes your whole body jolt. you whirl around, eyes straining to adjust. the shadows at first look empty — just the outlines of furniture and filing cabinets, but then a figure separates from the gloom.

yoon gwi-nam.

he leans against one of the office couches like he owns the place, arms folded across a blood-smeared uniform. there’s a shallow cut along his cheek, and his knuckles are scabbed raw. his lip curls when he sees your startled expression.

“you should see your face,” he snarks, voice rough. “jumpier than a rabbit.”

you swallow, pulse still spiking. “what are you doing here? i thought everyone—”

“died?” he finishes for you. “most of ‘em, yeah. guess i’m harder to kill.” his grin doesn’t reach his eyes.

you keep your distance, inching toward the far wall. “you’re hurt.”

he glances at the smear of blood on his sleeve like it’s an afterthought. “not mine,” he mutters.

the office breaths like a living thing — quiet in the way a lung holds before it hollows out. every small sound is sudden and obscene: the drip of a busted light fixture, the buzz of the fluorescent like an insect trapped under glass. gwi-nam’s silhouette is a darker shadow against the couch, but the calm has gone rotten, hanging in the air like something that will sour if left alone.

“you look scared,” he says, voice a low rasp. he pushes himself up slow, as if testing every joint. the blood on his sleeve flakes and falls to the carpet like dead leaves. “you should be.”

you stand because staying seated feels like choosing surrender. your legs are unsteady; adrenaline trembles everywhere. the desk between you might as well have been a flimsy shred of paper.

gwi-nam limps toward you with that predator’s casualness — too calm, to sure. up close, you can see the twitch at the corner of his mouth, the tiny angry scar across his eyebrow, the way his pupils are blown wide. he stops two feet away, crowding your space without touching. there’s a wet smear on his knuckles that smells faintly of iron.

“why’d you lock yourself in here?” he asks, amusement sharpened into a blade. “thought that the principal had it covered? thought that an adult could save you?”

something in his tone twists into a memory you want to bury — locker-room corners, shoved faces, whispered threats. he steps around the desk like he owns the map of the place. he moves slow enough to make you think he’s choosing each word.

“you could help me pass time,” he says. the meaning is empty of any nicety; it’s competition, boredom turned cruel. “tell me what you’d do if you knew you were going to die.”

your stomach drops. you open your mouth and close it again. anger flares, hot and useless. “don’t be disgusting,” you say. your voice shakes.

he laughs— short, humorless. “disgusting is only a mirror.” he leans forward, palms flat on the desk, looming over you in a deliberate, claustrophobic way. “you’re small, babe. easy to swallow.”

something thuds against the outer door — a dull pounding that makes both of you twitch. gwi-nam’s head snaps toward the sound. the air in the room tightens. not just banging is occurring on the other side of the door— it’s a scraping, a dragging across the linoleum. it’s close. 

he straightens like a spring released. the menace in him folds into something sharper, more focused. “they’re getting restless,” he says quietly. “doors don’t hold forever.”

you hear steps — uneven, multiple — somewhere down the hall. the principal’s arrival, maybe, or a pack of whatever is hunting the building. for a breathless second, the two of you exist in the same breath of time — predator and prey.

gwi-nam reaches into his jacket and pulls out something wrapped in a ripped strip of cloth. when he unwinds it, it’s a length of metal — part of a curtain rod, jagged at the end. he tests the weight in his hand, then lets it rest against his shoulder like a weapon and a statement.

“you can help,” he says, not a request. “or you can be a liability. either way, you’re staying awake. no nodding off.”

there’s a softness in his voice that makes the threat feel intimate; the implied promise is simple and terrible — if you don’t play along, you will regret it.

you swallow. your palms are slick. every instinct is shouting to run — away, away from this small room that has become a stage. but the hallway beyond the blinds is a coffin, with light seeping through the cracks. outside, something pounds and claws and moans. inside, a bully holds a jury and you are the defendant.

the scraping at the door grows louder, followed by a voice — no, not a voice: a sound that used to be a voice but is now stretched, a wet, low rasp. the lights flicker hard, stuttering like a dying heart. gwi-nam’s jaw sets. for the first time, the bored grin is gone; in its place is a hard, animal focus.

“if they break through,” he says, blunt as a knife, “don’t run for the exit. run for the stairwell and don’t look back. if you want to live.”

his advice is practical. his tone is not. you realize with a slow, unpleasant clarity that he’s offering you survival in the same breath he could take it away.

you flinch at the words. he notices, of course he does. “relax,” he says, pushing off the couch and limping closer. “if they wanted in, they’d be here already.”

he snorts, dragging a chair out with a loud scrape and collapsing into it. for a moment, he looks like he might spring up again — the kind of coiled energy that never really disappears — but exhaustion wins. he slouches forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.

“did you see anyone else?” you ask quietly.

he shakes his head. “a few running. didn’t last.”

the room falls still again except for the flickering light and the slow, ragged rhythm of your breathing. he studies you through half-lidded eyes. “you always follow the rules, right? bet you’re just waiting for a teacher to tell you what to do.”

you bite back a retort. “the principal’s here somewhere,” you say instead. “he’s got some plan.”

gwi-nam huffs. “sure he does.” he leans back, chair creaking. “people like him only have plans for themselves.”

he isn’t wrong. the realization makes your stomach twist.

minutes pass. the pounding outside grows fainter, replaced by a low moan somewhere distant. gwi-nam’s head droops, eyes heavy. “if they get in, wake me up,” he mumbles.

“you’re seriously going to sleep?”

“don’t have a better idea.” his voice fades, and before you can argue, his breathing evens out, slow and deep.

you watch him for a long moment — the rise and fall of his chest, the faint tremor in his hand where the dried blood cracks. even asleep, he looks ready to fight.

finally, your adrenaline ebbs. you sink onto the opposite couch, the world tilting slightly as fatigue sets in. the light hums overhead, steady now, almost lulling.

your eyes drift shut, the sounds of the ruined school echoing faintly in the distance.

for now, at least, the monsters outside are quiet.

and so are you.

