・・・・・ ✷

FOUR SUMMERS AGO, you came home from a three month long summer trip and found a stranger wearing your favorite person’s face. 

Eventually, you started to wonder if you exaggerated everything the two of you had and embroidered the whole thing with too much hope. Maybe you were just young and stupid, and it was unrequited love, because that is what he told you, wasn’t it?  

“You’re just needy, delusional, and spoiled. And I could never be with someone like you.”

In the end, Sunghoon chose his empire over you, too cowardly to fight against a system his father set up. And you lost your best friend in the process, too. That’s what happened.

You know what happened after that, what he turned into.  But he wasn’t always like that, no matter how hard you try to rewrite your memories to lessen the pain.

THREE YEARS AGO. ’Twas a warm, still, joyful spring evening from an entirely different lifetime. 

Back when you were beguilingly unaware and unworried about what would happen in the next three years, much less in the next few minutes, inside the cozy corners of your bedroom, which smelled like a Pomander Diptyque candle while Obvious by Ariana Grande sounded through the ApplePlay on your TV.

At the time, you weren’t worried about your sexuationship with your ex-best friend, who turned into the mortal embodiment of Hades and, as fate would have it twistedly, your (PR) fiancée at all. You only had three real concerns, and they were all oh so very simple:

What the hell were you supposed to wear to Jay’s surprise birthday party tonight?

Which bag would best fit all four of your lipsticks and your 3 different compacts (because what if you need to touch up highlighter, powder, and blush?) a power bank (because Sunghoon’s phone always ran out of battery), wipes, hand sanitizer, and Midnight Sun by Stephenie Meyer, because you were fixating on reading again and planned to sneak away to finish a chapter even though you were not antisocial, but just obsessed with Edward Cullen. Maybe the Chanel 19? But what color? And if the bag changed, then the outfit changed. And if the outfit changed, then the shoes changed. Obviously. 

How irrevocably in love you were with your best friend. (Don’t worry, in here, he’s not Hades yet. He’s still your Hoonie.)

Hoonie, by the way, arrived way too early to pick you up, so now he was lying across your couch in your gigantic pink bedroom at your family manor, scrolling through TikTok obnoxiously loudly while you stood inside your walk in closet, digging through dresses and ranting about some guy you gave a chance the night before.

Guy in question being Sungchan… He’s irrelevant to the plot, however, he was cute. Definitely your type. Definitely into you. Were you? Not so much. But you finally said yes to a date with him because you could not be hung up on your best friend forever, right?

Especially not when said best friend had sworn off love like fucking Simon Basset or whatever. (You didn’t say this out loud, duh)

“…And then he tried to kiss me, and I was like… not in those ugly ass shoes. I was not having my first kiss—” You stopped, because that’s not factually correct. “Well. Not my first kiss. You were my first kiss.”

“I was your what?” 

“My first kiss,” you repeated, cocking a brow up, even though you were in your closet and Sunghoon couldn’t see you. (This was approximately a few weeks after you’d tipsily kissed him in Heeseung’s house.)

Sunghoon was silent for a while, and then a loud thud sounded. You peeked out just in time to see Sunghoon dragging a hand down his face from your cream sofa, looking exactly as stupid as he clearly felt. “Shit. I forgot that you’re… You.”

You scrunched your nose, indignantly. “What the hell does that mean?”

He looked at you, still in your pajamas and with absolutely no makeup done, and paused for a moment. “How long are you planning to take?”

“What do you mean, I’m me, Hoonie?” you repeated, giving him a look that said, I will now take longer because you asked.

“I mean… you’re you.” He pointed up and down at you. “You have standards and rules.” He looked down at the blanket under him on your cream sofa with the pink Hermès pillows and the matching jacquard merino cashmere blanket, a blanket which was there because no outside clothes touched your couch and even your bed. “And standards for the rules. You just said you rejected Sungchan because of his clothes.”

Oh. You get what he means now. Translation: you’re you, aka stingy with your attention and operating with an insane, clearance system when it comes boys (and girls, if only society wasn’t so… como se dice… homophobic!) Nevertheless, you barely let anyone make it past the talking stage before you find one tiny flaw and send them to the metaphorical guillotine.

And how you’ll never date unless it’s The One.

“And?” You shrugged. 

Side note: You rejected Sungchan because he was not Sunghoon. Plain and Simple. But also, his clothes were really ugly. 

“Ugly fashion choices are a reflection of one’s soul. Like, who wears Prada loafers with a flashy Gucci shirt and a Loro Piana belt? Disgusting mix and match. The sexiest thing a man can do is know when to stop,” you add.

