#obessed

You remember fumbling your words as she asked for a cappuccino. Her voice was like glass—smooth, clear, but brittle in a way that hinted she could shatter you without trying. You couldn’t stop staring. She caught you, of course, and for the first time, a small smile tugged at her lips. "You're cute when you’re nervous," she said. That was all it took.

Her name was Lynn.

After that night, she came back almost every day. Sometimes she’d bring a book, sometimes not. Sometimes she’d stay for hours, sometimes just minutes. But she always found a reason to talk to you. You’d try to act cool, trying not to show how much your heart raced when she leaned in close, her perfume—a faint mix of vanilla and smoke—filling your lungs. You didn’t know how or why someone like her would even look at you. You weren’t special. You weren’t rich or popular. You didn’t have sharp features or a silver tongue. You were just… you.

But she chose you. One night, out of nowhere, she asked if you wanted to go for a walk after work. You said yes, obviously, and that night became the first of many. You held hands under streetlamps, kissed beneath umbrellas, and whispered about dreams and fears like the world outside didn’t exist. When she finally said, “Be mine,” you nearly cried.

You fell hard. Harder than you ever expected to.

At first, it was magic. Being with Lynn made you feel like you were living someone else's life—someone luckier, someone worth something. She would laugh at your bad jokes, tug on your sleeves when she wanted your attention, fall asleep on your chest during lazy afternoons. You would have done anything for her. And in a way, you did.

But as the months passed, things began to change—quietly at first, like a shift in the wind before the storm arrives.

Lynn stopped holding your hand in public. She stopped replying to your texts right away. When you asked if she was okay, she’d roll her eyes and mutter, “Don’t be so clingy.” You tried not to take it personally. Maybe she was stressed. Maybe she just needed space. But the space kept growing—wider, colder, darker.

You started noticing things you didn’t want to believe.

She’d come home late, sometimes not at all. Her scent would be different—different perfumes, different colognes lingering faintly in the air. When you asked where she’d been, she’d scoff and say, “Out. Do you have a problem with that?” You didn’t want to fight. So you bit your tongue and nodded. You made excuses for her in your head, excuses your heart begged you to believe.

You tried harder. You cooked her favorite meals. Bought her gifts she never opened. Wrote her notes she never read. You even tried dressing differently, changing your hair—anything to reignite the spark. But every attempt was met with cold indifference or sharp disdain.

“Why do you always try so hard?” she said once, sneering. “It’s pathetic.”

You stopped talking about your day, afraid she'd belittle it. You stopped expressing how you felt, knowing she’d mock it. Your world had started to shrink, and Lynn stood at the center of it like a queen surrounded by ashes. You knew you were spiraling, but you were too far in. You loved her too much. Or maybe you feared being alone more than you feared being unloved.

The emotional neglect turned into something worse.

She started saying cruel things—casually, like it was a habit.

"You're so boring."

"Why do you breathe like that? It's annoying."

"You should be grateful someone like me even looks at someone like you."

You laughed them off at first, but those words stuck. They followed you into your dreams. They poisoned your self-worth. You began to believe them.

But the worst part wasn't what she said in private—it was what she said when other people were around.

Lynn loved company. Her friends, her coworkers, guys you didn’t know but who looked at her like she was a goddess. She’d invite them over, make you sit there like a trophy pet while she painted you as the fool.

“He still thinks I love him,” she’d say with a smirk, sipping wine, her legs draped over the armrest like a queen. “It’s kind of adorable. Like watching a puppy follow you around no matter how many times you kick it.”

They all laughed. They always laughed.

You did nothing. You couldn’t. What would you say? That she was lying? That she used to love you?

You kept your head down. Stayed silent. Hoping the night would end faster than the last.

You felt yourself shrinking. You couldn’t breathe when she entered the room. Every step, every word, every sigh was a landmine. You walked on eggshells, hoping you wouldn’t trigger something worse.

You wanted to leave. You wanted to scream. You wanted to die.

The thought came quietly one night—slipping into your mind like a whisper: Would anyone care if you disappeared?

You didn’t even flinch at the thought.

Then came that night. The night everything changed.

You were at a party—one of her usual high-class get-togethers where everyone dressed in black and talked like they were better than you. Lynn was seated across the room, laughing with her friends, surrounded by people who adored her.

You stood alone, drink untouched in your hand, watching her.

You weren’t even listening—until her voice rose above the others.