─────

the sound that wakes you isn’t a scream. it’s quieter — subtle enough that for a second you think it’s part of your dream. a scrape. a shuffle. the faint squeak of shoes against linoleum.

you jolt upright, breath catching. the office is dark again, the fluorescent light above having finally flickered out. only the dawn’s light from the window seeps in, washing everything in colorless shadow. gwi-nam’s chair creaks beside you. he’s awake, too — he must have heard it. his head turns slightly, eyes already open, fixed on the door.

the sound comes again, but not from outside. from inside.

there’s a small storage alcove behind the principal’s desk, half-hidden by filing cabinets. a place no one bothered to check. until now, something — someone — moves behind it.

“stay back,” gwi-nam mutters, voice low but sharp enough to cut. he rises, slow but deliberate, gripping his makeshift weapon.

the cabinet door shudders once, then opens.

the principal staggers out.

you gasp before you can stop yourself. his face is drawn and gray, tie half-undone, eyes sunken with exhaustion and panic. he looks like he’s been locked in there for hours—maybe even days. the sight of you and gwi-nam makes him flinch like a cornered animal.

“principal han,” you manage, voice trembling. “you were—”

“hiding,” he snaps, breath hitching as he straightens his collar and smooths his shirt with jittery hands. “surviving. you should be grateful i didn’t open the door sooner and get us all killed.”

your brows knit together. that wasn’t logic — it was cowardice. “you knew we were in here?”

his eyes flicker from you to gwi-nam, calculating. “i was waiting for the right moment.” his tone is the same one he used at assemblies—measured, patronizing, and practiced. “and now that you’re both awake, i need your help.”

he points, first at Gwi-nam. “you’re yoon gwi-nam, right? and you’re miss kim.”

gwi-nam doesn’t respond at first. his voice, when it comes, is dark and bored. “what for?”

the principal doesn’t answer right away. instead, his eyes dart toward the covered window. “how is it outside? still the same?”

gwi-nam exhales hard, leaning back in the chair until it creaks. “i don’t know.”

the principal looks between the two of you, the flicker of something desperate in his eyes. “you can drive a car, right?”

“i can’t,” gwi-nam replies flatly. you shake your head as well — no one your age really needed a license here; public transport went everywhere.

“come on!” principal Han snaps, slamming his palm against the desk. you shiver at the sound. “i helped cover up your mess last year when you took your father’s car and crashed it, remember?” his gaze cuts to you, sharp enough to sting. “and you — i pushed your college applications through early, used the school’s emergency fund to pay your fees because of your situation at home.”

you flush at that, embarrassed and angry all at once. you hadn’t asked him to do that — he’d insisted on it, called it school pride.

“why?” Gwi-nam asks finally, voice laced with suspicion.

the principal digs into his pockets, pulling out a small silver keychain. a car key gleams between his fingers. “here,” he says, pressing it into gwi-nam’s hand. “it’s my sedan — staff parking lot, plate number 7340. go get it and bring it here.”

you blink, stunned. “you want us to go outside?”

“go to the night-duty room, out the window — it leads straight to the lot,” he insists, ignoring the incredulity in your voice.

gwi-nam looks down at the key in his palm for a long, tense beat. then he tosses it onto the floor. the metallic clatter echoes through the dark office. “no way.” he leans back again, lazy but defiant, stretching his legs across the table. “not my problem.”

the principal’s composure fractures. “you bastard!” his voice rises, sharp and brittle. “listen to your principal for once!”

that’s when gwi-nam’s eyes shift — narrow, dangerous — and land on the small knife resting on the table beside him. the room tightens around you like a held breath.

“i said,” the principal growls, stepping forward, “do as i say—”

he lunges first.

everything happens fast. the chair scrapes, the table tips, and the knife skitters across the papers. you scream as the two collide, a blur of movement and grunts, gwi-nam’s hand closing over the blade a split second before the principal can wrench it away.

“give me that—give it to me!” the principal shouts, desperate.

“let go,” gwi-nam snarls through clenched teeth, twisting hard.

the sound of impact echoes — a body slamming against the table. you stumble backward, climbing up onto the couch cushions to stay out of reach, heart slamming against your ribs.

the principal stumbles, steadying himself against the desk, chest heaving. “fine,” he spits. “fine. just—get out of here, both of you.”

gwi-nam stares at him, jaw tight. “go with us.”

principal han freezes. his lips part, but no words come out—only the tremor of fear in his throat. “why should i?” he stutters out. “you guys go.”

“go with us to the car,” gwi-nam insists, his tone harsh. “it’d be nice to have a shield, anyway.” he smirks.

the potted plant wobbled in principal han’s shaking hands. he gripped it like a weapon, soil spilling over the rim in dry clumps, leaves trembling with him. the fluorescent light above the desk buzzed fitfully, washing his face in a sickly pallor.

“stay back,” he stammered, voice cracking under the strain. “s-stay back, you little thug—”

gwi-nam laughed softly, a sound that didn’t fit the moment at all. it was quiet, almost amused, but it crawled under your skin like static. “look at you,” he murmured, taking a slow step forward. “all that authority… all those lectures… and now you’re holding a plant.”

his grin widened. “if this were a game, mr. principal, i’d be… happy to kill you. sir.”

you flinched. the air in the room thickened, so heavy it felt hard to breathe. principal han’s breath hitched audibly. his eyes darted to you — desperate, searching for an ally — but you couldn’t move. gwi-nam’s shadow fell across both of you, long and sharp.

“don’t,” you managed, voice barely above a whisper. “just—don’t.”

but gwi-nam didn’t hear you, or didn’t care. he advanced with lazy precision, every step measured, predatory. the principal stumbled back until his leg caught the edge of a chair. the potted plant slipped from his grip and shattered on the floor, scattering soil and green fragments across the tiles.