Sunghoon stared at you for a long moment, growing a bit smug, because he was currently your thesis statement in human form. Black Zegna Polo. Black Zegna trousers, and his very own Prada loafers (which are taken off downstairs because, of course, no shoes in the house.) He looked back at you, and he licked his bottom lip. Ugh. “Right,” he said. “So I’m sexy?”

You rolled your eyes. “Keep dreaming, Park.”

“Think you do that for me just fine.” His ears were pink now, despite how smug he was, and you felt a flush go over you all the same. “But…” He paused. “I really was your first kiss?”

You exasperatedly laughed. “How the fuck did you not know that? I’m actually taking great offense to this. Do you even know me? I dropped Winter because she said Breakfast at Tiffany’s was overrated. I have watched Pride and Prejudice nine times—”

“I know. I was with you three of them,” Sunghoon cut in.

You clicked your tongue at the interruption, frowning a bit at the general context of everything. “Did you really think I was out here kissing random people? Me?” You pointed at yourself, genuinely appalled. “I’m not you.”

Sunghoon looked increasingly guilty the longer you spoke, and clearly, he knew that was a jab at how he’d gotten drunk and kissed Sooha at a party one time. “Okay, when you put it like that… I didn't forget,” he argued weakly. “I just…” He paused, running a hand through his hair as you crossed your arms and threw him another annoyed look. “Don’t look at me like that. You're eighteen. I thought maybe.. I don’t know. Maybe you didn’t tell me? You’re so pretty, and everyone fucking likes you and—” 

“Didn’t tell you?” you repeated, and he nodded with an even guiltier look. “Hoonie, you’re the only person I ever tell anything to other than my mom. You’re my… best friend. Do you think I would keep my first kiss a secret?” You rolled your eyes. “You forgot because you’re a man. Just say that.”

“I forgot because I am a man,” he said obediently.

“And because you’re so, so, very stupid.”

Sunghoon’s expression said, nice try. “Don’t push it.” His mouth twitched, then he paused again for a bit, the gears in his head turning in real time. “Was the kiss good, at least?”

Well, now you were only thinking of kissing him again. How inconvenient. “It was terrible. Society would collapse if they found out their precious Park Sunghoon can’t kiss for shit.” You lied. Obviously, you had no previous experience, but you knew it was still the best kiss. (This can be confirmed today, too.)

Sunghoon cocked a brow, his shy demeanor washing away and being replaced by a smug one. He could always tell when you were full of shit, and you hated it. “Oh yeah?”

You threw one of your Hermès slippers directly at his head, but he had the reflexes of an Olympic athlete, so he caught it one-handed without even looking away from you, and this only irritated you even more. “Actually, it was traumatic,” you doubled down, crossing your arms. “Made ten times worse by the fact that the criminal responsible made me promise never to talk about it again.”

He frowned. “I’m sorry.” And damn him, he meant it. You could tell he really fucking did.

“Save it. You’ve ruined romance for me forever.” 

Sunghoon clicked his tongue, and you went back inside your closet. “Fuck. We can’t have that, can we?” He cooed, and suddenly you heard him get up from the couch, so you peeked out again. Oh, God. “I guess I have to make it up to you.”

The atmosphere shifted as he moved closer, and closer, each step feeling as if he were tiptoeing along your ribcages and into your heart. You pursed your lips together as tension curled all around the room and into your being, because you’d never seen Sunghoon’s eyes so dark with want. “And how do you plan on doing that?” you asked.

Sunghoon stopped right in front of you, close enough that you had to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes — which he did for you, thumb brushing beneath your jaw in a feather-light touch, and now all you could smell was him, and him, and him. His Tom Ford cologne, Fucking Fabulous

Sunghoon’s eyes dropped to your mouth, and your heart dropped with it, too. “By practicing,” he said. 

And all you remember thinking at that moment was, this is really happening, and we’ll never be the same again. 

“Fine,” you said, trying to sound casual as if your heart was not on the tip of his thumb that brushed your chin. “But only because your technique needs serious work, and I’m sooooo charitable.”

“Of course. I mean, you are my best friend, right? And… If I’m really so bad at kissing, then who else but you to help me out?” Sunghoon smiled boyishly, and then he kissed you again before you could say anything, sweeping you off your feet. 

And you would later write in your diary that it felt like one of the kisses from The Notebook, except better, because this was not Ryan Gosling in the rain.

