#baekjin

the air inside baek jin’s office always smelled like old paper, cigarette smoke, and something faintly metallic—like blood that never quite left the floor. the room was small but efficient. a modest desk sat tucked against the far wall, cluttered with files and an aging laptop baek jin used for both homework and union logistics. behind him, shelves groaned under the weight of ledgers, envelopes, and binders—some labeled, some not. a coat rack stood near the door, his school uniform jacket hanging neatly as always, untouched and ghost-like.

on the couch, which was barely wide enough for two, she sat cross-legged, a thick folder open on her lap. her fingers were stained with ink and nicotine, flipping pages with practiced speed. her brows were drawn tight in concentration, but her mouth was already forming insults.

“you’re breathing too loud. move.”

beside her, seong je let out a long, lazy exhale, smoke trailing from his lips. “it’s my lungs. want me to stop breathing next?” his thumb scrolled absently on his phone.

“you say that like it’s a bad idea.”

“you like having me around. admit it.”

she snorted. “i’d rather put out this cigarette in my eye.”

baek jin didn’t look up from his desk. this was routine. predictable. he only paused for a second when seong je flicked a crumpled receipt at her face, smirking when it bounced off her forehead.

“touch me again, i will rip your ears off and mail them to your mother,” she said, without even flinching.

“joke’s on you, she’s already deaf.”

that earned him a hard jab to the ribs with the sharp edge of a folder. he groaned theatrically, tipping his head back against the couch and blowing smoke toward the ceiling.

“i swear to god, you're like a feral cat with a calculator,” he muttered.

“and you’re a hemorrhoid with a motorcycle license.”

baek jin turned a page. the yelling had escalated, but it was background noise. normal. expected.

the argument died the same way it always did—abruptly and without resolution.

she slammed the folder shut and stood. the air shifted. joon and gyung, who had been waiting outside the office door like loyal shadows, straightened as she stepped out.

“collection day,” she said simply, already moving.

seong je rolled his shoulders and stood with her, but she didn’t wait. joon and gyung fell in line behind her like trained dogs, their footsteps echoing as the group left the safe walls of the bowling alley and stepped into the dusk.

@ . !

they found them behind a school, deep in the alley that smelled like piss and motor oil. it was a place for things that didn’t want to be seen—perfect for business.

a few boys loitered under the flickering light. low-ranking union lackeys, careless with the rules. she stopped a few feet away, her presence slicing through the tension like a box cutter.

“you’ve got my money?” she asked, voice cool, indifferent.

one of the boys stepped forward. too confident. too dumb. “you don’t get to bark orders at us, bitch.”

seong je was sitting nearby, on a low concrete barrier, smoking. he didn’t move. not yet. he was watching, the way a wolf watches another predator test its luck.

she didn’t blink. “you’re two days late.”

the guy stepped closer, nudging her shoulder. once. twice.

“maybe you wait a little longer,” he said with a smirk. “maybe say please.”

behind her, joon and gyung tensed. she didn’t say anything, just gave a lazy glance to her left.

gyung understood the signal.

the jab to the gut was fast and brutal—air left the guy’s lungs like a popped balloon. he stumbled back, wheezing, while the others flinched. two of them ran.

“go,” she said calmly.

joon darted after them.

only two remained: the one bent over in pain, and another who hadn’t moved yet, watching with wide eyes, deciding if he wanted to be stupid or not.

she crouched beside the first guy, lit another cigarette with a flick of her lighter, and exhaled slowly.

“you work for me,” she said. “you pay, or you bleed. got it?”

the second guy tensed—fight won the war in his brain.

he lunged.

he never reached her.

seong je was a blur of violence—one second on the edge of the scene, the next driving a fist into the boy’s face hard enough to drop him instantly. no words. no warning. just pure, sharp brutality.

he didn’t stop.

fists rained down, calculated and furious. blood splattered against the wall. the sound of bone meeting flesh echoed through the alley.

she stood slowly, arms crossed, cigarette glowing.

“enough,” she said.

seong je didn’t look at her right away. his fists paused mid-motion. then he stood, blood staining his knuckles, breathing hard.

she met his eyes for a moment. something silent passed between them. then she turned and walked away.

“get the cash,” she called over her shoulder.

gyung moved without question.

seong je wiped his hand on his shirt and lit a new cigarette. he glanced once at the boy groaning on the ground and then followed her into the dark.

business, as always, was done.

@ . !

the streets were quieter now. the sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows that swallowed the cracks in the pavement. she walked ahead, cigarette still burning between her fingers, the orange tip flaring with every drag. her steps were calm, composed, like she hadn’t just threatened teenagers and watched one get half-pulped into a brick wall.

behind her, seong je followed. blood still clung to the ridges of his knuckles, crusting dry in the creases, but he didn’t care. he never did. he flicked his own cigarette aside and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.

they walked in silence for a while, their footsteps echoing softly in rhythm. the kind of quiet that buzzed—static thick with unspoken things.

