Alysa finally looked up at her. "You know she's not part of the skating world, right?"

"I know."

"She doesn't care about competitions."

"I know."

"She literally left halfway through my free skate once because she said she was cold."

Amber smiled immediately at the memory. "That's kind of iconic."

Alysa stared at her blankly.

You were nothing like Alysa.

While Alysa thrived under cameras and interviews, you avoided attention whenever possible. Most fans didn't even know Alysa had a twin sister because you were usually overseas for school or hidden behind hoodies whenever you visited competitions.

Right now, you were studying abroad in France for the semester, living your best life while Alysa dealt with the chaos of competition season back in the States.

And somehow that only made Amber more interested.

"She's in France," Alysa reminded her.

"And?"

"And you live in Texas."

Amber crossed her arms stubbornly. "Planes exist."

Alysa laughed despite herself. "You are down horrendous."

"Absolutely."

That earned another eye roll.

Amber had only met you a few times before you left for France, but every interaction stuck in her head longer than it probably should've.

The first time had been at Nationals when you accidentally stole her coffee because you thought it was Alysa's.

The second time, you'd spent twenty minutes teasing Amber for being incapable of sitting still before competitions.

And the last time Amber saw you, you were sitting on top of a rink counter swinging your legs while complaining about French homework and refusing to admit your accent was getting slightly stronger already.

Amber had been doomed ever since.

"She's gonna think this is weird," Alysa warned.

"No she won't."

"She absolutely will."

Amber grinned. "Then I'll just charm her."

"You are significantly less charming than you think you are."

"That's not what your sister said."

Alysa stopped walking instantly.

Amber froze.

"...She said I was mildly entertaining," Amber corrected weakly.

"That's what I thought."

Amber sighed dramatically before grabbing Alysa's sleeve. "Please."

"No."

"Please."

"No."

"I'll buy your food for a week."

"I have money."

"Two weeks."

Alysa narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.

Amber gasped. "Wait, you're considering it?"

"I'm considering exploiting your desperation."

"That's fair."

For a second, Alysa just watched her.

Amber looked genuinely nervous now, which almost never happened.

"You actually like her?" Alysa asked quietly.

Amber's joking expression faded almost instantly.

"Yeah," she admitted.

That answer came too fast to be fake.

Alysa sighed heavily, already regretting this.

"You better not make her cry."

Amber frowned. "I wouldn't."

"You say that now."

"I mean it."

Alysa studied her face for another moment before finally pulling out her phone.

Amber's eyes widened immediately.

"No way."

"One mistake and I'm blocking you from her phone myself."

Amber pressed a hand to her chest dramatically. "You wound me."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

Alysa scrolled through her contacts painfully slowly while Amber nearly vibrated beside her.

"This is evil," Amber complained.

"I'm enjoying it."

"You're the worst twin ever."

"And yet she likes me more."

"That hurt my feelings a little."

"Good."

Then finally, Alysa stopped scrolling.

Amber stared at the screen.

Your name.

Your number.

A contact photo of you somewhere in Paris making an annoyed face at the camera.

Amber immediately smiled without meaning to.

"Oh, I'm so gone," she muttered.

Alysa snorted before handing over the phone.

The black tide had reached the borders of Okhema, and alliances had to be bound in blood and vows. You, a diplomat’s child of significant standing in Okhema, were offered to the last prince of Kremnos — Mydeimos — in marriage. It was not a choice. It was a necessity.

Your first meeting with him was in the Hall of the Oaths — a solemn chamber where banners hung like tired ghosts and the air crackled with old magic. He was taller than you expected, golden eyes glowing like embers beneath his heavy brows. His long, sunfire hair framed a face so regal, so intense, that you found it difficult to breathe for a moment.

He didn’t say much. Only nodded once. A nod that meant duty.

You didn’t talk much those first few weeks, either. You slept in the same chamber, though a thick curtain of velvet separated your sides of the massive bed. You often heard him training outside at night, striking stone dummies until they crumbled beneath his fists. Sometimes, you swore you heard him whisper names — names you didn’t recognize — to the stars.

It wasn’t until the third week that something changed.

It began with a quiet rustle of blankets and your sleepy voice drifting across the silence.

“Mydei… mmh. So serious. So hot though.”

On the other side of the curtain, Mydei froze mid-polish of his shoulder guards. His golden eyes flicked toward the fabric, his entire body rigid. Did he… hear that right?

“…’s got arms like they were carved by gods,” you murmured, breath catching in the haze of a dream. “Could split me in half and I’d thank him.”

He nearly dropped the gauntlet.

A pause. Then a quiet, amused exhale escaped him — the first real smile he’d allowed himself in weeks. He turned back to his armor, expression unreadable, but the tips of his ears burned gold (cause he has golden blood, get it?).

The next night, it happened again.

You were curled under your covers, soft breath even as you mumbled, “…bet he kisses like war… and thunder… probably smells like fire and pomegranate…”

This time, Mydei didn’t even pretend to keep polishing. He sat on the edge of his side of the bed, arms crossed, staring at the curtain like it had just betrayed national secrets.

He didn’t know what to make of the warmth slowly building in his chest. He’d fought beasts of nightmare, waded through the blood of his own men, survived the Sea of Souls—but nothing had disarmed him like hearing you, half-asleep, calling him hot like it was divine truth.

Was it stupid to feel this way? Maybe. But it felt… real.

On the fifth night, you didn’t talk about his looks.

You whispered, “I think he’s kind. Hides it. But I see it. Don’t care if he never says anything. Just want to stay here a little longer. With him.”

That’s when it shattered.

The wall between you two — the one built from cold diplomacy and unspoken duty — cracked like armor too long under strain.

He stood, walked around the bed slowly, and gently drew back the curtain.

You lay there, hair tousled, face soft in the moonlight. Vulnerable in a way no one ever was around him.

He knelt, unsure why his breath caught. Maybe it was because, for the first time in centuries, he felt wanted, not feared, not revered. Just… seen.

"My name… is Mydeimos," he whispered, barely above a breath. "But I think I like the way you say Mydei better."

You stirred, blinking awake slowly. “Mmh… Mydei?”

Your voice was heavy with sleep, but your eyes widened slightly when you saw him kneeling beside you. You flushed instantly.

“Did I—? I was dreaming, wasn’t I?”

“You were,” he said, voice low. “You said I was… hot. Also that I might… ‘split you in half.’”

You groaned, pulling the blanket over your head. “Oh gods, I’m so sorry. I—I didn’t mean for you to hear that.”

He chuckled. Chuckled. The sound rumbled like distant thunder but felt warm, private, sacred.

“There is no shame in truth,” he murmured, gently pulling the blanket down just enough to meet your eyes. “You have called me many things. Strong. Serious. Fire.”

He leaned just a little closer.

“No one has ever called me kind.”

Your breath hitched.

“I see you,” he said softly. “Even through sleep, you speak without fear. That is rare. That is… precious.”

You whispered, “You’re really close.”

“Do you want me to move away?”

“…No.”

He let the silence stretch, his golden gaze locked on yours, the kind of gaze that made kingdoms fall and stars pause.

Then, his voice, low and reverent: “May I kiss you?”

You didn’t answer with words. Just leaned forward until your lips met his — heat and lightning, war and softness all at once.

From that night on, there was no curtain.

Only Mydei, the undying prince of Amphoreus, who slept closer to you than armor ever dared — and who, every so often, whispered his own confessions to your sleeping form:

“I would burn a thousand seas to keep you warm.”