“guess that’s it for your defense,” gwi-nam said, smirking. he crouched and picked up the cord from the broken blinds, turning it in his hands. his eyes glinted as he weighed the length of it, testing the strength with a quick tug. “you know what happens to people who bark orders when they’re not in charge anymore?”

the principal shook his head, face slick with sweat. “please — listen, we can talk—”

“no,” gwi-nam said simply, voice cold. “you talked enough before. now shut up.”

he moved fast — faster than you expected. one moment he was standing, the next the principal was half-dragged into the chair, his hands yanked behind his back. the scrape of the chair legs on the tile shrieked through the room. han kicked once, twice, knocking into the desk. papers fluttered to the ground like falling feathers. gwi-nam’s grip didn’t falter.

you stumbled forward instinctively, hands half-raised. “stop, he’s—”

“hold this.” gwi-nam shoved the free end of the cord into your hands without looking at you. his voice was quiet but sharp enough to cut. “make yourself useful.”

“i’m not—” you started, but his eyes flicked up, and that was enough. you felt rooted to the spot, your breath catching in your throat. his gaze carried the same violence as his hands. tears well in your eyes as you did as you were told, fingers trembling as you looped the cord around the chair back, the rough strands biting your skin. 

the principal tried to twist away. “you can’t— you can’t treat me like this! i’m your superior—”

gwi-nam laughed again, but this time there was no humor in it. “not anymore.” he leaned close, tying the knot himself, pulling it so tight the principal winced. “you wanted someone to go out and get your car, right? guess you’ll be staying put instead.”

when he stepped back, the room went eerily quiet except for the buzzing of the light. the principal was panting, bound tightly, shoulders trembling with each breath. you stood frozen a few feet away, staring at the mess of dirt and paper at your feet.

“what the hell is wrong with you?” you said finally. your voice cracked halfway through. “he’s—he’s not—”

“not what?” gwi-nam cut in. “not like us? you think he was going to save you? you think he even wanted to?” he gestured toward the bound man. “he’s been hiding in here for hours. letting everyone else die first. you should be thanking me.”

the principal glared at him through the sweat and fear. “you’re insane.”

“maybe,” gwi-nam said, rolling his shoulders, the smirk returning. “but i’m not the one who locked myself in an office and hoped a bunch of kids would solve my problems.”

you swallowed hard, the taste of dust and panic heavy on your tongue. the silence after that felt endless. outside, the faint echo of something dragging down the hall rose and fell like a tide.

then gwi-nam turned to you. “tie the other end tighter,” he said, low and deliberate.

you hesitated. “why—”

before you can react, a sharp pain blooms on the side of your face, and you gasp, your hand moving up to apply pressure to the sudden burning. a warmth drips into your eye, and you wince when you realize the boy’s rings had stayed on during the assault.

“do it.” his voice dropped, cold and final. the word hit you like the physical blow just had.

your hands moved before your brain did. the cord rasped against the wood as you cinched it tighter. the principal groaned through gritted teeth. when it was done, gwi-nam exhaled slowly and straightened. the tension in the room didn’t fade; it only changed shape.

he moved closer to you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the metallic tang of dried blood on his sleeve. “you know,” he said quietly, “you shouldn’t look so scared. i’m not your enemy.”

you couldn’t tell if he believed that.

your pulse roared in your ears. the sound from the hallway grew louder — something heavy brushing the walls, shuffling steps echoing faintly. the flickering light above you buzzed and dimmed again.

the principal let out a shaky breath. “please,” he whispered. “untie me. they’ll find us—”

“shut up,” gwi-nam snapped, pacing toward the door. “i’ll decide when we move.”

he leaned close to the narrow window in the door, peering through the blinds. the hall outside was murky, dust swirling in the weak light. you could barely make out shapes in the distance — movement that was wrong, twitchy, too fast in some places and too slow in others.

“still there,” gwi-nam muttered. “they never stop fucking moving.”

he turned back, eyes darting between you and the principal. “we wait until it’s quiet again. then we go.”

your chest tightened. “go where?”

“doesn’t matter,” he said, voice flat. “anywhere that isn’t here.”

he started pacing again, restless energy building in his shoulders. you caught yourself holding your breath, listening to the sound of his steps — one, two, three, pause, turn. the principal’s chair creaked with every shallow breath he took.

the air was so taut you could hear the faint tremor in the fluorescent tubes above, the building’s distant hum, the whisper of your pulse. you didn’t realize your hands were shaking until you felt the slickness of sweat on your palms.

then— a sound from the hall. a door somewhere slamming open. footsteps, fast and uneven, coming closer.

you tensed. gwi-nam turned sharply, knife drawn halfway before he even realized it. the principal froze, eyes darting to the locked office door. the footsteps grew louder, closer, until they were just outside.

then the knob turned.

the metallic click was deafening after all that silence.

the door creaked open, and a boy stumbled inside — bloodied, breathless, and pale beneath the flickering light. his chest heaved, eyes darting wildly between the three of you.

“is that— the principal?” he asked, voice raw.

principal han immediately seized the moment. “get this jerk off me! get this psychopath off me!” he shouted, struggling against the cords cutting into his wrists.

“shhh,” gwi-nam hissed, pressing his palm against the back of the principal’s neck. his knife gleamed in the half-light as he lifted it — slow, deliberate — until the blade hovered inches from principal han’s throat. “you’re really loud for someone who wants to live.”

the other boy froze. his eyes widened as he took in the scene — the chair, the ropes, the dirt scattered across the floor, you, standing a few feet away with your hands trembling.

“what the hell, gwi-nam?” he demanded. “what did you do?”

gwi-nam didn’t answer. his grin twitched at the corner, equal parts amusement and warning. “just keeping things under control.”

you stepped forward instinctively, hand half-raised as if to reach for the strange boy and remove him — and yourself from the situation — when it happened.

a faint pulse, like static beneath your skin.

you hissed quietly, glancing down. the inside of your forearm was glowing — not bright, not steady, but alive, a thin white line etching itself just beneath the surface. the mark curved delicately into a wing shape, feather-fine and trembling, as if drawn by invisible light.

across from you, he flinched. his gaze dropped to his arm — where the same mark had appeared, identical and mirrored.

the air in the room shifted. even gwi-nam paused, the knife hovering midair as he turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing at the sudden light.