This was Park Sunghoon in your bedroom, kissing you like he finally stopped pretending what was between the two of you was inexorable in the face of everything: his family, society, his defences, and his belief system. 

Later that night, at Jay’s birthday dinner, you would sneak away — not to read Midnight Sun at all — to kiss your best friend. Then again and again and again. 

From then until Paris, that was all it became between you two. Sacred, stolen glances and secret moments, and no one knew.

(With the sole exception of Heeseung and Jay.)

・・・・・ ✷

・・・・・ ✷

Yes, you were seriously just best friends. That’s the foundation for every great love story, though, isn’t it?

And as much as you wanted it, you never had sex.

You believed first time should be… perfect. Bed covered with roses, candles burning, and like maybe also preferably a ring on your finger, perfect. Yes, you were a no sex until marriage girly.

Still, you were also a horny girly. But that’s a testament to how sure you were that Sunghoon was the one, that you’d marry him someday. Cause you wanted it, and you told him, and you got close once in the back of his Lamborghini, parked under the trees outside the Ritz at the going away party Wonyoung and Sunoo threw for you, while your dress was bunched around your thighs, and his hand trailed higher, and higher, goosebumps trailing in their wake. But he stopped, and then he said you deserved better than your first time being in the backseat of a car.

His first time, too, actually.

So a promise was made. Because promises are sacred and you can never, ever break them.

Forever and always.

Off to Paris you went, high on the feeling of being his but not quite fully, but anything was better than not being his at all, and you fell asleep on calls and missed him in every Parisian corner that should have felt magical but didn’t, because he was not there to give its beauty meaning and say something funny that would become your favorite part of the day.

・・・・・ ✷

・・・・・ ✷

June 5th, 2022 6:10 PM

Dear Hoonie Moonie,

“I see you everywhere, in the stars, in the river, to me you’re everything that exists, the reality of everything.” — Virginia Woolf.

i like that you send me poems sometimes, so i’ve decided this diary will now include a quote of the day whenever one reminds me of you.

after ballet today — which i was half asleep through because SOMEONE thought it was acceptable to keep me on the phone until 5 a.m. my time because he was clingy —  i went to the musée d’orsay with tae and jennie, which you’ll know when you wake up anyway, but i find the need to immortalize everything on paper. duh. we know this by now. they flew in from new york as a surprise (cough, cough, take notes) naturally, tae ended up third wheeling us again. #ilovemysisterinlaw. 

anyways, im already dreading just thinking about that luncheon i’m going to tonight without you to keep me company :( 

and for my question of the day i shall pose: would you still love me if i went bald?

bisous bisous,

your pink mirage 

・・・・・ ✷

July 14th, 2022 1:00 AM

Dear Moonie,

“There are times when my longing for you overwhelms me, so often I can think of you only with teeth clenched.” — Franz Kafka.

there were fireworks everywhere and it was a beautiful day and i wish you were here.

it’s been six days since i last heard your voice properly and i feel like i’m going to die.

ugh. i sound whiny and annoying. what are you doing to me, park sunghoon? i talked to heeseung about this whole thing and he told me i’m the neediest girl alive… first of all needy by ari is my national anthem for a reason, but i’d rather die than admit a man is right. 

and i am busy too, but i still manage to not be too busy for you. 

that was bitchy but i don’t care. i’m not even mad that you are sort of ghosting me. you could go years and years without talking to me — and i’d go out of my mind — but i’d still love you. but i’m just worried. i feel like there is something you aren’t telling me even though you insist there isn’t.

it’s just that i am so confused about everything, and this on top of it is making me overthink every last thing ever. call it female intuition but impending doom is at bay… in my heart.

i am so fucking confused, hoon. i know you’re in love with me and i know saying things has always been harder for you than acting on them, and i know you are scared, but why is this the one thing you can’t say when you say everything else? 

my question of the day: how do you kiss me and get jealous the way you do and still leave me here like this? am i not worth it?

i keep trying not to think that maybe you regret these months… okay wait. i should just shut up. six days of us not being the way we always are and i’m acting like i imagined everything. god. i’m just being dramatic. 

please just be okay. 

forever and always,

your sunshine

p.s. it’s a full moon tonight, so at least you’re here somehow.