“You called me yours. I think I want to be.”

“You were right. I do kiss like war.”

And one night, softly:

“You gave me a reason to live beyond duty. You gave me… peace.”

Even warriors need something worth surviving for.

For Mydei, that was you.

The first time you notice him, he’s asleep.

Not the light kind of sleep people fall into on train rides with their heads tipped back and their mouths slightly open. Not accidental. Not peaceful. This is a full collapse.

The man in the black hoodie is folded awkwardly into the corner seat of Line 2 like his body simply gave up halfway home. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest, headphones hanging around his neck, silver hair flattened against the subway window every time the train jerks.

You stare longer than you should, mostly because he looks familiar. Not celebrity familiar or“I’ve seen him online” familiar. Just familiar in the strange way repeated strangers become when your life narrows into routine.

11:43 p.m. Platform 4. Third car from the back.

Every night for nearly two weeks.

And always asleep.

The first night you notice him, you assume he’s drunk. The second night, overworked. By the fifth, you start checking for him before you even board. Tonight, though, something feels different.

The storm outside has turned Seoul silver and violent, rain hammering against the train windows hard enough to blur the city lights into streaks of neon watercolor. People are quieter than usual, shoulders damp from soaked jackets, phones glowing dimly in exhausted hands.

You almost miss your stop because you’re watching the man sleep.

Again.

His head knocks lightly against the glass when the train slows, yet he doesn’t wake up.

Jesus.

You glance around the car. Nobody else seems concerned. Typical. You hesitate before leaning over carefully.

“Excuse me?”

Nothing.

Closer this time.

“Hey.”

His eyes open immediately.

Sharp. Dark. Alert in a way that makes your stomach tighten. For one disorienting second, he looks terrified. Then annoyed.

“What,” he rasps.

You lean back instinctively. “Your stop.”

He blinks at you slowly before looking toward the station sign outside.

“Fuck.”

You try not to smile.

He scrubs a hand over his face and stands too quickly, clearly disoriented. Up close, he looks even more exhausted than you thought. Pale skin. Dark circles. A kind of bone-deep fatigue that expensive clothes and pretty features can’t hide. The train doors chime. He looks between you and the platform. Then sighs.

“Missed it anyway.”

The doors slide shut again.

You snort before you can stop yourself.

His eyes flick toward you.

“You think that’s funny?”

“A little.”

“Cool.”

His voice is dry enough to crack concrete.

You expect the conversation to end there. Usually people avoid eye contact after accidental train interactions. Instead, he sits back down next to you.

The train rattles forward through the tunnel as rain streaks the windows. He closes his eyes again.

“You should sleep at home,” you say before thinking better of it.

One eye opens.

“You should mind your business.”

“Fair.”

Silence settles between you.

Not uncomfortable silence.

Just tired silence.

The kind shared between people too exhausted to pretend they’re functioning.

The train enters its underground subway tunnel and the rain stops hitting the windows as loud, finally giving you a chance to clear your mind.

You look down at your phone again. Three unread emails from your supervisor. One message from your mother asking if you’re eating properly. Another from your coworker reminding you about tomorrow’s presentation. Your chest tightens instantly. You lock the screen.

Across from you, the stranger watches you carefully.

“You got that look too,” he mutters.

“What look?”

“Like if one more person asks something from you, you might bite them.”

You laugh softly despite yourself.

“That obvious?”

“Yeah.”

He says it without judgment.

The train lights flicker once overhead. Outside, thunder shakes somewhere above ground.

Then everything stops.

The subway lurches violently before grinding to a halt between stations.

A collective groan fills the car.

You close your eyes immediately.

Of course.

Of course this would happen tonight.

Static crackles overhead before an announcement filters through the speakers apologizing for delays due to flooding near the tracks. Estimated wait time unknown.

Around the car, people begin complaining under their breath. The man across from you tips his head back against the seat.

“Perfect.”

You check the time.

12:08 a.m.

You still have slides to finish before tomorrow morning.

You haven’t eaten dinner.

Your feet ache.

And now you’re trapped underground during a thunderstorm with a stranger who apparently uses public transportation as a mattress. Something hysterical bubbles in your chest.

You start laughing.

The man looks at you strangely.

“You okay?”

“No,” you admit.

That only makes you laugh harder.

Because what else are you supposed to do?

Your laughter quiets eventually into embarrassed coughing. He watches you for another moment before speaking.

“You work corporate?”

You blink. “How’d you know?”

“You have the eyes.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Dead inside. Expensive tote bag.”

You glare at him. “I’m not dead inside.”

He looks unconvinced.

“You?”

“Music.”

That surprises you.

“Musician?”

“Producer.”

Oh.

That explains the headphones.

And maybe the exhaustion.

You study him again more carefully now. There’s something about him that feels heavy. Not arrogant like some creative industry people you’ve met. Just… worn thin.

“You work late,” you say quietly.

“So do you.”

“Yeah.”

Another flicker overhead.

The emergency lights switch on dimly, bathing the subway car in muted amber. The storm must be worsening.

People begin making frustrated phone calls around you. The producer beside you pulls his hood farther over his face.

“You famous or something?” you ask suddenly.

He gives you a long look.

“Why?”

“You look like you don’t want people recognizing you.”

“That bad?”

“A little.”

His mouth twitches faintly.

“I’m not that famous.”

The answer itself feels evasive enough to confirm he absolutely is. But you let it go.

You don’t really care who he is.

Right now he’s just another exhausted person trapped underground, same as you.

“You got a name?” he asks after a while.

You tell him.

He nods once. “Yoongi.”

The name settles softly between you. Hours pass strangely after that. The train remains stalled while rain pounds somewhere above like the world is trying to cave inward. People slowly filter into silence. Some sleep. Some scroll endlessly through their phones. One elderly man snores loudly near the doors. And somehow, against all logic, you keep talking to Yoongi. Not about important things at first.

Bad convenience store coffee. The worst station exits during monsoon season. The weird smell near Hongdae after midnight.

Easy things.

But exhaustion makes people honest. Around 1:30 a.m., he asks, “You ever think about disappearing?”

The question catches you off guard.

You glance at him carefully.

His expression remains neutral, eyes fixed on the dark tunnel outside.

“Like permanently?” you ask quietly.

“No.” A pause. “Just… for a while.”

Your throat tightens unexpectedly.

“All the time.”

He nods like he expected that answer.

“I almost quit last month,” you admit before you can stop yourself.

“The job?”

“Everything.”

The words come out brittle. You stare hard at your hands.

“I spent years trying to get where I am, and now every morning I wake up nauseous before work.” You laugh weakly. “I used to think if I worked hard enough, eventually I’d feel successful instead of tired.”

Yoongi stays silent. Not the fake attentive silence people use while waiting for their turn to speak.

Real silence. Listening silence.

“I keep thinking maybe everyone else can handle life better than me,” you continue quietly. “Like maybe I’m just weaker.”

“No,” he says immediately.

Firm enough that you look up. His jaw tightens slightly.

“It’s not weakness.”

Something in his voice makes the words feel personal.

You study him carefully. “You sound like you know.”

He laughs once without humor.

“I haven’t slept properly in three months.”

“That’s not healthy.”

“No shit.”

You smile faintly. He continues staring ahead.

“People think creative jobs are romantic,” he says eventually. “But mostly it’s sitting in dark rooms until sunrise trying to make something good enough to justify ruining yourself over it.”

