Archive of Our Own ^omega

“Hi there.”

The raspy voice startles you into dropping your keys, a metallic thud resounding against the polished hardwood floor. Turning your head, you rake over the cheap furniture that occupies your cramped living room until your eyes land on something that shouldn’t be there.

Or rather…someone.

There’s a man sprawled on your old, navy couch, his large frame draping over the small seat, further emphasizing the pain he must be in to lay in such an uncomfortable position. After blinking away your initial shock, you catch sight of the thick droplets of blood seeping from his fingers, inking his entire arm with a crimson hue.

You almost scoff in annoyance—he’s staining your new throw pillows!

When he notices your furrowed brows, a boisterous grin appears on his face as he waves his hand—the one that isn’t occupied with preventing his guts from spilling out on your floor—and winks in your direction, causing your heartbeat to race. Your eyes trail from his ruffled hair down his chest until they reach his arms.

Almost choking on your spit, you take in the myriad of bruises and welts that mar his pale skin. You’ve never seen one singular person sport so many on just one arm alone. You suppose you’re rather lucky the sleeve of his button-down isn’t rolled up on the other arm, only God knows how many more he’s hiding under his clothes.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” he asks, concern lacing his tone as he searches your face for any signs of fear. Instead, he finds pure rage.

“What in the fucking world are you doing on my couch?!”

Your voice cuts through the air like a sharp sword, bouncing across the walls of your cramped apartment. The man is visibly taken aback, the coy smirk that plays on his lips faltering before he manages to regain his confidence and return your intense gaze.

“I-I…actually, I need something from you.”

The single sentence manages to throw you off completely, brow shooting up as you ponder what could this person possibly want from you.

After a small pause, he adds, “but you must promise that you won’t involve any authorities.”

You part your lips to take in a breath. This encounter was turning scarier by the second. From what could he possibly be running?

When you sense his unease, you realize you still haven’t replied. “How exactly do you want me to help you?”

Another smile stretches across his lips, one that’s followed by a relieved sigh. You seem more annoyed than angry. That’s good. He tells himself that it could be a lot worse. You’re pissed but you haven’t thrown him out yet.

“I can’t tell you,” he adds after a while, supplying an apologetic grin as he runs his hand through his hair, wincing at how greasy it feels. He would have to wash it soon.

The face you make almost makes him laugh. The angry pout on your lips, the vein popping at the top of your temple—it all creates a funny visage that he tries to keep a mental picture of.

How adorable.

But to you, it is nothing of that sort. Watching him chuckle to himself—as if there’s something humorous, to begin with—the rage only grows inside of you, clutching your insides together with an iron grip.

Blowing a strand of hair from your face, you growl, “you either tell me what you want, or I’m calling the fucking cops on you.”

❖ ❖ ❖

You suppose you could call yourself lucky.

Starting your first year of college in a different town meant that you had to find a place to stay. Usually, most college dorms or apartments were either extremely overpriced or so small that you felt like you were living in a shoebox.

This apartment, however, was anything but that.

The spacious living room had enough room for you to fit a medium-sized couch, along with a few rows of bookshelves that wouldn’t fit in your room. The kitchen was also nicely equipped, something you noticed when you first got a tour of the apartment from the very fidgety landlord, Lee Minho.

The man had led you inside the house with a shaky step, almost dropping his keys while unlocking the door, likely due to the fact that he wasn’t even looking at the lock. Instead, he kept nervously looking around, which struck you as unusual. His hands were trembling, something you found somewhat unsettling, as he showed you around the apartment.

When you asked him, jokingly of course, if the rent was so cheap because the place was haunted, he stared at you wide-eyed before excusing himself and running off. To this day, you haven’t understood what triggered such a response from him—why he was so nervous and jittery—but it seemed like it wasn’t something you’d find out soon.

Or would you?

❖ ❖ ❖

The frosty wind bites at your skin harshly, numbing your cheeks as you struggle to unlock your door.