“what the…” the boy breathed, staring between you and his arm. his voice dropped to a whisper. “no way.”

you couldn’t speak. you could barely breathe. the glow faded slowly, leaving only the faint shimmer of the twin lines — proof, undeniable and terrifying.

gwi-nam straightened, blade still in hand, his grin darkening. “well,” he drawled, tone almost lazy, “isn’t that interesting?”

your pulse thundered in your ears. his eyes met yours across the wrecked office — confusion, recognition, something deep and unfinished flashing in them.

then the tension snapped back into place like a wire pulled too tight, because gwi‑nam hadn’t lowered the knife.

“cheong‑san…” gwi‑nam drawled, his tone low, almost bored. the tip of the blade gleamed as he tilted it lazily toward the principal’s spine. “come here, and grab the keys off his floor.”

cheong‑san didn’t move. his gaze darted from the blood dripping on your cheek to the cord biting into the principal’s wrists. “what are you doing right now?” he asked, voice edged with disbelief.

gwi‑nam sighed through his nose, impatient. “come on, and help us, will you?”

“you two are finished!” the principal suddenly barked, his voice cracking with fury and fear. “do you hear me? i’m expelling you! untie me now, or i’ll—”

if the last twenty‑four hours hadn’t already shattered you, you might have cried at the absurdity of his threat. instead, something dark and hot pulsed through you — anger, thick and molten, cutting through the fear.

he’d been there. he’d seen what gwi‑nam had done — the cornering, the taunts, the way he’d touched you just to make you flinch. and the principal had done nothing. hadn’t lifted a finger, hadn’t even spoken. and now he was threatening you, as if you were part of it.

you stared at him, trembling, your breath catching in your throat.

“pathetic,” gwi‑nam muttered. his hand tightened around the handle of the knife as he pressed the tip forward — not deep, just enough for the principal to feel it through his shirt. “you talk too much, old man.”

“stop it,” cheong‑san snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut through the air. he started forward, his sneakers squeaking faintly on the linoleum as he crossed the narrow space between you.

“stay back,” gwi‑nam warned without turning, his voice dropping low. “don’t test me right now.”

cheong‑san didn’t stop. his movements were tense, careful — like approaching a feral dog. his eyes never left the knife, the ropes, the raw tremor in your hands.

you swallowed hard, wanting nothing more than to disappear — to sink through the floor and leave this suffocating room behind. the smell of sweat, metal, and dust filled your lungs until every breath felt heavy.

“please…” you whispered, though you weren’t sure who you were begging — cheong‑san, to stop pushing forward, or gwi‑nam, to let go before something irreversible happened.

gwi‑nam’s smirk faltered for the first time, just slightly. his shoulders tensed, his knuckles whitening around the blade.

the air felt electrified — all three of you caught between fight, flight, and something else entirely.

“gwi-nam!” cheong-san called sharply. “stop that!”

the said teenager stood slowly, mockingly rolling his eyes. “stop what? this fucking guy… tried to kill me.” cheong-san’s eyes glance over to see if it was true, and you avoided your eyes, your trust in adults having been crushed by your principal’s actions.

“he said to go out and get his car!” gwi-nam shouts in anger. “and you call yourself a principal.”

cheong‑san’s hands moved almost instinctively, pulling out his phone. the screen glowed faintly in the dim office light as he pressed record. “i… i’m recording this,” he said, voice steady but quiet. “if anything happens…”

gwi‑nam’s eyes snapped to the phone. his jaw tightened, and the blade shifted just slightly, as if warning cheong‑san not to test him.

you froze for a heartbeat, then slowly, carefully, in tiny, cautious steps, you inched backward — away from gwi‑nam and toward cheong‑san. each movement was deliberate, as if every inch you gained was safety itself. your fingers brushed the couch as you passed, leaving faint scratches in the fabric.

then it happened.

the mark on your forearm flared. not painfully, but sharply — heat rushing along the thin, winged lines, spreading like liquid fire beneath your skin. a soft glow emitted from the delicate curves, pulsing in time with your heartbeat. you stumbled slightly, startled, and looked at cheong‑san.

his eyes widened. the identical mark on his arm began to glow too, responding to yours. the pulse wasn’t just light — it was energy, subtle and electric, almost alive. it hummed faintly, and you could feel it, like a tether pulling you closer to him.

cheong‑san’s voice was low, urgent. “stay close. don’t let him—”

gwi‑nam noticed too. his smirk vanished, replaced by a flicker of unease.

“what… what is that?” he hissed, voice sharp, dangerous. he shifted the knife in a slower, more deliberate arc, measuring, testing.

you pressed closer to cheong‑san, drawn not just by fear but by the inexplicable warmth radiating from the glowing mark. each step away from gwi ‑nam made the heat flare brighter, stronger, like the mark was protective, warning him off.

cheong‑san reached out, barely brushing your arm with his hand. instantly, the marks pulsed, synchronizing — the wing shapes brightening together in a living, breathing rhythm. you could feel the energy extending outward, a barrier that made the hairs on your neck stand on end.

gwi‑nam’s expression twisted. the knife wavered in his grip as the glow seemed to hum through the space between you and cheong‑san. “you think that little trick will scare me?” he snarled, stepping forward.

but the surrounding air buzzed, heavy and charged. the mark’s glow intensified as cheong‑san’s eyes met yours, steady and unwavering, as if they both knew something in that instant — crossing this line would cost him.

you clenched your fists at your sides, feeling molten anger and fear mix in your chest. “stay back,” you whispered, your voice sharper than you expected. the winged mark burned hotter, the pulsing light casting shadows on the walls.

cheong‑san held his ground, phone still recording, gaze locked on gwi‑nam. “don’t push it,” he said, voice calm but deadly serious.

the room trembled with tension. one wrong move, and it could all collapse into chaos. but for the first time since gwi‑nam had cornered you, you felt… not entirely alone. not entirely helpless.

the glowing wings on your arms weren’t just marks anymore. they were a warning. a bond. a promise.

and gwi‑nam, for all his strength and malice, noticed it.

gwi‑nam’s threat landed like a physical blow. he folded his hands behind his back, hiding the knife from the camera’s angle, eyes cold and dangerous. the light from cheong‑san’s phone made his features look harder, more animal.