・・・・・ ✷

・・・・・ ✷

・・・・・ ✷

September 19th, 2022 11:55 PM

Dear Sunghoon,

“I guess this is the end / I'll have to learn / To be somebody else / It's been you and me / Since before I was me / Without you, I don't yet know / Quite how to live.” – Mitski.

i don’t know why i’m still writing in this. but this is the only place i can still talk to you. i’ll never understand what changed, and as hard as i have tried, you have made it very clear you don’t want me in your life anymore, so i guess this is it, isn’t it?

i saw a pretty car on the street today. you know i don’t know shit about cars, but i think it was a maserati or whatever. it was black and tinted and my first thought was, sunghoon would love this. isn’t that fucking pathetic? you’d call me that, i guess. well, atleast i’m not a coward!

every beautiful thing turns around and points to you, and i never thought there would be a day where i would see something and not be able to tell you about it. so much for forever and always, huh? 

i love you.

i hate you.

question to the gods who rolled my fucked up dices: how do i stop loving someone who is embroidered into the tapestry of my soul?

think of me fondly,

y/n ・・・・・ ✷

That night everything was black and white and eerily quiet.

After sunset, darkness fell over the woods like a blanket, smooth but all consuming. The pale globe of the moon was covered by hazy clouds, its faint glow painting the leafless trees menacing with their long shadows. Snow had fallen all day, leaving a thick layer of white, burying secrets underneath. But nothing could stay hidden forever. Nothing could escape the Queen.

Not even the Crown Prince.

The change came in increments. First, the ground shook, little tremors like it was shivering under the weight of snow. Then the sound of horse hooves clanking shattered the silence of the forest. Birds scattered at the sudden noise, tree branches crunched and a cloaked figure on horseback swished through the snow-covered path.

You watched it happen from your hiding place, the arrow already drawn in your hand, waiting. The closer the sounds came from, the louder your heartbeat became, its rhythm a tale of secrets and regret. Your fingers trembled over the bow string, so you closed your eyes for a brief moment and took a deep breath.

Focus.

You couldn’t miss.

Around you, the woods held its breath, tension lingering in the air heavily. You counted to three and just before the target could get too far, you let go of the string with an exhale. The arrow pierced into a tree trunk with quiet precision and while some would have thought it was a grave mistake, it landed exactly when you wanted: right in front of the horse that threw off its rider in surprise. The animal neighed almost panicky, echoed by owl hoots in the distance, their sounds covering up the thud of your boots reaching the ground after you jumped down from a tree. The royal badge embroidered into your long coat’s hem brushed against the fresh snow with every step as you got closer to the body lying on the ground.

Your pulse spiked for a moment thinking that the fall might have killed him sooner than you could. But when you were close enough, you saw that he was conscious, staring at the full moon above.

Up close he was truly a vision. Hair black like coal, lips red like roses and skin white as snow. No wonder the Queen was envious. He was the  royal painters’ favourite subject for a reason. Always looking pristine and meticulate, like a true prince should.

Now, there was a fresh cut on his cheek. From the fall or from the Queen, you would never know. Still, it left a bitter taste in your mouth and you had to look away for a moment.

“Y/N?” The Prince spoke up, his voice barely above a whisper and dangerously hopeful.

How he knew it was you was lost on you. You still had your hood on, your face shadowed and your entire figure covered in the uniform every royal hunter wore. It took all your willpower not to step back when he moved to get up. It would have been a sign of weakness and you couldn’t allow that.

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped at him, sharp and mean.

Nobody called you by your first name anymore. Now, your name reminded you of summers spent sneaking into the castle kitchen to steal pastry, of horse rides under the scorching sun, laughing and dancing in the pouring rain, stolen kisses under the moonlight. Of how young and naive you were. (A prince and a huntress could never be more after all.)

Then the King died and everything changed.

The Queen’s rule was ruthless. Your training even more. They had turned you into a killer but it was either that or death and you have always been a survivor.

A year had passed since you last saw each other from opposite sides of a room and yet, he didn’t even flinch at your harsh tone. 

“Did you come to kill me, Y/N?” He asked simply like one would ask about the weather. You lifted your gaze to his and cursed his bloodline.

Crown Prince.

Heir to the throne.

And here he was running away because the Queen wanted him dead.

“She sent out all the elite hunters. She wants us to take your heart back to her,” you told him, forcing yourself to keep your voice levelled despite the absurdity and brutality of the command.

The Queen wanted him debauched, ruined, in pieces that could not be pierced back together, so nothing would remain for the people to admire. She wanted his beauty to be stained, his memory to fade and his death to serve as a reminder: there would be no other king as long as she was alive.

The Prince took a step towards you, his ethereal face graced with a calm look.

“Then take it. It has been yours all along,” he said but he couldn’t possibly mean that.