“Y/n still thinks he means something to me,” she said, giggling. “God, I could cheat in front of him and he’d probably apologize.”

Someone asked, “Why don’t you just break up with him?”

Lynn tilted her head, smiled, and said, “Because it’s fun.”

That was the moment you snapped.

Something inside you finally broke free. The pain, the humiliation, the years of trying—it all erupted in your chest like a storm. You couldn’t cry. You couldn’t even breathe. You just knew you couldn’t keep living like this.

When Lynn stood up and left the table, presumably to take a call or find some quiet, you followed her out without thinking. Your heart pounded in your chest like a war drum. Your throat burned. You rehearsed the words in your head: It’s over. I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.

You found her near the street, standing by a lamppost, typing something on her phone.

“Lynn,” you called out, your voice shaking.

She turned, annoyed. “What?”

“I want to break up,” you said. The words felt heavier than any you’d ever spoken.

She laughed. A cold, hollow thing. “Excuse me?”

“I’m done,” you said, this time more firmly. “I can’t take it anymore. You treat me like garbage. You don’t love me. And I—I don’t even know who I am when I’m with you. I just want to be free.”

Her eyes darkened. “You think I care?”

Then she took a step toward you.

But that was when it happened.

A flash of headlights. A roar of an engine. A speeding truck.

You saw it. She didn’t.

It was coming too fast. Too close.

You didn’t think. You just moved.

You lunged, grabbing her by the waist and pushing her hard out of the way.

Then came the impact.

Your body collided with the truck’s grill. The sound was monstrous—bones cracking, metal crunching, flesh tearing. Your body hit the pavement like a rag doll, blood instantly pooling beneath your skull.

You couldn’t move.

You couldn’t feel.

But you could hear.

“No. No. Y/n—Y/n!!”

It was Lynn’s voice.

She was kneeling beside you, her trembling hands cupping your face, now soaked in blood. Her violet eyes—once so cold—were wide with horror.

“Oh my God, no. No no no no please—HELP! SOMEONE PLEASE!”

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she pressed her forehead to yours, sobbing uncontrollably. She called your name again and again, each time more desperate than the last.

“I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it,” she cried, her voice breaking. “You stupid idiot, why would you do that—why would you save me?!”

You could barely see her. Your vision was fading, the world turning dark around the edges.

Still, you smiled.

“I… I didn’t want you to get hurt,” you whispered, voice faint.

She grabbed your hand. Held it tightly.

“I’m sorry—I’m so sorry, please don’t die, please—I’ll change, I swear—I’ll fix everything—just don’t leave me…”

You closed your eyes.

Her cries were the last thing you heard.

There was blood under her fingernails, dried into a dark rust color that flaked when she clenched her trembling hands. It stained the sleeves of her blouse, smeared across her collarbone, and soaked the knees of her jeans where she had fallen beside your motionless body. She hadn’t even noticed how much of it there was until she was inside the back of the ambulance, and the paramedic tried to pry her away from you. She refused. Her fingers curled tightly around your limp hand, refusing to let go, as if her touch could anchor your soul to your broken body. She barely noticed the chaos—the scream of the siren, the blur of the night speeding past, the rapid voices of the medical team trying to stabilize you. Her ears buzzed like a television on static, and the only thing that broke through the noise was the growing, agonizing truth: You weren’t responding.

"Stay with me," she whispered, her voice hoarse and shaking, barely audible over the shrieking sirens. "Y/n… please… don’t you dare die on me. Please. Please." Her knees were pulled to her chest as she sat beside your stretcher, her body trembling uncontrollably. The air inside the ambulance felt suffocating, and she couldn’t tell if it was from the panic or the scent of blood clinging to everything. You looked so pale. Unnaturally pale. There was blood pooling from the gash on your temple, running down the side of your face like tears. Your lips were slightly parted, but no words came. Not even a groan. You hadn’t opened your eyes since the accident. You hadn’t moved since you saved her.

And that was what shattered her most.

You saved her. Even after everything.

Her eyes refused to blink, afraid that if she closed them, you’d vanish—that you’d slip into that final silence and never return. Her stomach twisted into knots. Every thud of her heart was heavier than the last. Her grip on your hand never loosened, even as your fingers remained cold, unresponsive. She could barely recognize you like this. You were always so full of life. Always moving, fidgeting, smiling awkwardly, saying the dumbest things just to make her laugh. Now you looked like a fragile, broken thing barely holding on. Like a puppet with its strings severed.