Your chest aches unexpectedly. Because you understand that.

Not music specifically, but the feeling of pouring everything you are into work until there’s barely enough left to remain human afterward.

“What kind of music?” you ask.

“Hiphop. Producing mostly.”

“You like it?”

The question lingers.

Then he shrugs.

“I used to.”

That hurts more than it should.

Outside, thunder cracks violently overhead and the train lights flicker again. For a brief second the car plunges completely dark. Instinctively, your hand catches his wrist.

Warm.

Solid.

The lights return immediately afterward.

Neither of you move.

Your fingers remain loosely wrapped around his sleeve while your heartbeat trips over itself in embarrassment.

“Sorry,” you murmur quickly, pulling away.

“It’s fine.”

But his voice sounds quieter now. You settle back into your seat, heat crawling up your neck. The train remains motionless.

2:07 a.m.

You’re both too tired for self-consciousness anymore. Yoongi eventually falls asleep again beside you instead of across from you this time, shoulder barely brushing yours every time the train creaks.

You should move.

Instead you stay perfectly still.

There’s something strangely comforting about his presence. Maybe because he doesn’t ask anything from you. Doesn’t expect you to smile prettier or answer emails faster or become more ambitious or resilient or useful.

He’s just here. Breathing softly beside you. Human. At some point, your own eyes drift shut.

—

You wake to warmth.

And weight.

For one confused second, you don’t understand why your neck hurts until you realize your head is resting against someone’s shoulder.

Yoongi’s shoulder.

Mortification hits instantly.

You jerk upright.

“Oh my god-”

“It’s fine,” he mumbles sleepily.

His voice is rough from sleep.

Your face burns. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You looked like you needed it.”

The simple sincerity of that answer silences you.

Outside the windows, you can see the sunlight pouring in from the tunnel entrance. The train still hasn’t moved.

Your phone battery sits at 11%.

Six missed calls from work. Your stomach drops immediately.

“Fuck.”

Yoongi glances over.

“Problem?”

“I have a presentation at eight-thirty.”

He checks his phone.

“It’s almost six.”

“Oh my god.”

Panic blooms sharp and immediate in your chest.

Your breathing turns shallow.

No no no-

You can already picture it: your supervisor’s expression, the disappointment, the humiliation, another conversation about commitment and reliability and expectations-

Suddenly the subway car feels too small.

Too warm.

You press a hand against your sternum.

Breathe.

But your lungs won’t cooperate.

“Hey.”

Yoongi’s voice cuts through the static in your head.

You look at him sharply.

“You’re panicking.”

“I’m not-”

“You are.”

Your vision blurs slightly.

Embarrassing.

God.

Not here.

Not in front of a stranger.

Yoongi shifts toward you carefully.

“Look at me.”

You do.

His expression remains calm despite the exhaustion written all over him.

“Breathe slower.”

“I can’t.”

“Yeah, you can.”

His voice stays low and steady.

“Match me.”

He inhales slowly.

Exhales.

Again.

You try to follow despite the tightness clawing through your chest.

Gradually, painfully, the panic eases enough for air to reach your lungs again.

You close your eyes briefly.

“Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

You laugh shakily. “People usually get uncomfortable.”

“I’m too tired to get uncomfortable.”

That startles a laugh out of you. He smiles faintly at the sound. And suddenly the atmosphere shifts. Softer somehow.

 Outside, rain continues pouring endlessly against the city. Inside, dawn wraps the subway car in muted gray-blue light while exhausted strangers sleep around you.

Yoongi studies you quietly.

“You hate your job that much?”

You hesitate.

Then nod.

“I used to love it.”

“What changed?”

“I think…” You stare down at your hands. “I kept waiting for life to start after work.”

He goes very still beside you.

Like the sentence hit somewhere vulnerable.

“I kept telling myself once I got promoted, once I earned enough, once I proved myself…” Your laugh comes out hollow. “But every year I just got more tired.”

Yoongi looks away toward the rain-streaked windows.

“I get that.”

Something about him suddenly feels unbearably lonely.

You wonder when he last slept in a real bed. When someone last asked if he was okay and meant it. Whether he even remembers what rested happiness feels like.

The thought settles heavily in your chest.

“You know,” you say carefully, “you don’t have to ruin yourself to make good music.”

His smile this time is small and sad.

“That sounds fake.”

“Probably.”

“But nice.”

The train finally jerks forward around 6:40 a.m.

A quiet ripple of relief moves through the passengers. Yoongi exhales slowly beside you.

“We survived.”

“Barely.”

“You gonna skip work?”

You laugh incredulously. “In my dreams.”

“You should.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

Easy for him to say.

But something dangerous blooms briefly in your mind anyway: calling in sick, going home, sleeping for twelve hours, ignoring every expectation waiting for you above ground-

The fantasy hurts.

When the train finally reaches your station, neither of you move immediately.

The doors slide open. Cold rain-scented air rushes inside. You stand reluctantly.

“This is me.”

Yoongi nods once.

“Right.”

For some reason disappointment twists unexpectedly in your stomach.

You barely know him, yet the thought of walking back into real life feels worse now somehow.

“Thanks,” you say softly.

“For what?”

“Last night.”

He looks at you for a long moment.

Then quietly:

“Get some sleep.”

The doors begin chiming.

You step backward onto the platform. Yoongi remains seated inside the train, hood up, eyes exhausted. For one strange suspended second, you both simply look at each other.

Then the doors close.

And the train disappears into the tunnel.

—

You think that should’ve been the end of it.

Subway strangers are temporary things.

Brief intersections.

But three nights later, there he is again.

Same train.

Same car.

Asleep.

You stop short when you see him.

This time, though, there’s a takeaway coffee balanced precariously beside him.

You stare at it.

Then at him.

Then, before you can overthink it, you sit beside him and gently tap his shoulder.

His eyes open instantly again.

Sharp.

Alert.

Then softer when he recognizes you.

“You again.”

“You’re going to spill your coffee.”

He blinks down at the cup like he forgot it existed.

“Right.”

You try not to smile.

“You look terrible,” he tells you.

“Wow. Thanks.”

“You too.”

“That’s fair.”

Something warm flickers briefly in his expression.

You sit beside him while the train rattles forward through Seoul’s midnight glow. Neither of you mention the fact that this already feels familiar.

“You skip work?” he asks.

“No.”

“You should’ve.”

“I know.”

You glance sideways at him.

“You sleep?”

“Also no.”

“Hypocrite.”

“Yeah.” 

The corners of his mouth twitch. You notice then how beautiful he is when he’s relaxed enough to stop guarding himself.

Not polished beauty.

Not celebrity perfection.

Human beauty.

Tired eyes. Soft voice. The slight slump in his posture from carrying too much for too long.

You wonder suddenly what his music sounds like.

As if reading your mind, he asks, “You listen to rap?”

“Sometimes.”

“Damn. Brutal answer.”

You laugh.

“What about you? Do you listen to corporate presentations recreationally?”

“Only the really sexy ones.”

He snorts quietly.

Victory.

The train rocks gently beneath you. Outside, rain still falls.

Lighter tonight.

The city glows silver beyond the windows.

“Why do you always sleep on the train?” you ask eventually.

Yoongi stays quiet for a moment.

Then: “It’s the only place nobody needs anything from me.”

The honesty of that answer lands heavily between you.

You understand immediately.

On the subway, nobody cares who you are. Nobody expects productivity. Nobody asks for perfection.

You just exist.

“I think,” you admit softly, “this is the calmest part of my day too.”