“i will kill you,” he spat, every syllable a stone.

“just stop acting like human garbage,” cheong‑san shot back, voice steady now, the record light steady on his face. “no one respects you just because you act tough.”

gwi‑nam’s nostrils flared; the way his mouth tightened made your stomach knot. “i’m the new boss of this school,” he hissed, teeth bared. “don’t you get it?”

cheong‑san let out a humorless chuckle. “don’t make me laugh. you’re just a fucking loser who’ll bend his knee to bullies his whole life.”

the words hit like a slap. for a second, gwi‑nam didn’t move — then his anger snapped into motion. he began to stalk forward, slow and theatrical: one scuff, another, a predator making a show of closing in. the knife, which had been hidden, slid back into view in a slow, predatory arc.

“yeah?” his voice was low now, syrupy with menace. “say that again.”

principal han, bound and desperate, saw his chance. he lunged from the chair, staggering toward the door in a sudden, panicked attempt to distance himself from the boy leaning over him. “get away—” he spluttered.

the movement was the mistake. gwi‑nam didn’t hesitate.

the knife flashed once — clean, merciless. it cut across han’s throat with a movement so fast you barely registered the sound; then there was the wet, terrifying metallic hiss of contact and the immediate, choking sound han made. blood darkened his collar in a spreading stain. his eyes wide with disbelief, he sank to the floor with a thud that made the office jump.

you gasped — a sharp, keening sound that seemed to tear the air. for an instant time stuttered — the fluorescents hummed higher, the dust motes in the light slowed, and the only sound that mattered was the boot of gwi‑nam as it scraped on tile.

cheong‑san’s phone continued to record, steady and unblinking. his mouth hung open; the device wavered in his hand. you watched han’s chest convulse once, twice, raw sobs turning into an ugly, small sound, and then quiet. the man’s life ebbed away in the center of the office like a dropped thing no one could catch.

gwi‑nam turned slowly, the blade catching the dim light, his face a mask of casual, practiced malice. he wiped the edge of the knife on his sleeve with a bored motion, as if dusting off an inconvenience, then leaned the weapon against the chair where han had slumped. his voice was soft, almost conversational.

“so?” he said to you and cheong‑san, eyes glittering. “am i still a fucking loser?”

cheong‑san’s limbs trembled; his fingers tightened on the phone until his knuckles went white. the red smear on han’s shirt looked obscene and then suddenly too mundane — just another stain in a day that had already broken the world’s rules.

you felt the mark on your arm burn — a sudden, hot flare that matched the spike of adrenaline in your throat. the glow quickened, a sharp stab of light that made the shadows shiver. for a second, the heat in your skin felt like a shield and a sun at once. you took a breath that tasted of iron and fear, and felt something in you harden.

gwi‑nam watched the two of you, amusement and warning braided in his expression. he didn’t gloat long. he had a plan, and this — this demonstration of ruthless control — was only a part of it.

“now,” he said, voice flat and final, “we move. you two, help me get that car. move or don’t, but don’t make me regret letting you live a minute longer.”

the hallway answered with a distant, scraping rhythm — closer now — and the room contracted around the three of you. a dead principal on the floor, a bully with a weapon, and two kids whose lives had just been braided together by something neither of them understood yet.

cheong‑san swallowed, the phone still capturing everything— the knife, the blood, the way gwi‑nam’s shadow fell across the dead man’s face. you stepped back, the glow on your arm cooling to a simmer, and realized the world had been irreversibly altered in a single, savage motion.

before you could even process what was happening, gwi‑nam lunged. his movement was a blur — one hand aimed at cheong‑san’s phone, the other swinging the knife in a wide, menacing arc. the metallic glint caught the flickering light, and your stomach twisted.

“cheong‑san!” you shouted, voice cracking, but it barely registered over the sudden surge of adrenaline.

cheong‑san reacted instantly, twisting his body to shield the phone. he jabbed a shoulder into gwi‑nam’s chest, but gwi‑nam didn’t falter. he snarled, shoving back with the weight of someone who didn’t fear consequences, and the scuffle began in earnest.

your heart pounded as the two of them collided, fists and elbows jostling for control. papers flew from the desk like startled birds. the principal’s fallen chair clattered to the floor, sending a metal leg skittering across the tiles. the knife swung dangerously close to your arm, making you flinch violently.

“grab the phone!” you yelled, crouching low and trying to keep your balance. your eyes were wide, darting between the knife, the glowing wings on your arm, and the chaos unfolding in front of you.

gwi‑nam roared, striking at cheong‑san with a brutal force that made your stomach churn. cheong‑san barely ducked, his free hand snapping out to snatch your arm. his grip was firm, urgent, like an anchor, pulling you away from the danger zone.

the knife grazed the edge of the desk, pinging sharply against the metal, and you jumped at the sound. gwi‑nam cursed under his breath, swiping again with both precision and rage. cheong‑san twisted his body, narrowly dodging, then shoved the phone into his pocket.

“hold on!” he barked, tightening his grip on your wrist.

you stumbled backward as gwi‑nam lunged for the phone again, hand scraping your shoulder as he passed. pain flared, but it was adrenaline that burned hotter — the instinct to survive sharper than anything else. you clawed at your arm instinctively, heart hammering.

the two boys collided again, gwi‑nam’s momentum carrying him forward just as cheong‑san planted his foot firmly against the floor, twisting sharply and pulling you along. a sharp scream of friction as gwi‑nam’s sneaker dragged against the tile echoed in the office, mixing with the hum of the fluorescents overhead.

then, with a grunt and a final push, cheong‑san yanked you back behind him. the sudden motion made gwi‑nam stumble forward, his knife catching the edge of the desk and scraping against the metal with a harsh, ringing sound.

you both hit the floor in a crouch, cheong‑san shielding you with his body, keeping a steady hold on your arm. your heart raced, the glowing mark on your forearm pulsing in time with your panic, a warning, and a shield all at once.

gwi‑nam recovered quickly, lunging again, but by then the two of you were moving, slipping through the debris-strewn office and toward the stairwell. your breath came in ragged bursts, the air thick with the smell of fear, blood, and iron. every step you took felt like a victory, small but crucial — for now, the two of you had the upper hand, even if only barely.