A flash of memory slammed into her like a bullet to the chest.

She remembered the first time she met you. It was a rainy night. The kind of rain that soaked everything in seconds, cold and harsh. She had just been rejected from a modeling audition she thought she would breeze through, and everything in her felt heavy—bitter, angry, disappointed. She ducked into that tiny café bookstore to get out of the rain, hoping for something warm. You were behind the counter, quietly reading a paperback, your glasses slipping down the bridge of your nose. You looked up, startled by her entrance. She was dripping wet, a little breathless, and clearly not in the mood. You looked like you were about to faint. Your hands shook slightly as you fumbled to greet her, stammering about the weather and offering a hot drink on the house.

She’d been amused. You were awkward. Shy. So different from the arrogant, sharp-mouthed men she was used to. You blushed when she thanked you. Your eyes avoided hers unless she caught you, and then you’d glance away like you’d been caught doing something wrong. She remembered thinking you were… harmless. Maybe even sweet. When she told you she liked extra cinnamon, you remembered. Every time she came back—because she did come back—you remembered every little detail. You didn’t try to impress her. You didn’t pretend to be someone else. You were simply kind. And slowly, without knowing how or when, she fell.

She fell first.

But that wasn’t the part that hurt now.

What hurt was remembering how quickly she let that love rot.

It started with her friends. They teased her when they saw pictures of you. Mocked how “plain” you were. "He looks like the type who apologizes after sneezing too loud," one of them said, cackling. "You can do better." "What does he even do for a living again? Oh… right." Their words burrowed under her skin. At first, she brushed them off, laughed it away. But they kept coming. And eventually, she started to look at you through their eyes—not the boy who made her laugh until she cried, but the boy who couldn’t afford to take her to Michelin-starred restaurants. Not the boy who held her hand when she was anxious, but the one who wore the same hoodie three days in a row. She hated herself for it, but the seed had been planted. She began to wonder if she deserved more. If maybe she was settling. If maybe—just maybe—she had made a mistake.

And once that thought entered her heart, everything changed.

She began treating you differently. Pulling away. Ignoring your messages. She knew it hurt you. She could see it in your eyes, every time she brushed you off. But you never stopped trying. You still brought her food when she skipped meals. Still asked how her day was. Still kissed her goodnight even when she turned her back on you. You clung to the hope that the girl you loved was still in there somewhere.

And what did she do?

She mocked you. In front of friends. In public. She made jokes at your expense and watched them laugh, never realizing those words would someday be the last thing you ever heard from her. She called you weak, pathetic, spineless—and when you finally had the courage to say you wanted to leave, she scoffed.

She told you she never loved you.

And even after all of that… you still chose to die for her.

The weight of it made her vision blur.

The ambulance jerked to a stop. The back doors flung open. Paramedics rushed in, voices barking orders. Someone tried to guide her away from your stretcher, but she resisted, staggering beside you, blood-slick hands reaching out. She shouted your name as they wheeled you through double doors, your body strapped down, oxygen mask over your face. She followed as far as they’d let her—until a nurse physically stopped her at the threshold of the ER.

“Ma’am, you have to wait here. Please.”

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. She was shaking, drenched in rain and blood, crying so hard her ribs hurt. They sat her down in a plastic chair outside the emergency room. The hallway was white, sterile, buzzing with fluorescent lights. Everything felt too bright. Too cold.

Hours passed.

She didn’t move.

She couldn’t.

Her hands were clasped in front of her face like she was praying, though she didn’t believe in anything anymore. She kept staring at the floor, replaying your last words over and over in her head—“I didn’t want you to get hurt.” The kindest thing anyone had ever said to her. And she’d heard it with blood pouring out of your mouth.

When the doctor finally came through those doors, she stood on legs that nearly gave out beneath her. Her stomach twisted, heart ready to collapse under its own weight.

“Y/n L/n?” the doctor asked gently.

Lynn nodded wordlessly.

“He’s in stable condition. He suffered a concussion, a few broken ribs, and lacerations to the scalp and chest. We’re keeping him under observation for now. He’s sedated but stable. He’ll make it.”

The breath that escaped her felt like it had been locked in her lungs for years.

She fell back into the chair, covering her face with both hands as the sobs returned, raw and uncontrolled. Her shoulders shook as she cried. It wasn’t elegant or quiet. It was ugly. Broken. Real.