“you know,” seong je finally said, “you could’ve told gyung to handle it before that dumbass even touched you.”

she didn’t look at him. “he barely touched me.”

“he pushed you.”

“and i didn’t fall. so?”

he scoffed, catching up until they walked shoulder to shoulder. “you’re insane.”

“says the guy who beat someone half to death over a shoulder nudge.”

he grinned. “you like it when i get violent.”

she rolled her eyes. “i like it when you shut the fuck up.”

“but you let me handle it.”

“i let you burn calories.”

seong je laughed under his breath, a short, dry sound. “you’re welcome, by the way.”

“for what?”

“for being your unhinged guard dog.”

“you’re not my anything.”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he glanced sideways at her—at the bruise just barely starting to form on her collarbone where the guy had pushed her, at the cigarette held steady between her fingers, at the calm, calculated cold in her eyes.

he liked her too much. it was a problem he hadn’t figured out how to fix.

“...you patched me up last week,” he muttered. “don’t pretend like you don’t care.”

“i patched you up so you wouldn’t bleed on baek jin’s couch.”

“sure,” he said. “totally believable.”

she slowed a bit, enough that he noticed but didn’t comment. she glanced over, squinting at him through the dimming light.

“you’re bleeding,” she said flatly.

“you always say that like it’s a surprise.”

she stopped walking. so did he.

“you’re an idiot,” she said, stepping in close. her hand reached for his face, thumb brushing a cut on his cheekbone. it was rough, not tender—like everything she did. “you didn’t have to go that far.”

“he was gonna hit you.”

“i had it handled.”

“yeah,” he muttered, not smiling anymore. “but i don’t like watching people touch you.”

her expression didn’t change. not much. maybe a flicker in her eyes. maybe.

she shoved his face gently to the side with the palm of her hand. “possessive freak.”

he grinned again. “you love it.”

“i tolerate it.”

“that’s practically a love confession coming from you.”

she started walking again. “say one more word and i’ll smoke my cigarette out on your forehead.”

he laughed, trailing behind her.

and behind the sarcasm and bruised knuckles, there was something solid between them—twisted, loud, dysfunctional.

@ . !

by the time they reached the back entrance of the bowling alley, the sky had faded to charcoal grey. the neon sign buzzed above them, flickering like it was trying to decide whether to die or hang on another day. she pushed the door open with her shoulder and stepped inside, the familiar scent of oil, dust, and stale air greeting her like a second home.

seong je followed her, hands still in his pockets, quieter now. at the door to baek jin’s office, he hesitated. she paused, looking back at him.

“i’m heading to the internet café,” he said, voice casual, but his eyes lingered on her a little longer than necessary. “need to blow off some steam.”

she shrugged, already reaching for the doorknob. “go waste your brain cells.”

he smirked. “you love me dumb.”

“don’t flatter yourself.”

she pushed the door open and stepped inside. he didn’t follow.

“patch your hand,” she added over her shoulder. “or don’t. maybe it’ll rot off.”

“aw, worried about me,” he teased.

she gave him the finger without turning around.

he chuckled and walked off, footsteps fading down the hall.

inside, baek jin didn’t look up as she entered. he was at his desk, sleeves rolled up, pencil in hand, methodically underlining something in one of the ledgers. the room felt quieter without seong je in it—thicker, somehow.

she dropped her bag beside the couch and sank into it with a tired exhale. the tension hadn’t left her body yet, but it always faded in here. in this space where time moved slower, where baek jin never asked more than she wanted to give.

“you’re back early,” he said after a moment, eyes still on the paper.

“boys ran faster than usual.”

he nodded once. “anyone give you trouble?”

she pulled another cigarette from her pocket. “one tried. he didn’t try again.”

this time, baek jin did look up. his eyes flicked to her shoulder, narrowing slightly. “you’re bruised.”

“occupational hazard,” she muttered, lighting up.

he stared at her a second longer, then stood. she watched him cross the room in that quiet, deliberate way he moved—like he didn’t waste energy on anything that didn’t matter. he disappeared behind her for a moment. when he came back, he tossed his jacket over her.

she stiffened slightly, cigarette hovering near her lips.

“still cold,” he said simply, sitting back down.

“i’m not cold.”

“you always say that.”

she didn’t take it off.

they sat like that for a while. just the two of them. him scribbling quietly. her smoking in silence, baek jin’s jacket draped over her shoulders like it belonged there.

no yelling. no banter.

just stillness.

the only sound for a long while was the scratch of baek jin’s pencil against paper and the occasional soft crackle of her cigarette.