He looks at you then.

Really looks at you.

And for the first time in months, you feel understood without having to explain yourself into exhaustion first. The realization is terrifying, yet comforting. 

The weeks after that become dangerous in quiet ways.

You start looking for him every night. Sometimes he’s already asleep when you board. Sometimes he’s awake, headphones on, staring blankly out the window. Sometimes he saves you a seat without acknowledging it directly.

You never exchange numbers. Never make official plans. But slowly, inevitably, the train becomes yours together. 

You learn things accidentally.

He likes mint gum but never finishes the packs. He works best after midnight. He hates bright studio lights. He writes lyrics in his phone notes when he can’t sleep.

He learns things too.

You stop drinking coffee after 10 p.m. because it worsens your anxiety. You secretly wanted to study art before choosing business. You cry when overly stressed but only in private.

One night he falls asleep with his head against your shoulder. Neither of you comments on it. Another night you bring him convenience store food because he admits he forgot dinner again.

“You’re starting to mother me,” he mutters around a mouthful of triangle kimbap.

“You’d die without supervision.”

“Probably.”

He sounds completely serious.

The thought unsettles you more than it should.

Eventually, one rainy Thursday night, you ask to hear his music.

Yoongi goes strangely quiet.

“You don’t have to,” you add quickly.

“It’s not that.”

“Then what?”

He stares at his hands.

“I think if you hear it, you’ll know too much about me.”

Your chest tightens painfully.

Because maybe that’s already true. Still, after a long silence, he hands you one side of his headphones.

The song that fills your ears is raw.

Not polished.

Not commercial.

It sounds like insomnia feels.

Lonely piano layered beneath sharp percussion and lyrics spoken so quietly they almost disappear into the instrumental. You look at him slowly when it ends.

“It’s beautiful.”

Yoongi immediately looks away like praise physically hurts him.

“No one’s heard that one.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s honest.”

The confession settles between you like something fragile.

You want desperately to ask what happened to him. Who taught him exhaustion like this. Why he looks so unbearably sad whenever the train reaches his stop.

But some wounds reveal themselves slowly.

So instead you lean back beside him while rain traces silver patterns across the windows.

And for the first time in a long time, neither of you feels completely alone.

—

It happens in November.

You finally break.

Not dramatically.

No screaming breakdown or public collapse.

Just one Tuesday afternoon sitting in a conference room while your supervisor criticizes your presentation for the third consecutive hour.

Something inside you simply… empties.

You stare at the slideshow projected against the wall and realize with terrifying clarity:

If you keep living like this, you will disappear.

Not physically. Worse. You’ll become numb enough that nothing matters anymore. That night, you board the train shaking with exhaustion.

Yoongi notices immediately.

“What happened?”

You sit heavily beside him.

“I quit.”

His eyebrows lift.

“What?”

“I quit.”

The words feel unreal even now.

Your chest tightens.

“I walked out.”

Silence.

Then: “How do you feel?”

You open your mouth automatically to say you're scared.

Instead, unexpectedly:

“Relieved.”

Yoongi studies you carefully.

Then, slowly, he smiles. Not the tiny exhausted half-smiles you’ve gotten used to. A real one.

Soft. Proud. Beautiful enough to steal the air from your lungs.

“Good,” he says quietly.

Your throat suddenly aches.

“I don’t know what I’m doing now.”

“Nobody does.”

“You seem weirdly calm about this.”

He looks down at his hands.

“Because I think I’m about to do the same thing.”

You blink at him.

“The producing?”

“I haven’t made something I love in a long time.”

His voice turns quieter.

“I think I forgot who I was before all this.”

The admission cracks something open between you. The train hums softly beneath your feet while Seoul rushes past outside in blurred lights.

You look at him carefully.

This man you met by accident. This exhausted stranger who slowly became the safest part of your days.

“You know,” you murmur, “I used to think the train was depressing.”

Yoongi huffs softly. “It is.”

“No, I mean…” You smile faintly. “I think it was just lonely before.”

Something unreadable flickers across his face.

Then the train slows toward your station. Your stop.

You stand reluctantly.

But this time, before the doors open, Yoongi speaks.

“Wait.”

You turn back.

He looks strangely uncertain suddenly.

Vulnerable.

“Do you…” He exhales slowly. “Do you want to get coffee sometime when we’re both less miserable?”

Your heart stutters.

“You mean intentionally?”

“That bad of an offer?”

You laugh softly.

“No.”

The doors slide open.

Rain-scented air spills inside again, and suddenly you realize something terrifying:

You don’t want to leave him behind this time.

Not on the train. Not in passing. Not as another temporary almost-connection swallowed by routine.

So instead of stepping out immediately, you hold his gaze and say quietly:

“I think maybe the man I kept seeing asleep on the subway was exactly what I needed.”

Yoongi stares at you as something soft and astonished breaks across his exhausted face.

Outside, Seoul keeps moving.

Rain falls. Trains run. People hurry endlessly toward lives that wear them down.

But inside the dim subway car, beside the man who understands your exhaustion better than anyone ever has-

you finally feel awake.

𝐒𝐄𝐄, 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐓. Truth be told, the only person to blame is yourself. Ignoring your brothers's pleas to not leave the safe house while they were gone, scavanging for supplies.

But, I mean, is it really your fault? They've kept you locked up in this cabin since the day of the outbreak, practicly two years ago.

The idea of flesh-eating-once-human-creatures roaming doesn't sound good, sure, but you couldn't help the curiosity that came over you everytime you though of the outside world and what lurked beyond the gates of the proprety you and your brothers took for yourselfs when this shitshow first went down.

So, finally tired of being locked up like some animal, you decided to leave and go explore, once all eight of them were out of the cabin to go and fecth supplies from the small town down the mountain and do their usual rounds.

You knew they would be out for the rest of the day, so thats about the time you gave yourself to leave and come back. You packed a small backpack, just a water bottle and a few protein bars, along with a compass you liked to pretend you knew how to read and a small revolver you found. "Only for emergencies." You can remember HongJoong's stern voice as he stored the small gun in the cupboard.

And so, you left. Wondering through the woods and down the mountain, lost in the rush of the outside world.

However, so entranced with the scenery, you didn't notice it was getting late. By the time you realised, it was already past dawn.

With no flashlight, you panicked, lost your away, didn't even know which way was North or South anymore, and so, you got lost. Cold, scared, and hungry. Not to mencion desperate. Suddently, you weren't 21 anymore, but a 12 year old girl who just wanted her big brothers.

You didn't even notice you had fully decended down the mountain, until you started to take notice of the concrete underneath your feet, rubbing at the solea of your ran-down sneakers.

Fuck, from the stories your brothers tell you, this place is crowded with infected. After carefully looking around, dodging a few undead, and having a small crying break, you found what used to be some sort of convenience store.

You looked through the glass, the racks were empty, of course, and the shop itself looked empty. A decent enough place to spend the night, you thought.

Making your way in, still being carefull and aware of what surrounded you, you took time to look around. Racks were empty, some shelves were on the floor, said floor was filthy, mud, dried blood and most likely oyher bodily fluids, but beggers can't be choosers.

You lock eyes with the door behind the counter, the sign- now barely holding onto the nail on said door-, read "EMPLOYEES ONLY."

Jumping over a few broken shelves and some shatered glass om the floor, you made your way to the door behind the counter, opening it.

The rotting stench of decay didn't even have enough time to set into your nostrils, before a half dead creature jumped on you, pushing you down on the floor as you attempted to push it away with your arms.