He was alive.

You were alive.

She was allowed into your room once they moved you to intensive care. The hospital lights were dim. Machines beeped softly beside you, monitoring every breath, every beat. Your head was bandaged. Your body covered in wires and gauze. You looked like a ghost of the boy she once knew—except now, she could see the truth.

You had always been the strong one.

Not the richest. Not the boldest. But the one who stayed. The one who chose love over pride, even when it hurt. Even when she tried to push you away. You were bleeding out on an empty road because you still believed she was worth saving.

She pulled the chair beside your bed and sat down, her hands gently cradling yours.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I don’t know how I became this person. I don’t know when I started hurting you. Maybe it was when I started listening to people who didn’t matter. Maybe it was when I started believing that love had to look perfect to be real.”

She leaned forward, resting her forehead gently against the back of your hand.

“You were always there for me. Even when I didn’t deserve it. And I made you feel like you were nothing. But you were everything, Y/n. You are everything.”

She sniffled, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

“I know you might not forgive me. You shouldn’t. But if you wake up… if you still remember me… I’ll spend every single day making up for this. I’ll never walk away again. I’ll never let go again. Just please…”

Her voice cracked.

“Please come back.”

And for the rest of the night, she stayed there, curled beside your bed like a sinner at an altar. She didn’t sleep. She didn’t leave. Her arms never once left yours.

Because losing you—even just the possibility of it—was the most terrifying thing she had ever faced.

A soft groan escaped your lips as the brightness stung your eyes—pristine, white hospital lights casting their sterile glow across the clean room. The ceiling came into focus first, then the beeping of a nearby monitor made itself known, slow and steady, tracking your heartbeat like a quiet reminder that you were still alive. As you tried to move, you noticed a weight, warm and still, resting near your right arm. You turned slowly, your vision sharpening—and there she was.

Lynn.

She was asleep on the side of your bed, her body slouched forward, arms wrapped gently around your arm as if she had anchored herself there, afraid to let go. Her clothes were wrinkled, stained faintly with dried blood—your blood. Her hand trembled even in sleep, her expression twisted in unease, brows furrowed like she had been locked in a silent, sleepless battle all night. You could see it—her guilt written in the way her jaw clenched even as she rested, the dark shadows beneath her eyes telling you that she hadn't slept at all.

You didn’t want to wake her. For a moment, you just watched her, your heart conflicted between the pain she caused and the pain she now carried.

But even the smallest shift of the mattress beneath you was enough to wake her. As though your soul had whispered to hers.

Her eyes snapped open, bloodshot and dazed, but when she saw you awake—really awake—her breath hitched, and she immediately rose. Without hesitation, she leaned forward and pulled you into her arms. Her embrace wasn’t soft—it was desperate. Her body trembled against yours, her grip firm, clinging, as though letting you go would mean losing you all over again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, over and over again. “I’m so, so sorry. I was stupid. Reckless. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t think it would ever go this far—” Her words came out in rapid, stammering bursts. “I never wanted to hurt you. I swear. I was wrong. I didn’t know how much you meant to me until—until this—”

You held her loosely, processing her words, the weight of everything that had happened pressing into your chest like a vice. After a while, you whispered softly, “It’s okay. It’s in the past now.”

But Lynn pulled away slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, her own still brimming with tears. “When we go home… what do you want to do?” she asked, voice shaking, eyes hopeful and fragile. "I just want to do it right this time."

You paused, your heart growing heavy.

“Home?” you echoed, your voice quieter now. You looked at her with eyes that no longer held the same warmth as before. “There’s no home anymore, Lynn.”

Her breath caught in her throat. You saw the moment those words registered in her, like a dagger sinking deep. “What… what do you mean?”

“I’m done,” you said. “We’re done.”

She froze. Then her face twisted—shocked, broken. “No… No, please, don’t say that. Please don’t—please,” she whispered, her voice splintering like glass. “I know I messed up. I know I made you feel like you weren’t enough. But I was wrong. You were always enough. You were always more than I deserved. Please… don’t leave me. Don’t end us. I can fix this. I’ll change. I swear, I’ll change.”

But it was too late.

You were already hurt—your body wrapped in bandages, your chest still aching, but more than that… it was your heart that bore the deepest wound. You had given her everything—your time, your love, your loyalty—even when she started slipping away, even when she entertained others, even when her gaze lingered on the fantasy of someone “better.”