“Sunghoon…”

His name fell off your lips like a prayer. Once your favourite word, now it sounded unfamiliar on your tongue. It had been so long. A lifetime.

You thought you wouldn’t feel anything anymore if not resentment or pity. The training had hardened you after all, you had blood on your hands now. And yet, Sunghoon looked at you like you were still in love. It made you wish you could cut your own heart out, watch it beat in the palm of your hand, lock it away in a rusty chest and bury it deep, deep down.

“I can’t run forever. They will find me. I guess I’m lucky you got to me first. I have chosen you as my destiny long ago,” the prince added, resigned, and extended his arm, handing over his dagger, royal emblem and all. He must have known you had a dozen on your body, so it was symbolic. It was a surrender. It was suicide.

You stared at the silver piece of weapon and when you didn’t reach for it, Sunghoon took your hand to close your fingers around its handle. This way you could pretend to feel his warmth despite the gloves you both had on as he pressed the blade’s point against his chest through the vest he wore. Warm blood started dripping down the blade slowly, staining the white snow at your feet carmine red.

“Come on. Do it,” he encouraged you the same way he used to back when you were scared of the world. Now, you were only scared of one thing.

You closed your eyes.

That dawn everything was red and white and eerily quiet.

After sunrise, when the snow started falling again, it covered the footprints left behind and all the secrets they held.

END NOTES. feel free to interpret the ending as you like but we all know the hunter spared snow white, right?

title, summary and that part about destiny are from no way back lyrics

header pic from DARK BLOOD Concept Trailer Photo Sketch

☆ ENHYPEN masterlist

💌 askbox

There was no one to wake you today, there hasn't been for years now. But you haven't slept a full night in so long, it started not to matter. You rose at the same time every day like clockwork, earlier than most of the District but never your mother. She still prepared breakfast as she always did, only now with less mouths to feed—at least, that didn't change. The scent of freshly fried eggs and toasted pork cuts wafted slipped through the crack between your door and its frame, reminding you of last night's skipped dinner.

The morning was slow, your body carrying the lethargy of long nights of interrupted sleep and little rest. Oddly enough, you felt no nervousness unlike the years before; you felt nothing but a solid lump of dread resting at the pit of your stomach.

"Morning." The scent hit you harder as you left your room and wandered over to the kitchen. The table once made for four had only two seats now, the others repurposed elsewhere in the house—one in front of your vanity and the other a rack in the study.

Your mother turned and smiled, "You're up early." She says it everyday, as she always did with Jongseong—more muscle memory than a greeting for you. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah," you responded, and let her go on about whatever gossip she picked up from your aunts and neighbors until she finished breakfast.

Today's occasion was honored with the more hearty breakfast she prepared, a splurge she reserved for only your greatest milestones. Jongseong was right about one thing the night that he left; that your mother would pay her full attention now that he was out of the picture. What you once begged for now came in excess but at the expense of your own brother.

You broke the truth to her in tidbits, lying about Jongseong's whereabouts at first, before gradually lowering her expectations on her beloved son. He's falling off the ranks and working twice as hard, that's why he isn't coming home anymore. The day you told her the complete truth, your mother froze in the same way she did when she first announced your father's death. But it didn't take long for her to recover, because you were rising up the ranks your brother had once did—filling in the spot he once filled, both in the ranks and in your mother's eyes.

Just like that, you became your mother's most prized possession in the same way Jongseong was once. She took every chance to parade you at gatherings, made sure you wore both the Volunteer's pin and the Candidate's bandana tied around your arm—like a trophy. Every mention of Jongseong was swept under the rug of your own achievements, as if your brother's didn't matter and as if he never existed. Soon enough, the people she conversed with just accepted the fact. In the end, your mother still had a daughter who could save someone else's daughter from the peril Reaping Day brought.

Only she didn't know that her wildcard was due to be used sooner than she thought.

Before you knew it, you were in line to register yourself at the Town Square for the last time. Children filed into their respective rows, sent further back than where they had been the year before as they aged—making room for the twelve year olds at the front who were at their first year.

A familiar scene captures your attention at the entrance, one you once lived a few years ago. A pair of siblings refused to let each other go, both seemingly on their first year. Even as people shoved them about as they tried to get to their own places, they refused to be pulled apart. Then a Peacekeeper interfered and the moment was over, the pair cried as the soldiers dragged them away from each other and into their lines. You tear your eyes away before you could even start to reminisce but it's too late; the bittersweet recollection of being in the same place had already permeated your system.