Its face was decomposing, had a whole in its cheek, were the inside of its mouth could be seen. It probably used to be a woman, judging by the small chunks of long black hair it still had, along with the thorn and stained employee uniform, what used to be a pale blue and pink stripes.

On its chest, it had a bobby pin, of what used to be a employee tag.

"HI! HERE IF YOU NEED ME!

JO YOUNG-SEO."

Well, I need you not to kill me, Young-Seo, do you have that in the back? The creature snarled over you, trying its absolute best to garentee you as it's next meal.

For a second, you give up.

But then, you start missing your brothers.

You miss HongJoong and his guittar that he always insisted on playing in the livingroom. You thought about the times he tried to teach you how to use it, only for you to break a nail.

You missed Seonghwa and his ability to always know what to say, and when to say it. And his poor attempts at cutting your hair, that resulted in more than one crying fit when you were younger.

You missed Yunho and all the times he dressed you both up as matching Spider-Girl and Spider-Man for Halloween, taking you trick-or-treating out in the neighborhood.

You missed Yeosang and the times he would tackle you on the couch and refuse to move until you complaines about not being able to the breathe, only for him to proceed to roll the two of you off the couch.

You missed Mingi and the times he would burst into your bedroom with his laptop just to watch anime with you, no matter what you were doing, you had to find time for him.

You missed San and all his failed cooking attempts, even the time where he accidentally managed to burn scrambled eggs, insisting on how it was far too complicated for him.

You missed Wooyoung and the times he would call you all names under the sun after losing a round of UNO to you, only to come knocking at your bedroom door, hours later, looking like a kicked puppy and apologising.

You missed Jongho and his hugs. The times he let you cry on his shoulder weren't enough to count. Gosh, what wouldn't you give for a chance to hug him now.

But no. You're gonna die here. A slow and painfull death, caused solely by your stupidity and will to rebel.

Atleast, that what you thought, until the undead's body is riped off you.

You look up through blurry eyes, only able to catch a glimpse of a man with dark hair, a sharp jawline and big arms, shown by his black tank top, shooting the body with what appears to be a hunting weapon.

Next thing you know, the face of another man- man? Probably. His hair is longer, a faded blond, and his face is pretty, but he's kneeling over you, yelling something you can't understand.

And then you pass out.

⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅༺♡༻⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅⑅

You stirr awake, felling like you just had what had to be the most uncomfortable sleep of your life. . Your limbs feel heavy and sore, not to mencion the raging headache and the awesome felling of bruises all over your back-..But wait- Aren't you supposed to be dead?

You sit up abruptly, very quickly reminding yourself why you shouldn't do so, when pain shoots through your whole body.

Looking around, you can see...Concrete walls? If this is the after life, holy fuck are you about to spent the whole of eternity bored.

However, upon closer inspection, this place doesn't look like heaven. You're laying down on a poor excuse of a matress, since your arm is as thick as it.

You're locked behind what can only be described as a literal cell. The walls are made of concrete, save for a small window about 7 feet up, with bars stopping anyone coming in or out.

Same thing goes for the area infront of you, thick metal bars lock you in this space. What catches your attencion, however, is the fully functional...Laundry room? So, you're locked in a cellroom that doubles as a laundry room. Quite an odd place for the after life.

Before you can dwell on your thoughts for too long, you hear the metalic sound of a key turning in a lock. A door at the top of the stairs opens, and in comes a man, his hair is a light brown, and he's wearing a fluffly sweater and some jeans. He looks so..Normal. No dirt, no blood and no visible scars.

He hums a tune sweetly, as he walks down the stairs, with a tray of food.

His eyes land on you and he takes a second to process you're awake, only to let out a loud shriek when he makes eye contact with you, almost dropping the tray.

The man takes a few deep breathes, calming himself down, and placing the tray on a table in the middle of the laundry room, before placing his hands to his chest, breathing heavily.

"Gosh...You scared the crap out of me." He says, before chuckling to himself and walking over to you, sitting down infront of where you were sat behind the metal bars, on the floor, and passing a rice bowl and another bowl of meat through the space between bars, passing you a pair or chopsticks aswell.

You eye the food, suspiciosly. Sure, you hadn't been outside in about two years, but you know of the situacion and are well aware of how human nature works. It's kind of hard to believe someone would just hand out free food that didn't look like it came straight from a can.

Looking back up at him, you notice his brown, wide eyes looking at you, expectantly. He has a soft smile on his face, and his full, rosy cheeks.

"I know it might not look the best, but Mingyu is out hunting with some others, so I did try my best, sorry if it's not very good...Cooking isn't exactly my strong suit."

He says, sheepishly rubbing his neck. Almost embarassed.

You look back down, hesitantly grabbing the chopsticks and the rice bowl, before bringing some to your mouth. It's amazing. Well, it's probably just ordinary rice, but for someone who is as hungry as you are, its the best bowl of rice you've ever had.

"It's good, don't worry." You speak between mouthfulls.

A smile blooms on the man's face, his eyes lighting up.

"Really? Oh, thank gosh. I'm Seungkwan, by the way. What's your name?"

You look at him, deliberating lying for a second, before opting for telling him the truth. "Y/N. Thanks for the food, Seungkwan." You speak quickly, going right back to eating.

He smiles, before speaking once more, his voice sweet.

"Oh, don't worry. It's no biggie."

Seungkwan pauses for a second, eyes trailing over your body, noticing the wounds on your arms. "How are you feeling? You were out for almost two days." He asks, tilting his head like a curious cat.

What.

Two days? You slept for two days? Well, fuck.

"I-...I was out for that long..?"

You say, softly, as if speaking louder would make the situacion more real.

He looks at you, a sorry look in his eyes. "Yeah..You were in pretty rough shape when Jeonghan and Seungcheol found you. That infected really got you. We honestly thought you wouldnt make it past the night, atleast not without turning. Ence the cell..."

Seungkwan speaks, his voice somewhat solemn, like he feels sorry for you, which he most likely does.

Well, you can't deny the logic behind what he said, it makes sense. They were scared you were infected. You can't even judge them for it, had the roles been reversed, you're not sure you wouldn't have shot a bullet through their heads, just to be safe.

"I see. Makes sense. I feel fine, though. A little sore and my head hurts like a bitch, but, alive."

You remark, taking a bite of the meat in the bowl he handed you earlier. It tastes warm and, quite frankly, amazing. But then again, you're sure that, given how hungry you are, even fried cockroaches would have been a snack.

The brown haired man hums, understanding. Suddently, it's like a light bulb goes off in his head, like he had remembered something.

"Oh, right! I have to go tell the others you're awake. Stay here- Not like you could go anywhere." He speaks, laughing at himself before standing up, flying up the stairs.

For a second, you're left alone with your thoughts.

Two days. Two days since you left. You wonder if your brothers noticed-of course they did-, you wonder if they left to go look for you, if they went back home, if they think you're dead.

If they got hurt, if one of them di-

The sound of the door at the top of the stairs opening stops your spilaring.

Asides from the one you talked to earlier, five men come down. Much like Seungkwan, you take notice on how they all look clean. Fresh clothes, washed hair, decently clean shoes, a stark contrast to your dirty and thorn sweatshirt you stole from Yeosang, dirty pants, thorn at the bottom, and busted sneakers. Not to mencion you're probably covered in dirt.

They come down, some whispering stuff to others, others looking at you in amazement. Looks like they really didn't expect you to not be infected.