And now?

Now that the illusion had shattered, now that she saw the reality of losing you—she regretted it all. She remembered how you first met. You were just a simple guy, working part-time, trying your best to live honestly. She was the one who chased after you first, not the other way around. Back then, it was her heart that fluttered, her lips that smiled too much when you were around. She fell first. And she fell hard.

But slowly… her world crept in.

Her friends would laugh and ask why she was with someone like you. You weren’t rich, you didn’t drive a fancy car, you didn’t have connections or expensive taste. You weren’t flashy. You were just you. They told her she could do better. That she deserved better. Someone hotter, someone more refined. And over time, that whisper turned into belief. She started to drift, thinking that maybe they were right.

But they weren’t. And she knew that now. Now that she had nearly lost you.

Lynn collapsed into tears at your bedside, hands grasping yours so tightly it hurt. “Please don’t leave me,” she pleaded. “I’ll be better. I swear. Just give me one more chance—please…”

But you didn’t answer.

You just looked away.

Even now, she didn't know… that it was no longer about her begging or your forgiveness. It was about something that had broken deep inside you—something that couldn’t be patched back with sweet words or tearful apologies.

But Lynn wasn’t going to let go—not this time. Something had snapped inside her, and it wasn’t grief.

It was obsession.

She wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

And if anyone dared to come between you and her now… they would learn exactly what happens when a once-cold heart burns with terrifying love.

This wasn’t over.

Not for her.

Time Skip – Two Months Later

The air felt different now. Lighter, freer. The days no longer felt like a punishment, and the nights were no longer suffocating. You had finally started to move on. Life, with all its mess and hurt, had given you a second chance. The incident was behind you, the wounds had healed—both the ones on your body and the deeper ones that scarred your heart. You took up jogging again, found comfort in new routines, and even began laughing with friends without feeling like you were betraying some memory. And most surprisingly, you found someone new. She was kind, understanding, patient—everything you needed. She didn't pressure you. She simply stayed by your side, gently showing you what it meant to feel loved again.

But for Lynn… things were far from over.

Her apartment had become a shrine of sorts—obsessive, suffocating, disturbing. Every wall, every surface, every inch of space bore traces of you. Printed photos of your smile, the old hoodie you forgot in her closet, even voice recordings from old phone calls played softly in the background like some twisted lullaby. Her eyes had grown dark with exhaustion and obsession. Her hair messy, her skin pale from staying inside for too long. She barely left the house, except for one reason—one purpose.

To see you.

She would follow you from a distance, hidden beneath a hoodie or behind a tinted car window. Watching you. Waiting. Her heart ached at the sight of you smiling, of you seeming… happy. But that ache quickly turned into something bitter and ugly the moment she saw you with her. That girl. That stranger who dared to touch what used to be hers.

At first, Lynn just watched. But the longer she saw you walking with this girl, holding her hand, laughing the way you used to with her, the more twisted her thoughts became. Her hands would tighten into fists in her sleeves, her teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached. One night, she followed the girl. She memorized her routine. Where she lived. What coffee she liked. How she wore her hair when she was tired. Every detail. It wasn't enough to simply observe. She needed to know everything.

And with every discovery, the rage grew.

Her mind fractured deeper each night. Screams echoed inside her skull—shouts of those who wronged her. The friends who made her question her love for you? Gone. Just like that. No one had heard from them. No one asked anymore. But Lynn remembered. She remembered everything they said. Every whisper that you weren’t good enough. Every sneer that convinced her she deserved better. She remembered their laughter… and now, she remembered their screams. A faint smile tugged at her lips as she sat on the floor of her living room, the bloodstained sweater she once borrowed from you clutched to her chest.

A pool of red trickled through her memories, just as the soundtrack of her guilt and pleasure played on loop.

Giggles escaped her lips as she stared at the flickering candle beside your picture. “You’ll come back to me,” she whispered, stroking your photo lovingly, her fingers leaving red smudges across the glass. “They can’t have you. Not her. Not anyone.”

She lay down on the bed, wrapping herself in your scent, curling up with the worn pillow that once belonged to you. Her phone screen glowed dimly, showing the latest photo she took—of you and that girl, walking side by side under a golden sunset.

Lynn's voice broke into quiet laughter, shaky and hollow, as her fingers danced across the screen. “It’s okay… You’ll see. You’ll understand soon.” Her eyes welled with tears—not from sorrow, but longing. Desperation.