The ceremony begins with its usual theatrics. The Treaty of Treason plays through the speakers as they showed the President's face on every screen, followed by the introduction of the District representative, and the prior tributes who'd serve as the mentors for this year's tributes. To everyone's surprise, a new mentor graces the stage. For the first time since she won her Games four years prior, Miyawaki Sakura is this year's female tribute mentor.

As the Capitol representative motioned to pick the name of the female tribute, you waited for the nerves to hit but felt nothing. Instead, what replayed in your head was the meeting you had with the Academy President, how he told you that your time had come, even when you were still eligible for the Reaping for the following 2 years. Again, you mistook the offer as an honor—the second after the Execution, but a nagging feeling had begun to creep its way into the back of your mind, that they've done nothing but rob you of two perfectly good years to live, lest you die in the arena.

Sakura was already staring at you from the stage long before the Capitol representative read the female tribute's name, just as a familiar face appears on the screen as her name is called. The Academy President's daughter stared at herself, wide-eyed and horrified. On her last year to be reaped, her name was pulled from the death's lottery. The odds were not in her favor, but her father had long played the cards right—he made sure of it.

You couldn't help but feel bitter that they sold you the false dream of having any agency over your volunteering. You could do it now or the following year; the choice was completely up to you. What bullshit. Even if you didn't volunteer now, would you even have a face to show if you let his daughter die by not taking her place?

Before the older girl could even pass by your row, you already had your arm raised.

I volunteer as tribute.

Heads turn, gasps follow, and everybody waits for the moment your face appears on the screen. The Capitol representative was ecstatic, carrying the enthusiasm everybody else present lacked. The feeling of eyes watching your every move was familiar and it didn't faze you as much as it did back when you volunteered for the Program. It was as if everything had prepared you for this moment and this moment alone.

You walked the aisle where the boys and girls were split, climbed the stage to take your place beside the representative as she fished out a boys name from the enormous bowl.

When Sim Jaeyun is called, nobody volunteers for him and together your arms were raised as they hailed you as this years tributes from District 3. Your mind kicks into focus moments later as it all sinks in, relying on years of training to kick in like an automatic switch. Remember how to act, remember what to do, remember the show begins the second you volunteer and get selected.

But nothing happens. You don't know what to do.

In the eyes of any viewer or a potential sponsor, you wouldn’t have batted an eyelash at the pair District 3 had—a stoic girl whose self-sacrificing act was met with nothing but a deafening silence from the crowd, and a boy who looked like his parents could buy himself out of this situation. No one would be betting on District 3.

As the ceremony ended, you were ushered into the Justice Hall by Peacekeepers and you're reminded of the last time you were there. Unlike the last time, the rooms on the second floor were vacated. Slowly, you were slipping into Sakura's shoes—what has unfolded for her becoming your guide and your anchor.

You were led into separate rooms and before the Peacekeeper could shut the double doors, your mother appeared by the door way. "5 minutes," the soldier announced.

For a moment, your mother simply stared back at you with an unreadable expression. Her eyes watered, her mouth curled into a frown, and yet you weren't sure if her heart ached with yours. "My brave little girl," she whispered.

She opened her arms as she closed the distance, enveloping you in an embrace you haven't felt since you were a kid. Her words echoed in your ear, mirroring the moment she learned you volunteered for the Career Program—a perfect circle. Did it mean you made her proud again?

When she pulled away, the tears have spilled over onto streaks on her cheek. "I didn't expect you to go so soon."

"Neither did I," you admitted. But there were strings to pull and spots to fill.

The rest of your five minutes were spent with her recounting the moments that led here—recalling the day you announced you volunteered, when the Academy President made your candidacy official, when you rose through the ranks; occasionally mixing Jongseong's achievements with yours, but it was a well-rehearsed speech. She never asked what you felt about it, how to keep your head up no matter how low the odds of you getting back were. She was content with this; after so many years of scraping at the bottom of the barrel, she finally had something to hold over someone's head—my child stepped in for yours, you owe me. She was no longer just the wife of a dead man, or the mother of a run-away rebel, or the disappointment of the family. She was the mother of a volunteer tribute, a Career tribute, a potential victor. She could've lived off that forever.

When the Peacekeeper came back to say the five minutes were over, your mother hooked her arm around yours as she whispered in your ear. "Make District 3 proud. Make me proud."

No wish for good fortune, no cheer to do your best. Just one final instruction to her ever obedient daughter. Make it back alive or die trying.