“you let seong je come with you again,” baek jin said eventually, not looking up.

she snorted. “he follows me around like a leech. what am i supposed to do? spray him with bug repellent?”

“he’s loud,” baek jin replied calmly.

“so are you, when you feel like it.”

“not with fists.”

she gave a half-smirk, flicking ash into the tray on the coffee table. “you jealous?”

“no,” he said plainly. “he’s reckless. you’re not.”

“he only steps in when i let him.” she tilted her head against the back of the couch, eyes drifting toward the ceiling. “you know that.”

baek jin hummed, noncommittal, and went back to his work.

for a while, there was nothing but silence again. not awkward. not empty. just their kind of quiet.

“you still live off convenience store food?” she asked after a minute, squinting at him.

“i eat what’s easy.”

“that’s not eating. that’s survival.”

“i survive just fine.”

“could’ve fooled me,” she muttered, stretching out along the couch. “you’re gonna die from sodium poisoning before you even graduate.”

“and you’ll die from chain-smoking before i do.”

“touché,” she murmured, a tired smile curling at the corner of her mouth.

her voice grew softer, like sleep was already tugging at her edges. “...how do you do it?”

baek jin paused, pencil hovering over the paper. “do what?”

“stay calm all the time. even when shit hits the fan. even when everyone’s losing their heads.” her voice had dropped low. “how do you not break?”

he was quiet for a beat.

then, “because if i break, everything else does.”

she didn’t answer. her breathing was slowing now, cigarette burned out in the ashtray. she was curled on her side, one arm under her head, the other tugging baek jin’s jacket closer around her like she hadn’t meant to.

he glanced up, setting his pencil down soundlessly.

she was already asleep.

he stood, walked over with soft steps, and crouched beside the couch. carefully, he pulled the jacket tighter over her frame and adjusted the pillow under her head. for a second, his hand hovered near her temple, like he wanted to brush the hair away from her face—but didn’t.

baek jin’s face didn’t show much. it never did.

but something flickered in his eyes. something quiet. protective.

then he stood, returned to his desk, and went back to work.

behind him, she slept soundly under his jacket, breathing even and steady.

and outside, the world kept turning. dangerous. unforgiving.

but in here, for a little while longer, it was still.

⸻ /Flashback/

Your eyes were fixed on the fractured navy of the sky. A soft breeze stirred the lazy whispers of the trees. The wind brushed against your back, speed danced at your feet, and a childlike hope glowed quietly in your gaze. You swung higher and higher on the swing, unaware of the two sets of eyes watching you.

In the far corner of the yard, hidden under the shade of an old walnut tree, two boys sat side by side. The weight of their conversation didn’t quite suit their age. They heard only your laughter, watched only the way your hair danced in the wind. But the meanings behind their gazes were far from the same—one held trust, the other, a secret.

Baek-jin tilted his head slightly, fidgeting with a stone in his pocket. The words sat heavy on the edge of his tongue, refusing to fall.

Baku’s brows were furrowed; he didn’t like this kind of silence.

“What is it?” he asked, his tone clipped and direct.

Baek-jin blinked, then subtly nodded in your direction as you soared back and forth.

“I love her,” he said.

The words hung in the air for a moment, suspended in time. Even the breeze seemed to still.

Baku didn’t respond at first. He squinted toward you, then turned back to Baek-jin.

“What did you say?”

“Yn,” Baek-jin repeated, firmer now. “I love her. I have for a long time. Maybe you’ve noticed, maybe not. But I… I don’t know. Keeping it in this long is starting to eat away at me. And when she smiles… it’s like I can’t think of anything else.”

Baku said nothing. But his jaw tensed, a flicker tightening the muscle near his chin.

Baek-jin noticed—but didn’t back down.

“Everything’s going to change, I know. We’ll grow up. But no matter what happens… I think I’ll always love her.”

He looked down at his hands, then back toward you.

“Have you ever looked at someone and felt time stop? Like… even just the way they breathe feels like a miracle?”

Baku’s eyes shifted back to you again.

Baek-jin’s voice returned, quieter this time, unsure:

“Maybe I’ll tell her someday. Or maybe I’ll just stay beside her… quietly.”

Baku clenched his jaw, but stayed silent.

What was he supposed to say? Don’t love her, because I already do?

⸻ /Today/

It was a small café on a street corner. The table by the window sat in soft afternoon shadow, sunlight spilling through the glass at an angle. A slow jazz tune played in the background, and the outside world blurred into something cinematic.

You glanced at your phone. The time matched exactly what you’d agreed on.

Then the door opened.

Baek-jin.