One of them, medium height, washed up blond bleached hair and a lean stature sits down on the floor infront of you, where Seungkwan was.

He has a soft beige sweat shirt on, along with light blue jeans and white sneakers. He's quite beautiful, and upon closer inspection, you recognize him as one of the men who found you, the one who was kneeling over you when you passed out.

His eyes trail over you, as if analyzing your face and body. "Well, damn. Surprised you lived. You looked like ass when me and Cheol found you." His tone is amuzed, bordering on sarcastic.

"Gee, thanks." You say, scoffing.

He laughs, adjusting his position before speaking, a ghost of a smirk on his face. "I'm Jeonghan. Seungkwan told you're name was Y/N? Fitting. And how are you feeling, hm? Any pain?"

You stop for a second, analysing him. "My head hurts and so does my back. The cuts on my arms burn a bit, but nothing special." You mumble, looking down at your limbs.

Jeonghan hums in understanding, before looking behind him and saying "Shua, do you mind?"

He speaks to a man standing behind him. He's decently tall, with light brown hair and soft features, wearing a soft cashmere shirt, and light brown jeans. You can't help but think he looks like a deer.

Deer-man or Shua, as Jeonghan called him, walks over the door, pulling out a set of keys from his pocket, unlocking the cell.

He pulls the door, that opend with a loud creek.

Jeonghan signals for you to come out of the cell. At that, you stand up. Your knees buckle slightly at the soreness in your legs. Still, you push through the pain in favour of walking out of the concrete walled room.

Seungkwan rushes over to you, offering his arm to help you stand, which you take, walking small steps until you're fully out of the cell.

Jeonghan stands up, stretching his arms over his head and dusting off his pants. "Alright, introductions. You already know Seungkwan, I already told you I'm Jeonghan. The one who opened the cell is Joshua,"

He signals towards the deer looking man, who smiles kindly and bows his head politly, the cue for Jeonghan to continue. "This is Jihoon," He says, nodding towards a short man. His black, shoulder lenght hair is half up in a small bun. He's wearing baggy grey pants and a light pink sweatshirt. Although he doesn't smile in your direction, he does nod in recognicion.

Jeonghan continues, walking over to another one. He is tall and lean, eyes dark, matching with his dark hair, wearing a white shirt and black pants. "This is Minghao," Jeonghan says, patting his back.

Minghao, in turn, nods in your direction, before slapping Jeonghan's hand away, who laughs in return, walking over to his next victim. He choses a man sitting on top of the laundry room table. His smile is as bright as his bleached hair.

Jeonghan places a hand on his shoulder, speaking "And this is Seokmin."

Seokmin smiles at you, muttering a shy "Hi", before turning his head away in embarassement.

Jeonghan then walks to the center of the room, claping his hands one time and sighing. "Alright, thats it for introductions. Seven of us are missing, they went out hunting this morning and should be back later this afternoon, they'll be pleased to know you're awake."

He says, smiling softly. "Now, Seungkwan, mind doing the honours of showing our guest around?"

Seungkwan nods exitedly besides you, more than happy to show you around the propriety. "Of course!"

Jeonghan nods in acknowlodgement, before turning to rest in the room "The rest of you, back to work." Agreements can be heard from everywhere around the room and they all climb up the stairs, past the door.

Just as Seungkwan was about to lead you up, Seokmin rushes to you two. "Hey, I was wondering if I could join...?" He asks, somewhat embarassed.

Seungkwan smiles at him, grabbing his arm. "Of course! Let's go, I want her to catch the sunset."

The blond nods, before the three of you climb up the stairs. As he open the door, your jaw immidiatly goes slack.

In front of you, lays a huge open field, stretching so far reaching the end seems impossible. Multiple fruit trees can be seen in the distance, along with part of the field covered in solar pannels and in what you can only assume to be huge water tanks.

There are multiple farm houses spread around, some small, other bigger, along with barns, although you can safely assume the house they use for living purposes is the big one in the far left. Its quite gorgeous, with a nice porch, big windows and white and light blue paint details.

These guys were living the life out here.

"I-..Damn." You say, your brain still trying to compreend the fact there were people actually living like this.

Seungkwan grins at your bewilderment, clearly enjoying your reaction to the sight in front of you. "Impressive, right?" he says, puffing out chest slightly with some sense of pride.

He takes your hand and starts leading you across the field, Seokmin trailing besides you two, heading towards the farmhouse you noticed earlier.

"We call this place Heaven Hills," he explains as you walk, Seokmin speaking after him, "We have been working on it since this whole thing started. Although, we have to admit, most of the propriety already existed. Belonged to some eldery couple who ran away to the city during the outbreak. We just have to renovate a few things and fortified others."

Then, Seungkwan starts pointing things out.

"Over there we have the fruit trees, we have apples, oranges, pears, peaches and lemons. Besides that we have the gardens, essensially just vegetables and flowers Minghao insists on growing. If you notice, he planted quite a few around the proprety. On the left we have the stable, each of us has a horse! Pretty cool right?" He says, catching his breath after vomiting all this information out.

He dosent even let you answer, before turning the three of you around, this times, its Seokmin who starts pointing things out.

"Over there we have the cows and chickens, a but furter down we have some goats and pigs, then the armory, and a few barns. We're currently in the process of building another one, since we ran out space recently. Then, we have our main house." He points to the white and blue house you saw earlier, seems like your assumptions were correct. He then continues, a bright smile on his face. "Best part? The whole proprety is surrounded by tall wodden walls. There are only two gates in, and those are guarded by us at all times."

You take a solid second to process the information both men just poured on you. In a way, you find it hard to believe this place is real. It's almost like everywere in the world might be broken, dark and lonely, yet, here, it's as if there are no worries. No worry about being bitten, no worry about where to sleep that night, no worries about if you'll have a next meal. Nothing.

You manage to find it in yourself to speak, "This place is amazing. I truly thought places like these only apeared in movies and dreams."

Both chuckle at your words, before Seungkwan speaks, "Yeah, it's overwhelming and righfully so. But I'm sure you'll adapt."

Those words make you stop and think for a second. Adapt? Do you want to adapt? When your brothers are most likely searching heaven and hell for you? No one has asked you what you were doing at that convinience store, and you make the decision to not speak on it until someone does.

You force a smile, "Yeah...I'm sure I will."

Seokmin opens his mouth to say something, before the sound of wood creaking loudly can be open. Three heads snap towards it, only to land eyes on the tall wodden gates being opened by Jihoon and Joshua. Seven men, galloping in horses stride in, going straight for the stables Seokmin and Seungkwan pointes out earlier.

Seungkwan gasps, exitedly. "Oh, the others are back! Let's go, I'm sure they'll wan't to meet you!"

You don't even have a say, before two strong pairs of arms are pulling you towards the stables. Its not far, but a decent 3 minute walk. By the times you reach it, multiple voices can be heard from inside.

The three of you walk in, and you land eyes on seven unknown men, each puting their horses away wuth great care. Jeonghan and Minghao are already there, lost in conversation with two people you have never seen before.

Seokmin's loud voice can be heard next to you, "You're all back already? How was it today?" He asks, a bright smile on his face.

At that, all heads turn towards you, what started as fondness towards Seokmin's voice, soon turned into surprise as they see you awake.

For a solid minute, silence falls over the stable, before one of the unknow men walks a few steps towards you three. He is tall, black hair, dark eyes and sharp features not to mencion the brown leather jacket he's wearing, paired with a black tanktop underneath does little to hide his large build. His pants are a dark blue, worn with a brown belt and what appears to be saddle boots.