District 1 sat as close to the Capitol as District 3 did, just on the opposite side. Luxury showed not only in their infrastructure but in the way everyone was dressed. Not quite Capitol, but far off from district-wear. Their female tribute is a tall slender woman with a doll face, the mere mention of her name sent a ripple of dissent through the crowd. Uproar, almost. It takes the Peacekeepers a warning shot before the crowd finally settles. What a pretty face could do. Even the woman picking the names from the bowl seemed sorry to see her go.

And for our male tribute we have,” she stalls, swirling her hand around the giant fish bowl before fishing out one of the many folded cards. She walks back to her microphone, exaggerates the motions of opening the card, an audible gasp escaping her lips when she finally says, “Park Sunghoon.”

Again, the crowd begins to rumble in disagreement, on a bigger level than they had with the girl. This was different because even you knew who he was. With his status, he could’ve bought his way into the Capitol already. Heck, you even wondered how he’d never been invited to live there yet. Whenever the Games’ victor came from your District, the Capitol showered the winning District with extra rations and gifts for a year. Sometimes, the Capitol would send groups of performers for added entertainment and they’d stay a week before they disappeared until another Victor brought the bounty home.

Park Sunghoon was the centerpiece of the Holiday specials. When the Victory Parade was over and the train arrived back at the home district just in time for the Holidays, he was almost a guaranteed passenger. Once per visit, he’d hold a performance on ice, one always flocked by the people of the Districts. He was the country’s Ice Prince for as long as you could remember, recalling watching him as a young child prodigy until he grew into the man he was now.

And so did the rest of the nation. So, when his name was called, even the staff in your train cabin started echoing the uproar of District 1. I can't believe he got reaped! Why won’t anyone volunteer?

Sunghoon parted from the crowd and countless eyes followed him as he passed. Arms tried to grab at him, to which he just politely bowed to or gently shook off—embodying the picture perfect prince image he’d built over the years.

When he rose up the stage, the uproar worsened, more from outside the Justice Hall quadrangle. The next warning shot the Peacekeepers fire is no longer aimed at the sky but at someone in the crowd. The camera feed cuts off.

For a moment you wondered how bad did he piss the Capitol off with his retirement to get his name reaped at the Games years later.

Sunghoon loved to tease and flirt with you.

You never understood why, he was a huge jerk to everyone but with you he never hurt or did anything to you. Obviously you liked that he didn’t bully you, but it was annoying.

It was annoying mostly because Sunghoon is very handsome. Many girls threw themselves onto him—why did he want you? These girls did everything to ruin your life, at first it started with just them talking a whole bunch of shit but then it got worse.

They started to get physical.

After school they would grab you by the backpack and drag you into an alley where no one really walked past.

You got used to it though. You covered any face bruises with makeup and high socks to cover any leg bruises.

You thought that was the worst they could do. But this was something way worse than any punches and kicks could be.

Edited photos of you were put up on the schools expose website. You and some random guys you had never even seen or met in your entire life, sleeping in a bed with your bare shoulders peeking out under the covers.

This was insane, but not surprisingly many people believed it and called you the school’s whore. In class people would move their desks further away when you would walk in. Girls in the bathroom wrote on the stalls about how you were a whore and you were easy. Boys would whistle and yell about how they wanted a chance.

It was like hell going to school.

But what you didn’t know was that there was one group who didn’t believe the nasty rumors about you.

Heeseung, Jay, and Jake.

From the moment they saw the post, they called bullshit. Out of everyone, they were the only ones who didn’t believe it.

“Yah, we know that y/n would never even imagine doing that shit.” An angry Jay exclaimed when he saw the post. “She doesn’t even let Sunghoon or any guy talk to her, why would she randomly sleep with three assholes.” Jake says while playing some game on his phone.

“Well then, we better find out who did this before Sunghoon finds out.” Heeseung sighs, “if he finds out what they’re saying about her, he’ll go batshit crazy.”

“Why would I go crazy?” Sunghoon says, appearing out of nowhere.

“Oh shi-“ Heeseung yells while slightly flinching. “Oh what’s up Sunghoon, how’s your day hm?” Jay asks trying to avoid being suspicious.

“Don’t even try it, now tell me why I would go crazy.” Sunghoon asks again.

“Listen man, you gotta promise to not flip once I show you this.” Jake says with his phone going to the post. Sunghoons patience was growing thin, “Just show me whatever it is.”

The moment he sees the photos, he feels anger in him. “What is this?” he says, slamming the phone down “Listen man, we have no clue who it is. This was posted yesterday.” Jay says trying to calm him down.