His hair was slightly messy, his eyes familiar but a little more tired than before.

But the second you saw him, you stood without hesitation and wrapped your arms around him. It wasn’t a long hug, nor a short one. It was the kind that held just enough weight to carry everything unspoken.

You both sat down. The way you crossed your legs under the table, the sip you took from your coffee, the way you tilted your head—it all showed you still cared.

“How’ve you been?” you asked, voice soft.

Baek-jin didn’t look away. He smiled, faintly.

“Alright. Life’s shit in its own way, but I’m getting used to it.”

You paused. Your eyes lingered on his.

The distance between you wasn’t new or old. Just… known. Familiar.

That’s why you asked without hesitation:

“How’s the Union going?”

There was concern in your tone, though your smile stayed gentle.

“I don’t want to see you getting in trouble again.”

Baek-jin said nothing for a second. He took a sip of his coffee, then looked toward the window.

“I’m trying to grow it,” he replied. “But the more you build something like that, the more enemies come crawling out.”

Your head lowered slightly.

“Just… be careful,” you murmured. “There are still people who care about you. Not everyone’s abandoned you, okay?”

Baek-jin closed his eyes briefly. He sighed.

“I know,” he said. “I know you’ve always been there. But…”

He didn’t finish. Because both of you already felt the weight of that but, lodged somewhere in the space between.

While you spoke, someone was watching.

A few tables away, a boy in a hoodie sat motionless, hands clasped together, elbows resting on the table.

Baku.

His eyes were locked on your face.

The way you smiled, how your fingers danced around your cup, the gentle angle of your head—he saw it all.

But what really anchored him was the way Baek-jin looked at you.

That same look, from that same afternoon under the walnut tree.

“I love her,” Baek-jin had said.

And maybe he still did.

Maybe he always would.

Baku’s jaw tightened. His eyes narrowed.

Maybe he couldn’t hear what you were saying—but body language didn’t lie. Every gesture between you two felt like a quiet threat. Not because he didn’t trust you. But because he did.

And that made it worse.

⸻

Your footsteps echoed softly against the wet pavement. The exhaustion of the day hung over you like a damp coat, and the night had swallowed the city into a hush. You were only a few blocks from home, having cut through a quiet side street where hardly anyone ever passed. No music in your ears. No phone in your hands. You didn’t hear the footsteps behind you.

Until it was too late.

An arm wrapped around you from behind, pulling you back into a firm chest. A hand pressed over your mouth.

A warm breath brushed against your neck.

“Don’t scream” came a familiar, low voice.

Your body tensed—not out of fear, but surprise.

“It’s me” Baku whispered.

Your breathing was still uneven. Your heart felt like it was trying to punch its way out of your chest. He let you go slowly—but didn’t move his hand away from you.

“How long have you been seeing him?”

You tried to turn your head, but he didn’t let you move far.

“I never stopped,” you whispered. “We’ve always kept in touch.”

Baku spun you around, gently but firmly. His gaze locked on yours.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

His voice wasn’t just accusing—it carried a quiet, bruised betrayal.

“Because I knew you wouldn’t like it,” you admitted, voice small but honest. Your eyes didn’t look away. You didn’t hide.

He took a step closer.

“Then why are you still seeing him?” he said, the calm in his voice barely holding.

“He’s dangerous. He’s into shit again. He could hurt you.”

“He’s my friend,” you replied.

And that—that word—was what set him off.

“Friend?” he scoffed.

The word rolled off his tongue like poison.

Before you could process it, your back was pressed to the wall. His body didn’t touch yours fully, but the air between you vanished.He raised a hand, brushed your cheek, then slipped his thumb under your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“Don’t act like you don’t know how he looks at you. He still wants you.”

His voice dropped, turning into something dark, something real.

“And you let him.”

His hand slid to your waist, no longer gentle. Fingers curled under the hem of your shirt, dragging upward slightly before smoothing back down. You gasped, and he felt it.

He didn’t stop.

“The thought of someone else imagining you like that… fucks with my head,” he murmured.

“But what messes me up more is knowing you don’t even care.”

The heat between you changed. Anger turned to desire. Possession became need.

Baku’s eyes burned with something deeper than jealousy now. His fingers slid lower, past your waist to your hips. His other hand tangled into your hair.

His lips didn’t kiss—but hovered.

Close enough to feel. Close enough to want.

But not yet.

“You knew you’d drive me crazy, didn’t you?” he whispered.

When his hand squeezed your ass, you leaned into him—instinctively.

Not because you had to.

Because you wanted to.

Fingertips skimmed just under the edge of your skirt, tracing the elastic of your underwear.

But he didn’t slip inside.

He just stayed there.

Right at the edge.