the hallway yawned ahead of you, long and eerily empty. broken lockers lined the walls, some doors hanging crooked, metal scraping faintly with the vibrations of distant screams. dust and glass swirled under your sneakers, crunching sharply with every desperate step.

you stumbled, nearly pitching forward, and scrambled back upright, pumping your legs as fast as they could go. heart in your throat, lungs burning, you barely registered the faint echoes of moans and scratching coming from the far end.

behind you, a sickening sound split the air — gwi‑nam had been cornered by one of the half-dead students. the thing lunged, its movements jerky, unnatural, clawing and gnashing. gwi‑nam cursed, swinging the knife in a wide arc. the creature snarled, sinking its teeth into his arm. he shoved, twisted, yanked — and finally freed himself, slipping past it with a grimace, blood smearing the floor.

you didn’t dare look back for more than a second. that’s when the chaos escalated — the knife, gleaming cold and sharp, spun through the air. gwi‑nam’s throw was precise, fueled by desperation and rage. the blade sank into your shoulder with a wet, horrifying sound.

cheong-san screamed as horror teared through your chest.

you staggered forward, a strangled gasp escaping you, and stumbled into him. he grabbed you reflexively, holding you upright as panic threatened to choke his lungs. your blood was warm against his hands — sticky, metallic, and suffocatingly close.

gwi‑nam snarled, retreating back toward the half-dead kid, ignoring the chaos he’d wrought. his eyes met yours for a split second — a flash of madness, thrill, and something calculating — before you disappeared around a corner, leaving the sickening aftermath behind.

the hallway stretched on endlessly, shadowed by broken lights that flickered and hummed. your legs burned, your chest heaving, as cheong‑san leaned heavily on you, gripping your forearm. the glow of your soul mark pulsed brighter, hot under your skin, as if sensing the terror and the urgency of survival.

you stumbled past toppled chairs and shattered windows, shards glittering like tiny knives under the flickering lights. somewhere down the hall, another half-dead student thrashed against a door frame, moaning. the metallic tang of blood mixed with the acrid scent of fear, stinging your eyes and throat.

you groaned, voice strained. “i… i think… i can make it…”

cheong-san nodded, teeth gritted, not trusting his voice. every step felt like a gamble — one misstep and gwi‑nam or another creature could cut you down. yet the instinct to survive, to get to safety, propelled you forward faster than your muscles thought possible.

the library loomed ahead like a dark promise, its towering shelves and high windows casting long shadows that stretched across the cracked tile floor. broken glass from the front doors glittered faintly, catching the flickering lights like bloodied fire. you stumbled inside, dragging cheong‑san with you, discreetly tucking the phone into your pocket, heart hammering so hard it felt like it might burst through your ribs. behind you, the faint, wet scraping of claws and low, hissing growls followed relentlessly.

shelves stacked with dusty encyclopedias and textbooks created narrow corridors, forcing you and cheong‑san to weave carefully, balancing on the uneven floor littered with toppled chairs and scattered books. cheong‑san helped you up onto a lower shelf, and you scrambled, hands slick with sweat and blood, finding a precarious perch. you crouched, trying to stay low, ears straining to catch every sound — the shuffle of claws, the wet groans of the half-dead students hunting the building, and your ragged breathing.

a student — half-dead, jerky, teeth bared — lunged at cheong‑san, shoving him off the shelf. he yelped, flailing, and stumbled toward the other side of the room. panic made your muscles tense; you reached out instinctively to grab him, but gwi‑nam intervened before you could. he shoved the creature aside violently, sending it crashing into the shelves with a spray of broken books. his eyes locked on yours, wild and sharp.

“stay still,” he hissed, advancing slowly. every movement was deliberate, a predator circling its prey.

your soul mark pulsed faintly along your forearm, hot under the skin, like it knew the danger and was urging you to act. cheong‑san moved first, grabbing the phone from your pocket and holding it high, lens pointed at gwi‑nam. the sudden flash of the camera’s recording light made gwi‑nam hesitate — just enough for cheong‑san to scramble onto the shelves across from you. you followed, dragging a stack of thick books behind you, hurling them blindly. they thudded against gwi‑nam’s chest, scraping his hands.

gwi‑nam swiped at the books, eyes burning with rage. the half-dead below shrieked, jerking toward the noise, but cheong‑san kept shouting, throwing his weight and his voice to distract him. each movement was a precise calculation: strike, dodge, keep him off balance.

you grabbed another heavy book and threw it, slamming it against gwi‑nam’s shoulder. he staggered, fists swinging wildly, and the half-dead students below leapt toward the chaos, claws raking metal shelves. cheong‑san swung his arm up from behind the shelves, phone in hand, and jabbed it straight into gwi‑nam’s eye. the scream that followed was guttural, raw, and filled with a mixture of rage and shock.

gwi‑nam teetered on the edge of the shelf. cheong‑san shoved him hard — enough to send him crashing to the floor. you heard the sickening impact as he landed in the midst of the half-dead, their teeth sinking into him instantly. screams and guttural gurgles filled the library, but you couldn’t look.

cheong‑san turned to you, chest heaving, and immediately took the knife from your shoulder. you hissed in pain, but trusted him as his hands, tore a strip from his vest and pressed it against your wound, making a makeshift bandage. warmth seeped from his fingers, grounding you amidst the chaos.