Hadn't you know any better, you would have assumed he was a cowboy.

Taking a better look at him, you recognize him as the man who shot the infected that day at the grocery store. Sungcheol? Seungcheol? Whatever it is Jeonghan called him eariler.

He takes a good look at you, before smirking.

"Didn't expect to see you'd make it alive. Much less human. How are ya' felling?"

You take a second to process his words, whether that is due to the fact your whole body hurts, or because every single person (horses included) in that stable has their eyes on you, you don't really know.

"I'm fine," You say, finally looking him in the eyes. "Just a little sore and with a few bruises. I'll live."

He smiles at that, before laughing loudly. However, its another man who speaks. He's tall aswell, taller than the rest. His body is buff, and his outfit is quite similar to Seungcheol's, except his hair is a dark brown, eyes and features softer and he's actually wearing a cowboy hat.

"Sure ya' will. No one dies because of a few scratches and a bruised back. No one worth keeping alive, atleast. I'm Mingyu, by the way." He says, nodding in your direction.

You nod back at him. Looking at all these people, you're trully starting to think if they're allergic to being ugly.

Seungcheol takes the lead once more, clapping once loudly with his hands, before speaking. "Alright, show's over people. Let's all go back to the house and get dinner started, 'cause I'm starving."

At that, multiple agreements are heard from the stable, as they all trail out of it. Joshua, however, stops next to you, Seokmin and Seungkwan. His face is kind, and he's smiling as he speaks, voice soft. "We have a shower at house, they'll take you there. Feel free to use it as you please, we'll find you some clothes to change into. Speaking of which, we sort of ran out of rooms there," He says, scratching his neck, before speaking once more. "We were thinking you could room with Seungkwan and Chan? You already know Seungkwan, and Chan's a sweetheart. If you're not comfortable with that, two of us can always sleep on the couch and you can get a room to yourself, no big deal."

You quickly nod no, not wanting to be more of a burden to these people. "No, don't worry. I'm sure I'll get along with them just fine, no need to move anyone because of me."

Joshua looks at you, as if watching out for any signs you might be lying. Upon finding none, he sighs before speaking. "Alright, if you're sure. Min and Kwan will take you back to the house and show you where the bathroom is. See you at dinner!" He says, before walking out.

Seungkwan and Seokmin yell their goodbyes, before turning on their heels, leading you to the house. Seungkwan is the one who speaks next. "I'll lend you my stuff, my shower gel smells like peaches, I'm sure you'll like it! As for clothes...I'll see if Jihoon has something he can spare, since he's the one of us most similar to your size."

Seokmin nods, humming in agreement.

You nod aswell. This is sounding almost too good to be true, but, then again, who are you to complain?

After a short walk, the three of you reach the house. The sun is practicly set, leaving the proprety with a soft golden glow. As you walk in, Seokmin and Seungkwan finally let go of your arms. Seungkwan in favour of taking off his dirty sneakers, and Seokmin in favour of running off to Jeonghan and Minghao, who were at the stove cooking something, only to get yelled at by the latter for not taking his dirty shoes off.

Seungkwan turns to you, smiling. "C'mon, I'll show you where the bathroom is. We just have to stop by Jihoon's room so that he can lend you some clothes to change into."

You nod, following him up the wodden stairs, before a thought occurs to you. "It must be a big house to fit all thirteen of you inside..." You mutter to yourself.

Seungkwan laughs, but agrees as you two reach the top of the stairs and he takes a curve to the left of the hall. "Yup. Sure is. Each of us has atleast one roomate, save for a few who have two." He reaches the last door, knocking softly. "Hoonie? It's Seungkwan. I was wondering if you could lend some clothes for Y/N to change into?"

Silence falls for a second, before the door opens, revealing the mar with long dark hair in a half bun behind it. He looks at the two of you for a second, before shrugging. "Sure. Gimme a second to try and find something."

He walks further into the room, opening a closet and scanning through it for a few second, before pulling out black sweatpants and red sweatshirt. He walks over to the door, handing it to you. "The sweatshirt is Soonyoung's so it might be too big, sorry in advance about that. I would have one to lend if all my shirts weren't in the laudry room because someone," he says, glaring at Seungkwan, "keeps postponing laundry duties."

Seungkwan groans, "I'll do it tomorrow, stop attacking me about it! C'mon, let's go." He says, marching off down the hall. Jihoon rolls his eyes, chuckling in amusement, before turning over to you, smirking. "Go shower. Ya' stink." He says, teasing.

You're shocked for a second, before a snort escapes you. "Thanks for the kind words. And thanks for the clothes too."

He smiles, about to close the door. "Yeah, yeah, just go wash all that grime off." He says, shutting the door behind you.

You turn down the hall, following where Seungkwan ran off to a few seconds back. Eventually, you reach a bathroom. The door is open and you can see Seungkwan crouching down the bathroom sink, before pulling out a orange body wash, turning in your direction and handing it to you. "There. I keep it hidden so that none of those losers decides to use it. Wouldn't be a first. You can use it and abuse it though, I don't mind."

He says, smiling almost proudly of his good deed. He walks past you, replacing you by the bathroom door. "I left you clean towels on the rack and you can use any shampoo you'd like. Although I recomend using mine or Jeonghan's. The others use that Head&Shoulders thing, its a sad sight. Its the one with the purple packaging. Leave your dirty clothes in the basket by the tub. When you're done, join us down stairs for dinner!"

You nod slowly, processing the information, before turning to him, returing his smile with a small one of your own. "Okay..I think I got it. Thanks."

He smiles once more, before gripping the handle and shutting the door behind him.

You wait for a second, before laying down the clothes Jihoon handed you earlier on the toilet lid. Turing to the tub, you turn on the shower. To your surprise, the water actually warms up. Like, showering in actual warm water? A true shocker. You think for a second, your last warm shower was most likely before the outbreak, almost two years ago. Although you like to think you've grown unbothered to the cold water, you have to admit a hot shower is a nice change.

You peel off your filthy clothes, dried blood, sweat and dirty are completly coating them, placing them on the basket Seungkwan mencioned, you take a moment to look at your bare body in the mirror. You look battered. Bruises on your torso and forearms, from when the infected was hitting you, and similar wounds on your back, from when ir tackled you. Your upper arms and shoulders are littered with scratches from the creature, and it doesn't take a genious to realise it will sting like a bitch under the water.

Your hair is filthy, oily and dirty with things you'd rather not know how to name, not to mencion the dirt all over your face. If you didn't know any better, you would think you were some monster.

Turning to the tub, you climb onto it, letting the warm water wash over your sore muscles. The relief is instant, but is quickly replaced by the soft burning of the scratches on your shoulders and arms.

You hiss softly at the pain, although it's quick to go away, the relief if the warm water on your body quick to overshadow it.

You look down at your feet, the water coming down from your body is a dark brow. Disgusting. You suspect it will be worse when you actually get started on your hair. Grabbing the body wash Seungkwan let you borrow, you lather it on your hands, washing your body throughly, face included, paying special attencion to the areas of your body that have scratches.

After washing it out, you grab the shampoo you were told to use, squeezing some on your hand and lathering it on your hair. It feels heavenly on your scalp, and you take a solid moment to massage it in.