Sunghoon wasn’t going to let anything happen to you, even if he had to do stupid decisions.

The next day at school was probably the worst day.

You walked into class, and the whispers immediately started.

You walked straight to your desk, avoiding all the eyes that were staring deep at you.

The bell rang and the teacher walked in, you tried to pay attention and read your notebook, but the words on the page were blurry. All you could think about was the images, the rumors, just everything that made you feel trapped.

Then you heard a book hitting the desk next to you—it used to be empty since nobody wanted to sit next you. You were surprised to see Jake. It seemed like everyone else was aswell as they stared in shock as he sat next to you.

He leans close to your ear and whispers, “Meet me at the basketball court during lunch, trust me.” and then opened his notebook aswell.

You didn’t have any problems with Jake, if anything he was the nicest out of his friend group. You didn’t trust him exactly, but still went to meet him during lunch.

But when you got there, it wasn’t Jake who was there.

It was Sunghoon.

He stood there with his hands in his pockets, jaw tight. The basketball court was empty except for the two of you.

You froze.

For a moment you thought about walking away. Not wanting anyone to see you both together. But Sunghoon spoke before you could move.

“Y/n,” he said with a soft tone, no smirk or teasing tone. “can we talk?”

“About what?” you asked, eyes fixed on the ground “are you also gonna tell me how im a slut? because if you are then I don’t care.”

“What? no.” he said slightly sounding offended, “I don’t believe any of that shit.”

You finally looked back up at him, surprise in your eyes. There was no mockery in his eyes. He looked angry—not at you—with slight guilt in his eyes.

“Me, Jake, Jay, and Heeseung don’t believe that post for shit, we know its all lies.”

“Then what do you want?” you asked with a quiet tone, “it doesn’t matter anymore—everyones seen it and believed it.”

“Not me though.” he said cutting you off, “I want to help you. I want to get rid of these dumb rumors before you get hurt.”

You scoffed at that, “Before I get hurt? Sunghoon, I’m already hurt.”you felt tears starting to build up, “Do you not see how i’m getting pushed away by friends? How i’m getting beat up everyday now?” you asked frustrated.

He paused at that last question, “What.” he asked, jaw tightening. “What do you mean getting beat up? by who?”

“Why do you even care? Even if I tell you, it won’t matter.” you said.

“It does matter, y/n.” he says, “I don’t think you can tell but I truly care about you. To you might just be teasing, but I truly like you.” he adds while getting closer to you.

He stopped a step away from you, close enough that you could hear his breathing—but he didn’t touch you.

Your hand were now shaking. You hated that he could see that.

“It’s some girls,” you finally said, “Some from the cheer team. Others I don’t even know. They always wait until no ones around.”

Sunghoon went still. His jaw clenched, hard.

“They jump you?” he asked.

You nodded once, barely noticeable.

He looked down, dragging a hand down his face like he was trying to keep himself together. After a moment he turns to you.

“Okay.” he said, “Heres what going to happen. You’re not dealing with this alone anymore.”

You shook your head immediately. “No, Sunghoon, I don’t want you fighting anyone or making it worse—“

“I’m not.” he interrupted, calm but serious. “Heeseung already talked to the principal this morning about the post. Jake has all the screenshot. Jay’s cousin works for the school board—we’re reporting everything. The photos, the harasment. the physical stuff. Everything.”

You stared at him in shock, “You… already told them?”

“Yes.” he said. “I’m not letting you deal with this or anything else alone, I will be here for everything you need.”

Your chest tightened, not with fear, but with relief.

Without even thinking you threw yourself onto him, hugging him like he was your only safe space.

“Until this is handled,” he continued while holding you, “you won’t walk alone anymore. One of us three will be with you. If anyone says or does anything—you tell me.”

“You really think they’ll listen?” you asked, laughing weakly.

Sunghoon grabs your chin and makes you meet his eyes, “I don’t care if they listen. I only care that you’re safe.”

The bell rings before you could answer him.

When you walked back in with him, the stares came back immediately—but this time you weren’t alone. Sunghoon stayed with you the whole walk to class. Jake stayed too when he caught up with you guys. Jay wasn’t afraid to yell “Mind your business” at someone. And Heeseung walked with you to your last class when Sunghoon couldn’t.

Things didn’t change overnight.

But the posts were taken down. The principal and teachers started asking questions. The alley stayed empty.

And for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel alone. You had Sunghoon now, and alone was something he never dreamed about making you feel.