“I could go lower” he murmured, his lips ghosting your skin. “Should I?”

“Finish what you started” you finally muttered, breathless. “Do it.”

Baku chuckled. He already knew you’d give in—but hearing it lit a fire in him. Without hesitation, his hand slipped under your skirt and into your panties. But he didn’t dive in just yet. He wanted to feel how much you needed it first.

“God” he muttered, “is this what being claimed does to you?”

He laughed, low and dark.

“I haven’t even kissed you yet… and look at you.”

And he was right. You were soaked. Because nothing turned you on more… than knowing you were his.

He couldn’t wait any longer. Two of his fingers slid into your entrance—not to get you off with them, but to prepare you for something much bigger. You nearly screamed when you felt his thick fingers stretch you from the inside, but he caught your cry with his mouth. His kiss muffled the sound, but not the overwhelming feeling.

His movements were rushed. Was it because he wanted to finish before anyone found out? Or was it because he just couldn’t wait to be inside you? You couldn’t tell. Not when those two fingers were scissoring you open, making it almost impossible to think straight.

Your eyes were teary now, your legs trembling like they could give out at any second. But he held you down so easily, one hand gripping your waist, the other steadying you with his body. Just when your vision started to blur, Baku pulled his fingers out. It wasn’t supposed to end yet. You felt the sudden emptiness, but knowing what came next eased the ache.

He looked at you one last time. He needed to be sure. And when you looked back with eyes full of need, he didn’t hold back anymore. While you clung to him, he unbuttoned his pants—not all the way down, just enough to free himself. His hand found your underwear again, but this time, just to push it aside.

It was too dark to see anything clearly. You could only feel it. And what you felt now was something thick pressing at your entrance. Your eyes widened.

“Baku—fuck—what is that?” you gasped. He chuckled and kissed you again, his tongue invading your mouth with no hesitation. Your tongues tangled in a messy rhythm until he bit your lip suddenly. As you flinched at the sting, he used that moment to sink into you completely. Your eyes rolled back from the shock, your body frozen for a moment in white-hot overload.

He pulled back from your lips only when he was fully inside. You bit down on your own moan, trying not to make a sound, but fuck—he was huge. He waited, letting you adjust, not moving just yet. Instead, his mouth latched onto your neck, sucking in a slow, burning trail.

If someone walked in right now, you’d both be screwed. But neither of you cared. You were too far gone, wrapped up in each other like the rest of the world had disappeared.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, hips rolling into you at a steady pace. His voice sounded like he might stop if you said yes. But you knew he wouldn’t. And honestly, if you weren’t clinging to him, your legs would’ve collapsed by now.

When you didn’t answer, he picked up the pace. His bare cock kept slamming into you, again and again, harder every time.

“I was gonna do this in a more romantic way, but—fuck,” he groaned, thrusts turning frantic. “But you don’t respond to sweet talk, do you?” he finished through gritted teeth. He was pounding into you so hard, it felt like the wall behind you was going to crack.

And about a minute later, it wasn’t the wall that cracke—it was you. The orgasm hit you like a freight train, so intense it nearly knocked you out. He’d already come deep inside you by then.

The moment was so overwhelming you couldn’t catch your breath.

“Humin—what the hell are you, some kind of monster?” you asked, still panting, while he was still buried inside you.

“Oh yeah. A pink one,” he teased, making a joke out of it. And it was funny—if you weren’t so completely wrecked you might’ve laughed.

When he finally pulled out, the emptiness made your face twist into a grimace. Your legs felt useless, like they weren’t even yours anymore. He moved fast, adjusting your clothes, taking care of everything without needing to be asked.

“Want me to carry you?” he asked, completely serious.

“You better” you half-joked, half-meant it.

back then, baekjin still tried to protect you. even when his nose was bleeding or his eye already bruising, he’d shove you behind him with those tiny fists up like he was invincible. he gave you his sleeve to wipe your nose, even if his own was dripping. when kids teased you, he stood in front with shaky legs and that same proud tilt to his chin, like he dared them to try.

baku was the loud one—your shield and baekjin’s, yelling and swinging while baekjin threw himself in with blind punches and more heart than strength. the two of them were a mess of scraped knees and stubborn pride, and you were the kid sister they never let out of their sight.

and then, soon enough, baku couldn’t stand watching baekjin take hit after hit like that—so he taught him to fight. said he had to, if baekjin was gonna keep throwing himself at people twice his size. he refused to teach you, though, said it was "too dangerous" with a scrunched-up nose and crossed arms. but baekjin would sneak you little updates when it was just the two of you, whispering about the stances baku showed him or how he finally landed a clean hit. eventually, the two of them were unstoppable—baku loud and wild like a storm, and baekjin quiet but sharp, always backing him up without missing a beat. and you were still there, watching them grow into a force no one dared mess with.