“I’ll get you back,” she whispered, pressing the photo to her lips. “Even if I have to burn the whole world down.”

And then one night—it happened.

You were lounging on the couch when your phone buzzed. Chaewon was calling. You smiled to yourself and answered, expecting to hear her sweet voice.

But all you got… was static.

Then a faint, low giggle.

Your heart sank.

And then, the voice you hoped you’d never hear again slithered through the speaker.

“Miss me?” Lynn cooed, giggling like a child with a secret.

You froze. “Where’s Chaewon?”

“Oh, she’s here with me,” she said in a singsong voice. “She’s a bit tied up right now.”

Panic surged through your chest. You stood up, pacing.

“What did you do to her? Lynn—what the hell did you do?”

“If you want your little girlfriend to still have a face by tomorrow,” she said coldly, her tone shifting, eyes no doubt narrowing through the phone, “you’ll come to the address I’m about to send you. Don’t be late.”

There was a pause.

And then, with a low chuckle: “You don’t want your girl to be beaten up… right?”

The call ended.

And your blood ran cold.

You didn’t hesitate. You got in your car and drove like hell to the address she sent. It was a remote, abandoned warehouse on the edge of town—one that hadn’t been in use for years. The moment you stepped inside, you saw her. Chaewon. Tied to a chair, blindfolded, her mouth gagged, bruises already forming along her cheek. You bolted toward her—relief mixed with horror—arms reaching out to help.

But then everything went black.

Pain exploded across the side of your head.

You collapsed, the cold concrete floor hitting your cheek as your vision blurred.

You must’ve been out for minutes. Maybe longer.

When your eyes fluttered open again, the first thing you saw was her.

Lynn.

Squatting right in front of you.

Her face was almost unrecognizable now—simpler makeup, pale skin, blood on her lip. Her hair was messy, tangled like it hadn’t been brushed in days. But it was her eyes that chilled you. They were no longer the eyes of the girl you once loved. They were sharp, vacant, and manic.

She smiled wide, tilting her head with a sick kind of joy.

“Hi,” she whispered sweetly. “Long time no see.”

Then she giggled. And the sound of it felt like knives behind your ribs

Lynn tilted her head, that haunting smile never leaving her lips. The blood on her cheek had dried, leaving a crimson trail that made her look almost inhuman—like a ghost of a love long lost, now twisted and cruel.

“I’ll make this simple,” she said softly, dragging the tip of the metal bat across the floor with a screech. “Be with me again… and I’ll let your sweet Chaewon go. Safe. Untouched. I promise.” Then her smile dropped. “But—if you refuse… if you dare to choose her over me—” her voice cracked, eyes twitching with fury, “then I’ll kill you both. Slowly.”

You stared at her, heart pounding in your chest. Every breath felt like a thousand needles pushing into your lungs. Chaewon whimpered behind you, her mouth tied with duct tape, her wrists shaking against the restraints. Her cheeks were stained with tears, and though blindfolded, her body screamed of terror.

Your lips trembled. “Lynn… this is insane.”

She leaned in closer. “Pick,” she whispered. “Now.”

You looked at Chaewon. The girl who made you smile again. Who gave you a reason to live. She didn’t deserve this. None of this. She was just a victim—collateral in Lynn’s broken fantasy. And suddenly it hit you like a train—if you truly loved her, you'd protect her. Even if it meant destroying yourself in the process.

You clenched your jaw. "Fine. I’ll be with you."

Chaewon shook her head violently, screaming behind the tape, as if pleading with you not to do it. But you turned your gaze away, because seeing her like that—so broken, so scared—was already killing you.

Lynn’s eyes widened in surprise, her lips curling into a trembling smile. “Really?” she asked. “You’re not lying, are you? You’re not saying that just to save her?” You slowly nodded. “Just let her go.”

There was a silence. Heavy. Suffocating.

Then Lynn threw the bat aside with a metallic clang and ran toward you—arms wide like a child meeting her lover after years of absence. She threw herself into your arms, hugging you like she never wanted to let go again. Her breath was erratic. Her hands trembled. But her voice—soft and trembling—was almost childlike.

“I knew it… I knew you’d come back to me.”

You didn't respond. You couldn’t. Your eyes locked on Chaewon as Lynn buried her face into your neck, giggling softly to herself.

You had chosen. Not for love. But for sacrifice.

And Lynn?