“come on,” he urged, voice low and steady. “we don’t have time. they’re still distracted.”

together, you scrambled off the shelves, landing silently on the floor among the debris of toppled tables, scattered chairs, and torn books. the half-dead students below were consumed with gwi‑nam’s writhing, and for a moment, the library felt like a narrow, fragile bubble of safety.

you didn’t hesitate. not for a second. cheong‑san grabbed your arm, guiding you toward the nearest exit. broken shelves and scattered textbooks scraped your arms and legs, the sting a sharp reminder of how close you were to being pulled back into the chaos. the exit doors glimmered faintly ahead — a narrow promise of the outside, of temporary safety.

you glanced back once. gwi‑nam was gone beneath the horde, swallowed by the chaos he had unleashed. the library was eerily silent now except for the wet, slavering noises of feeding and the distant crash of falling shelves.

your soul mark flared hot, pulsing along your arm, as though sensing both danger and opportunity. cheong‑san’s hand tightened on yours, and without another word, you ran, weaving through the shadows, past broken tables, toward the doors, and into whatever uncertain safety lay beyond.

you collapse onto the edge of a desk, legs trembling, every step of the escape catching up with you now. your shoulder throbs where the knife grazed you, and the makeshift bandage cheong‑san tied does little to dull the pain. your head spins from blood loss and exhaustion, and each shallow breath tastes metallic. the classroom is dim, broken fluorescent lights flickering overhead, casting long, jittery shadows over the scattered chairs and toppled books. outside, the distant shuffling, groans, and the occasional thump of falling debris keep your nerves taut, but inside, for the first time in hours, it’s almost… quiet.

cheong‑san crouches on the opposite side of the desk, his fingers clenched in fists around the useless phone. his fingers twitch, as if it’s a lifeline, and he keeps glancing at the door, half-expecting something, or someone, to burst in at any moment. but then, for a fraction of a second, the world narrows. it’s just the two of you, and the faint, throbbing glow of the soul marks along your forearms.

he notices first. his sleeve has slipped back slightly in the struggle, revealing the faint wing-shaped line that glows softly against his skin. it pulses, almost like it has its own heartbeat. his eyes widen, and he hesitates, almost shyly, as though afraid to speak the truth aloud.

you glance down at your arm. your pulse catches in your throat — the winged line is there, the same as his, glowing faintly in the dim light. you feel it vibrate, the heat seeping through your skin, and for a moment, your fear of the knife wound and the chaos outside falls away, replaced by a strange, dizzying awareness of him.

he leans forward slightly, shoulders hunched, voice dropping to a near whisper. “y-you… you have one too,” he says, almost nervously, like he’s afraid of your reaction. “i didn’t… i didn’t think… i mean, i didn’t think it would happen… with someone here, or you know… ” his words stumble over themselves, shy and awkward.

your stomach flips. the realization hits you like a jolt— he’s not just a companion in this chaos. the mark connects you, and it feels electric, alive, dangerous. you nod slowly, unsure what to say, your voice barely above a breath. “yeah… i didn’t think it would either. i didn’t expect… this.”

he glances at your arm, then quickly looks away, cheeks flushed faintly, like he’s embarrassed to be caught staring. his fingers tap nervously against his thigh, hesitant, unsure, as if reaching out would be too forward, too personal. “we-we’re… soulmates, right?” his words are cautious, almost shy, as if he’s testing the ground, trying to gauge your reaction.

you swallow, feeling the heat of the wound and the adrenaline still coursing through you, the warmth of the glowing mark adding an unspoken intensity. “yeah,” you breathe. “i… i think we are.” the words feel small and fragile, but heavy, laden with all the tension of what just happened and everything you’ve survived.

his gaze flickers up, meeting yours for just a heartbeat before darting away, shy and uncertain. the faint glow of your marks pulses in tandem, almost like a heartbeat of its own. you sense his hesitation, the careful way he keeps his distance while still leaning in just enough to share the space with you. his hand hovers near yours, close enough to notice but not daring to touch.

you notice the subtle quiver in his shoulders, the way his breathing quickens slightly, the faint flush of color creeping across his neck and ears. he’s shy, wary, and yet entirely present, and somehow it makes the tether between you feel heavier, more alive.

the classroom is silent except for your ragged breaths and the faint hum of the dying fluorescent lights. but in that quiet, in the soft pulse of your marks, the world narrows to just this. him, you, and the bond that suddenly feels like it could anchor both of you amidst the chaos outside.

finally, cheong-san exhales softly, voice barely audible, “we… we have to stick together.” the words are tentative, timid, but full of intent. he doesn’t reach out — not yet — but the heat of his presence, the soft glow of your entwined marks, tells you everything you need to know. you’re connected now, in a way neither of you can ignore.

the static explodes overhead — a high-pitched shriek that slices through the stillness like metal tearing. you flinch hard, both hands flying up to your ears. the intercom crackles again, spitting sparks into the silence before a voice, hoarse and uneven, pushes through.

“anyone?” a man’s voice says, shaky and low, the words distorted by distance and static. “i’ve never— i’ve never done this before.”

there’s a rustle, a shuffle of someone fumbling for control, and then a girl’s voice cuts in, sharper, urgent, “somebody, just do it already! say something before they find us—”

the line bursts with feedback, the noise scraping across your nerves. the sound echoes in the dim classroom, bouncing off the cracked windows and overturned desks. you wince and pull your hands away slowly, your ears still ringing.

cheong-san is frozen. the color drains from his face. his head jerks toward the ceiling speaker as though he could see straight through the metal grill. his breathing changes — shallow, quick. there’s recognition in his eyes, raw and immediate, like a spark catching dry tinder.

“cheong-san?” you whisper. “do you… know them?”

he swallows hard, nodding once, almost imperceptibly. “yeah,” he says, voice thin. “that’s… dae-su.” the name comes out like it hurts him to say it. he runs a hand through his hair, trembling slightly, eyes darting to the intercom again. “he’s— he’s with my classmates. they made it.”

the intercom sputtered again, the sound warbling through the static like a dying breath before on-jo’s voice steadied it back to life.  “—if you can hear this, stay where you are. i know you never listen to me, but just this once… don’t go outside unless you have to. the second floor is crawling with them.”

her words carried the sharp edge of control fighting to hold. “if you’re with someone, don’t split up. just— stay alive.”

cheong-san remained motionless. you could feel it in the air beside you, the way his body went still, his eyes flicking to the ceiling as if he could see her through the static. relief and disbelief tangled across his face, the flicker of a smile trying to form and failing.

“she’s alive,” he whispered, and the quiet awe in his voice made something in your chest ache. then, a little louder, “they’re okay.”

you nodded slowly, the sound of your heartbeat loud in your ears. “your friends,” you murmured, because it seemed like the only thing to say.