until their momentum was stopped on the day that baekjin disappeared. one day he was walking home beside you, shoulder brushing yours, and the next, his desk was empty. like he’d been swallowed up by the world without a trace.

no explanation. no goodbye. just gone.

but somehow, you felt like your older brother knew more about baekjin’s sudden exit from your lives than he let on.

the next time you saw baekjin, it didn’t feel real at first. it felt more like a memory that hadn’t faded properly.

you saw him before he saw you—head low, hair longer than you remembered, standing across the street outside that run-down bowling alley where rumors always clung like smoke, grunts and cries of pain could be heard from inside. your heart stuttered. the world didn’t stop—but you did.

he looked different. older. meaner. like life had moved too fast for him to keep up.

but his eyes—when they finally lifted and locked with yours—were the same.

like no time had passed.

like you weren’t strangers again.

you didn’t speak the first time, you could only stare at the tall figure. and then, he looked away and broke the gaze you shared first, walking back inside like it hurt too much to hold.

you kept seeing him after that—in the background. behind buildings, in passing cars, once on the rooftop of the cram school across from your own, cigarette burning down to the filter, eyes fixed on nothing. it was like the city was trying to show you he still existed. still breathed.

and then came the underpass.

you hadn’t meant to take that route. it was just late, and you were tired, and it had been a long day. you thought you could handle it—you weren’t a kid anymore. you could fight. baku finally taught you. baekjin taught you, too, just by existing.

but those boys—the way they leered. the way they used baku’s suspension as leverage against you.

and then him.

he didn’t even raise his voice. just said “that’s enough,” and it was like gravity remembered what it was supposed to do. the boys scattered like dry leaves. and you—god, you didn’t even realize you were shaking, fists already up and your stance ready to throw them at the boys that surrounded you just a second ago, until he stepped closer, brow furrowed, voice low.

“y/n… you shouldn’t be here.”

you wanted to yell at him, hit him, maybe even hold him.

you did none of that.

you walked home in silence, his presence beside you heavy like a storm cloud. at your door, he paused—hands still buried in his hoodie, the lamplight softening his jaw.

“you grew up,” he murmured.

“you didn’t say goodbye,” you replied.

he winced like that hurt worse than any punch.

but when you hugged him tight and whispered “don’t disappear again,” the only thing baekjin could do was nod.

after that, it was slow, cautious. like learning to walk across glass barefoot.

he never touched you first or let his hand linger—except that one night it rained so hard the streets blurred into silver streaks, and you forgot your umbrella.

you were trying to wait it out under a bus stop, shivering, soaked halfway through—when he appeared beside you, quiet as ever. didn’t say anything, just pressed a black folding umbrella into your hand like it was obvious he’d been looking for you.

“you’ll get sick,” you said, blinking.

“i’ll be fine,” he replied, stepping back into the storm without waiting for a thank you.

and the way he looked at you before he left—like he couldn’t believe you were real, like this was some dream he didn’t want to wake from—that’s what really started it.

a glance turned into a habit.

a walk turned into a routine.

late nights turned into a secret.

one evening, you found him waiting on the rooftop of an old building near your school, knees drawn up, a book balanced across them. his hair windswept, and he was squinting against the wind to read.

you laughed. “you’re such a nerd.”

he looked up, brow raised. “you still let your heart do the stupid stuff first.”

“and you still act like you don’t have one,” you shot back, sitting beside him.

that night, he kissed you.

that was the first time baekjin kissed you, he said your name like it was the only thing holding him to this world.

you weren’t a kid anymore. and neither was he.

but neither of you were ready for baku to know. not after everything baekjin has been through and is tied to now. you knew it was dangerous, but it was a risk you were willing to take.

and after that—well, you stopped pretending there wasn’t something between you.

even if it meant keeping it from baku. even if it meant dodging questions, meeting in alleyways, changing contact names and never walking too close in daylight.

even if it meant lying.

because what you had with baekjin—it wasn’t just a childhood crush or some thrill in the shadows. it was real. and it felt like it was yours.

something worth protecting.

you thought you were careful.

you were careful.

no texting unless it was code. no eye contact when baekjin stopped by the café you worked part-time in after closing just to catch a glimpse of you. no lingering touches, no flinching when you saw each other when you would walk back home from your own cram schools. baku didn’t suspect a thing.

until he did.

you didn’t even know he’d seen baekjin’s text, didn’t know he’d followed you out that night. you thought it was just another quiet moment, the first few drops of rain starting to fall—baekjin waiting for you by the convenience store, back leaned against the wall, eyes flicking up like they always did when you arrived.

you smiled. he smiled back, barely there, soft and crooked, and only you got to see it.

and then he reached out, thumb brushing a raindrop from your cheek. his touch tender, familiar.

you didn’t even hear baku coming.

just the sharp sound of footsteps—fast, angry—and then crack.

baekjin’s head jerked to the side from the impact, the sound of the punch echoing off the concrete like thunder. he stumbled but didn’t fall, blood blooming at the corner of his mouth.