When all is said and done, you step out of the bathtub, wrapping your self in one of the towels Seungkwan kindly set out for you. After quickly drying your body, you put on the fresh set of clothes Jihoon let you borrow. The sweatpants, although large, fit decently well. The sweatshirt on the other hand is bigger than you inicially expected, eveloping you. It smells pleasently well. Like men's perfume, but not in an overpowering way. You place the towel in the basket and walk out of the bathroom.

Stepping out of the warm, steamy bathroom to the slightly colder hallway is a change. You walk to the stairs, from the top where you stand, you can hear the sound of multiple people downstairs. They sound happy, like a family, in a way. You can't help but to let your thoughts drift to your brothers. Even though the circunstances were poor, they always made sure every meal and moment spent together was spent laughing and enjoying eachother's presence.

You don't even realise you're frozen at the top of the stairs when a large, warm hand touched your shoulder softly. You jump, startled, only to come to face with one of the men you saw earlier at the stable. He is tall, his hair is dark and sopping wet, his eyes share the same colour, as they stare into yours.

He's wearing a black t-shirt and grey sweatpants, with a towel around his neck. Probably just finished showering on another bathroom.

His voice is deep, but laced with worry and kindness as he asks, "You okay?"

You regain your composure, before shrugging it off with a forced smile, not wishing to worry the stanger. "Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, just got lost in my head."

He hums in understanding, before signaling for you to go down the stairs, he follows, right besides you. "I see. Don't worry, happens to the best of us. I'm Wonwoo. I already know you're Y/N, right?"

"Yeah, thats me. Nice to meet you, Wonwoo." You speak, politly.

As you reach the end of the stairs, Wonwoo wanders off to the kitchen, as you come face-to-face with yet, another nameless stranger. He makes a funny expression, seemingly surprised coming face to face with you. He's tall aswell, with light brown curly hair, sharp, yet, soft features and dark eyes. He notices you're barefoot, before opening his mouth like a fish and saying, "Stay there", wandering off, and returning a few seconds later with a pair of white slippers. "There, the floor is cold. I hope they fit."

He places the slippers on the floor as you slip them onto your feet. Their warm, soft and comfortable. You smile up at him, "Thank you..." You trail off, remembering you still don't have his name.

His mouth opens like a fish once more before he breaks out into a pretty smile. "Jun. That's my name."

You smile at him, nodding in understanding. "I see. Thank you then, Jun."

He nods at your words, before making his way to the kitchen, where the rest of the people were. You follow after him, not knowing what else to do. Conversation seems to halt as you make your way to the kitchen, eyes immidiatly stopping on you. It's quiet for a second, before they go back to their conversation, but its Joshua who aproaches you with that soft smile you still hadn't seen him without.

"Hey! You sure do look diferent clean." He chuckles, before continuing. "Sit down, we were just waiting on you for dinner. We saved you a spot between Seokmin and Seungkwan, since you seem to be comfortable around them."

He points at a chair, between a smiling Seungkwan and a Seokmin waving at you like an exited child. You smile at them and at Joshua, before thanking the latter and taking a seat next between the two men.

Seungkwan immidiatly starts talking. "I hope you enjoyed your shower! I'm sure you feel better with all that dirt off you." He says, smiling softly.

You nod, before answering kindly "I do, thank you, really. It was the first hot shower I took in a while."

Seokmin speaks next, his voice a bit embarassed. "You look..Diferent clean. Not a bad diferent- You look pretty!-Not that you weren't pretty before-" He stutters embarassed, when you interrupt him.

"It's fine, I understood what you meant. Thank you." I say, smiling at him.

The rest of the men sit down on the table, that, speaking of which, was full with food. Vegetables, meat, rice. Damn, these people had it good.

Seungcheol sits down directly infront of you, now out of his cowboy attire, dressed in a large t-shirt and some sweatpants (a pattern you were starting to notice around here). Although from all the previous interaction you had with him, you could tell he was a nice person, he still had an intimidating aura surrounding him. He looks at you, before looking away, smirking.

Everyone starts serving themselfs, Seungkwan taking your plate and putting a shit-ton of food on it, claiming that "You need to eat to recover."

For a second, its silent as everyone eats their food, aurely tired from the day they had. And then, a man whose name you still didn't know speaks from the edge of the table, besides Jihoon. His hair is a bleached blond, damp from a shower he probably just took, although his roots are starting to show. His eyes are sharp, fox like, yet, remind you of boba. He's wearing a white t-shirt and pants you can't make out form over the table. His mouth if full of rice as he spills out his words. "So...What's your story?" That earns him a slap in the arm from Jihoon, who whisper-shouts his name, Soonyoung, and argues at him for being insensitive, and another slap to the back of the neck from Minghao, who was sitting besides him aswell, and an actual yell from the latter for speaking with his mouth full of food.

It's quiet for a second, before you clear your throath, speaking softly. "It's fine. It's a valid question. Summing it up, I was about to die when your friends found me, and it was solely my fault. Result of my stupid decisions."

A quiet falls over the table, before Jun asks, "What happened..? If you don't mind me asking."

You nod, signaling that it's not a problem before speaking. "When this whole thing happened, I was on vacation with my brothers, in a lodge up in the mountains. Then, people started eating other people and they stopped allowing me to go outside. Righfully so, they only wanted to keep me safe. They were the only ones that went out, going on supply runs, hunting and patrolling around."

You stop for a second, taking a sip of water before continuing. They all seemed quite invested in your story. "This will sound stupid, because I had everything. Water, food, a safe place to live, my brothers, the whole works. But, I got tired of not being let out, so, when they left for their usual patrol, I dipped. I had planned to only be out for a few hours, but then it got dark, I panicked and got lost. Somehow, I found my way down the mountain to the town, and wandered in that convenience store. Got attacked, you found me, and now I'm here."

As you finish explaining your story, silence grows around you. It's as if their processing your story.

It's Seungcheol who speaks next, slowly setting down is cutlery, speaking slowly. "You're right. It was a stupid fucking decision, I won't lie to ya'."

He says, a ghost of a smirk on his face, before continuing. "But, unless you're planning on getting eaten for lunch by infected, you're not leaving this place. There's a horde heading our way. Between it passing and not passing, judging by the speed those things walk at when unprovoqued, you're looking at about two weeks to three weeks in here. That's the best case scenario."

You freeze at that. "Two to three weeks..? But I have to go back to my-" He interrupts you, serious now.

"Yeah, I get that, sweetheart. But I'm sure those brothers of yours would much rather you stay here, safe for a while, than risking it out on your own."

You think about it. He has a point, a strong one at that, so much so that, even as stubborn as you are, you can't help but agree with his words.

"And you guys don't mind if I stay here during that time?" You ask carefully, looking around the table. Instantly, negative nods and disagrement words fly out of their mouths.

"What?"

"Of course not!"

"We'd love to have you here!"

At that, Seungcheol smirks at you, raising an eyebrow, a wordless "See?"

From the other edge of the table another man speaks, the last one whose name you don't know. His hair is buzzed, but you can still tell it's dark. Either black or a dark brown. His features are sharp, but his eyes are soft. He's wearing a grey t-shirt as he speaks from besides Wonwoo. "You said brothers? How many do you have?" He asks, taking a sip of his water.

You swallow your food, before answering in the most casual voice you have. "Oh, eight."

At that, some choke on their food, other gape like fishes, and Vernon spits his water, coughing after.

"Eight?!?" Seokmin gasps from besides you.

You laugh at their reactions. "I'm the youngest, they're all boys and my parents really wanted a girl."