“yeah.” he rubbed a hand over his face, the gesture tired, tender. “we were in the same class. before all this.” his gaze drifted down to the glowing mark on your arm, lingering there. “they’re telling me to stay put.” his voice lowered, hesitant. “to stay here… with you.”

the words hung there, heavy and strange.

then came another burst of static, and su-hyeok’s voice, softer, steadier. “cheong-san, if you’re out there, stay with your friend. we’ll come for you when it’s safe.”

your stomach fluttered unexpectedly at the word friend. the mark along your arm seemed to respond, pulsing faintly in sync with the staccato beat of your pulse.

he sighed, a shaky breath that carried too much weight for one moment. “they don’t even know about…” he trailed off, eyes flicking toward your forearm again.

you glanced at the mark glowing faintly between you, like an ember refusing to go out. it was impossible to ignore — that strange heat, that hum just under your skin whenever he got too close.

outside, a dull thud echoed somewhere down the hall — a reminder that the world hadn’t forgotten you yet. the moment stretched taut, a fragile bubble pressed between danger and destiny.

cheong-san finally met your eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching in an uncertain half-smile. “guess i’m staying.”

something about the way he said it — low, resigned, but with that small, aching softness buried underneath — made your throat tighten.

you wanted to say something back, but the words tangled before they could form. so you just nodded, fingers brushing over the edge of the desk between you, almost close enough to graze his hand.

the intercom crackled one last time before dying with a faint pop, leaving only the low buzz of the lights and your uneven breathing in its wake.

for a long moment, neither of you spoke. then—

“dude, the smell of shit is awful,” came dae-su’s voice through the speaker, startling both of you.

a beat of silence. then—“dude, it’s your shit.”

you let out a small, involuntary laugh — half-choked from nerves. it echoed too loudly in the empty classroom, but you couldn’t stop.

cheong-san glanced over, startled, then smiled — really smiled — the tension softening for the first time since the day had started. it wasn’t much, but in that tiny pocket of laughter, it felt like a promise.

a crash sounded from somewhere down the hall — heavy footsteps, hurried voices, the shuffle of movement that didn’t sound like the dead. you and cheong-san both turned toward the door at once, breath held.

then, a single word cut through the silence. “cheong-san!”

the voice was unmistakable — on-jo’s.

before you could react, he was on his feet, shoving desks out of the way, fumbling to unlatch the door. the moment it swung open, she was there — disheveled, streaked with grime and sweat, but alive. behind her came su-hyeok, dae-su, and wu-jin — a rush of noise and disbelief that filled the empty classroom like sunlight.

“cheong-san!” dae-su gasped, grabbing him in a tight hug. he staggered from the impact, half-laughing, half-choking, his arms circling his friend like he couldn’t quite believe any of this was real.

you stood a few steps back, pressed to the wall, watching it all unfold — this messy, beautiful reunion that felt like something out of another world.

nam-ra, your fellow class president, followed in last, her calm presence somehow grounding the chaos despite her panting and the blood streaking her arm. her sharp eyes landed on you — on the blood on your sleeve, the faint glow of the soul mark along your forearm — and you saw the flicker of recognition there, quiet and understanding.

“you were with him?” she asked softly, stepping closer but not crowding you. su-hyeok hovered near her, protective, his gaze flicking between the hallway and the bandage around her arm.

you nodded, throat tight. “i… got separated from the others. he saved me.”

nam-ra’s expression softened just a fraction. “then you’re one of us now.”

you didn’t know what to say to that, so you just nodded again, the words catching somewhere in your chest.

across the room, cheong-san was still surrounded — wu-jin slapping his arm in disbelief, dae-su shouting something about zombies being too scared to touch him, on-jo huffing through tears. the sound of it — raw, human, alive — made your eyes sting.

he finally turned, spotting you through the blur of his friends. there was a small smile on his face — tired, but real — as if to say, see? we made it.

and even though you stood a little apart from the warmth of their circle, you felt it — that fragile thread of connection humming through the air. the mark on your arm pulsed faintly, echoing his heartbeat somewhere across the room.

nam-ra followed your glance and, for the first time, truly looked at the faint wing-shaped mark glowing against both your forearms. she blinked once, then looked at cheong-san. “a soul mark,” she murmured. “you two…”

her voice trailed off, not in judgment but in quiet awe. cheong-san froze, his face flushing slightly as he looked at you — like he didn’t quite know what to do with the revelation made suddenly public.

“oh my god,” on-jo breathed, catching sight of it too. “you’re soulmates? since when?”

“i— uh—” cheong-san rubbed the back of his neck, laughing weakly. “it’s… recent.”

dae-su’s grin was immediate. “dude! you got bonded during an apocalypse? that’s insane!”

wu-jin groaned, tossing him a look. “dae-su, now’s not the time.”

“actually,” hyo-ryung said dryly, settling on one of the desks, “it’s kind of exactly the time. what else are we going to do, knit?”

the laughter that followed was tired but genuine — the kind that only came after too many near-deaths.

nam-ra and su-hyeok tied themselves together with a torn curtain, quietly setting up a lookout near the window. “if i change,” nam-ra said matter-of-factly, “he won’t let me hurt anyone.”

su-hyeok didn’t say anything — just tightened the knot and gave her a small, steady nod.

across the room, dae-su found an old camcorder sitting half-buried under a pile of exam papers. “hey,” he said, flipping it open. “still got battery.”

they began recording one by one — quick, shaky messages for families they might never see again. hyo-ryung spoke first, her voice steady even when her hands trembled. wu-jin followed, talking about his sister and their dog. on-jo smiled through tears as she promised her dad she was still trying.

when the camera turned toward you, you hesitated. “i don’t even know if anyone’s left to watch,” you admitted quietly, eyes flicking toward cheong-san. “but if they are… tell them i wasn’t alone.”

he smiled faintly at that — just enough to make your pulse quicken.

later, when the lights dimmed and the group began to drift into uneasy rest, you slid down the wall beside him. exhaustion hit like a wave. cheong-san ended up sitting not far away — close enough that your knees brushed when you both exhaled at the same time.