“baku!” you gasped, stepping forward in instinct.

but your brother’s hand was already on your arm.

“let go—!” you cried, trying to yank free, but he wasn’t listening.

his grip was tight—furious—and the next thing you knew, he was dragging you across the empty street, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it hurt to speak.

“you’re coming home,” he snapped.

“baku—stop—” your voice caught in your throat as your shoes scraped against the asphalt. “you’re hurting me!”

he didn’t let go.

not because he wanted to hurt you—but because he didn’t know how else to stop you. everything in him was burning. you could feel it in his grip. his silence. the way his shoulders trembled with each step.

behind you, baekjin didn’t follow. he didn’t call after you. he just stood there as the rain started pouring heavier, watching.

you looked back only once.

he was holding his chest like it ached, blood smeared across his lip, eyes locked on you with something devastatingly soft.

but he didn’t move.

not even when you disappeared around the corner, your brother’s hand still wrapped around your wrist like a leash.

the walk home was silent—if silence could be loud, teeth-bared, vibrating with fury. baku didn’t look at you once. not when the rain soaked through your clothes, not when your breath hitched from trying not to cry. but the second the apartment door clicked shut behind you, something inside him snapped.

“what the fuck were you thinking?” he exploded, voice rough, cracked from holding it in too long. “are you out of your goddamn mind?”

you flinched. he didn’t notice. or maybe he did, but he was too far gone to stop.

“him? him?” he shouted, pacing now, hands raking through his hair like he needed something to tear. “after everything—after he left, after he ghosted both of us, after he joined them—you thought that was okay? to sneak around with baekjin?”

“baku—”

“don’t,” he snapped, pointing at you. “don’t even try. you don’t get to play stupid now.”

the apartment was too small for his anger. it filled every inch of it, clung to the walls like smoke. your father wasn’t around—was never around—but even if he had been, baku wouldn’t have cared. he was beyond reason, seeing red, heart pounding like it wanted to burst through his chest.

“he’s dangerous, y/n,” he shouted, voice breaking for real this time. “you think i don’t know what he’s capable of? you think this is some romance? it’s not—it’s not safe. it’s not right.”

his chest heaved, breath ragged. and when he looked at you—really looked—it wasn’t just rage in his eyes. it was fear. worry. the kind that ran deep, that made his voice crack not from anger, but from something more helpless. something more brotherly. out of love.

“you don’t know what you’re getting into,” he muttered, quieter now, but no less sharp.

you opened your mouth to speak—but he shut that down before you could.

his chest rose and fell like he couldn’t catch his breath. and when he looked at you, really looked, it wasn’t just fury etched into his face—it was fear. raw and rattling, buried beneath every word he couldn’t say right.

“baekjin isn’t the same kid we knew,”

your fingers tightened around your phone.

he noticed.

his eyes flicked down to it, then back up to you. and this time, his voice didn’t rise. it sank—low, tired, final.

“i’m not gonna force you,” he said. “but if you’re keeping him... if this is what you’re choosing—then choose. tonight.”

and then he turned, walked away, the air between you thick with everything he didn’t say.

and you just stood there—phone still in hand, your heart stuck in your throat—knowing, without him saying it, that whatever you chose tonight... would change everything.

not just with baekjin, but with your own brother.

and all you could do was stand there, dripping rain onto the floor, feeling like a kid again. like no matter how much you’d grown, you’d never be more than his little sister.

later that night, long after the door slammed behind you and baku locked himself in his room, you sat on your bed with your knees pulled tight to your chest. your phone buzzed once.

you stared at the message. your wrist still ached from how hard baku had pulled. but your heart ached more.

you didn’t answer right away.

but you opened your drawer, dug through old notebooks, and pulled out the umbrella—the same black one he gave you that night it rained.

you still hadn’t returned it.

your fingers brushed over the fabric, tracing the edges like they held answers.

you thought about the way he looked at you—always like he wasn’t sure you were real. like he didn’t believe he deserved to be near you but couldn’t stop coming back anyway.

you thought about the silence he kept between you, not because he didn’t care, but because he did too much.

you thought about how he never pushed. never asked for more than what you gave. never made promises he couldn’t keep—but still showed up when it mattered.

he was here now.

in his own quiet, stubborn way—he chose you.

and the thought of losing him again, of watching him disappear without fighting to keep him this time—it felt like a second heartbreak you weren’t sure you’d survive.

your thumb hovered over your screen.

a thousand ways to say i’m sorry, or this is too much, or i can’t.

but none of them were true.

so you typed back slowly, quietly.

you pressed send, watching the messages pile up, delivered. and for the first time all night, you breathed.

whatever came next—whatever fights, secrets, screaming matches waited—you weren’t gonna let baekjin fade away from your life.

not again.

you were willing to argue, to plead, to fight your brother if you had to—but you weren’t going to lose baekjin twice.

note: i edited this bc it wasnt proofread when i posted it lol, plz bare with me i fixed repeat paragraphs i forgot to edit 😭

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It’s been six years.

Six years since he was in elementary school.

Six years since he last saw you.

Back then, you were one of the only people who talked to him—who cared for him. You made an effort to know him, even though he was quiet and withdrawn. Before he realized it, he had developed a small crush on you.

But just before you were both about to enter high school, you suddenly broke the news: you were transferring to another school. At first, he tried to act like it wasn’t real—that you weren’t actually going to leave. But when you did, he missed you more than he ever thought he would.

Now it breaks his heart to see you standing next to Baku, laughing, giggling, wrapped in each other’s arms.

He was on his way back to the Union bowling alley after school—like always—when he saw a group of students walking ahead in Eunjang school uniforms. He was ready to ignore them and keep walking until something caught his eye.

That red sweater.

Of course. Only one person he knew would wear something like that—Baku.

He had always wanted to consider Baku a friend. They’d known each other for a long time. But with everything going on between Union and Eunjang, he didn’t even know what they were anymore. Friends? Rivals? He wasn’t sure if Baku even still saw him as a friend anymore.

He noticed Baku with his arm around a girl. He didn’t think much of it—until he looked again.

---

You were walking beside Baku, Sieun, Gotak, and Juntae, heading toward a shop just to hang out. Then you felt someone’s eyes on you. You turned around.

A tall guy wearing a uniform from a nearby school, you didn't think much of it and almost looked back.

And then you saw his eyes.

You stopped walking. Baku looked at you, confused, and noticed the tears forming in your eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, following your gaze.

The others turned around too.

It was Na Baek Jin.

The same Baek Jin from years ago. The same boy you used to sit with during lunch. The one who barely talked but always listened. The one you never forgot.

Of course, he recognized your face. How could he not? You were etched into his memory, whether he wanted you to be or not.

“…Baekjin?” you whispered, gently pushing Baku’s arm off your shoulder.

Baek Jin didn’t move. He didn’t speak. Just stood there, stunned.

The guys all looked confused, especially Baku.

“What the hell do you want?” Gotak asked sharply, stepping forward.

Baekjin didn’t respond.

Before Baku could ask how you knew him, you suddenly ran forward and wrapped your arms around Baekjin, resting your head against his chest.

“Do you remember me?” you asked, your voice trembling, your body shaking as tears ran down your face.

It took him a moment to respond, but then his hand landed gently on your back.

“Of course I do,” he said—calm, almost casual. But you knew. Deep down, he meant it.

Baku stood there, watching his girlfriend hug another guy. And not just any guy—an old friend of his.

You finally pulled away and looked up at Baekjin, searching his face. His features were still sharp. Still distant. But colder than you remembered.

You grabbed his hand, took your phone out of your bag, and placed it in his palm.

“My number,” you said. “Call me.”

You didn’t want to lose him again.

What you didn’t know was—he especially couldn’t lose you.

He silently pulled out his phone and saved your number. Still quiet. Was he shy? Nervous? Even he didn’t know.

“I’ll wait for your call,” you said, offering him a small smile before turning to rejoin the others.

You glanced back once more, just to see him again.

Baku hadn’t moved. He was still staring at Baekjin like a hawk, like he was watching someone try to take you from him.

“Hey, Baekjin,” Baku said suddenly.

You stopped in your tracks again.

“Baku, let’s just go,” you said, walking back to him and taking his arm, but he didn’t budge.

“I know you’re trying to drag Eunjang into your little Union thing,” Baku said, voice firm. “But don’t even think about using my girlfriend to do it.”

“Baku… come on,” you pleaded, trying to pull him away.

Girlfriend.

Of course you were his. Everyone could see it. But deep down… Baekjin hated that label.

Because he wasn’t the one who got to call you that.

Baekjin said nothing. He just turned and walked away like Baku’s warning didn’t matter.

But it did.

He wanted you. He didn’t want to lose you again.

He couldn’t.

Even after all these years, you were still the same kind-hearted angel to him.

And now?

He wants you.

He needs you.