“Finally—” you groan, dropping your bag on the floor and heading straight for the thermostat to raise the heat so you won’t freeze to death. The late-October weather is progressively getting colder; light jackets and hoodies no longer suffice against the chilly temperature.

Settling on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate, you scroll down your Netflix watchlist, deciding on a lame Halloween-themed movie that has less than fifteen percent on Rotten Tomatoes.

Sighing, you sip the sweet beverage, eyes focused on the flat screen of your television. A small chuckle escapes your lips as you see the main protagonist jump out of his skin as he enters the haunted house.

Through your window, you can see the full moon peek from behind the lace curtains hanging in your living room. A weirdly eerie feeling creeps over you and settles in your bones, causing goosebumps to prickle at your skin. The wind is still relentlessly attacking everything in its path—you can tell by the way the trees are swept from one side to the other, and you feel shivers run down your spine.

Why do you feel like you aren’t alone?

Suddenly, you hear a couple of loud knocks, as if someone were tapping on a hard surface.

Your eyes dart at the abrupt drumming noises that hit against the wooden front door of your apartment. Gripping tightly onto the fuzzy blanket that sits over your shoulders, you gingerly place the mug on the coffee table before slowly getting up from the comforts of your couch to approach whomever it was that decided to come at this late hour.

Once you reach it, you peer through the peephole, curious as to whom it could be. A frown appears on your lips as you lean back. There’s no one there.

Weird.

Returning to your seat, you press play on the movie, trying to ignore the shiver that just ran down your spine. It almost feels like you aren’t alone, as you could swear that you feel someone’s eyes are boring into you.

The feeling that you’re being watched follows you for the rest of the evening. The lingering sense of unease doesn’t relent. Instead, it hangs over you like a raincloud, putting a damper on your mood.

Even as you’re falling asleep, you could swear you hear someone knocking on your window, the taps more sporadic and louder than before—almost as if they’re in a frenzy.

As your eyelids are slowly closing, you think you spot a shadow passing your window. You desperately try to fight the urge to sleep but eventually, the fatigue manages to wash over you, and before you can do anything about it, your eyes are closing shut.

❖ ❖ ❖

Three days have passed from the ominous encounter. 3 days. 72 hours. 4,320 minutes. Long enough for you to convince yourself that it was but a figment of your imagination, nonetheless not fleeting enough for you to forget the entire ordeal.

You think you’ve managed to get your fears under wraps, locking them into the very back of your mind and throwing away the key. Yet the chill that runs down your spine every time something seems out of order in your apartment says otherwise.

As you enter the quaint, lightly decorated hall of your place, you sigh while pulling off your shoes and heading for your bedroom with the big stack of papers securely tucked between your arms. Stepping on the fuzzy carpet, you drop your bag by the bed, turning to shuffle through your closet for more comfortable attire for the night.

The wooden doors creak as you pull them apart, grabbing a pair of cream-colored sweatpants and a warm hoodie with the name of your college printed on in Comic Sans.

It is truly wondrous that people still haven’t stopped using that atrocious font, and you wonder which doofus was trusted with the task of designing the school merchandise this fall.

After you slip on the soft articles of clothing, you head towards your bed to pull out your journal from the front pocket of your backpack. Leisurely, you unzip the bag and grab the black, leather-bound book before your eyes fall on your nightstand.

Your heart skips a beat.

There, on the smooth surface of the varnished hardboard, is a small, dark red smear. Scrunching your nose, you scooch a bit to inspect it from a closer proximity.

And behold, it’s a bloody fingerprint.

You can almost feel your soul exit your body upon realization that someone was in your bedroom. Specifically, someone who was bleeding… a lot. Your fingers start to tremble, dropping the neatly organized stack of papers onto the ground.

It doesn’t take long for you to grab some of your belongings and sprint out of the bedroom.

One thing was certain, you definitely wouldn’t be sleeping there.

❖ ❖ ❖

Over the last few weeks, the paranoia has settled inside of you, whether it be in the form of constantly looking over your shoulder, or jumping out of your skin when a classmate places his hand over your shoulder.

All that led to the fateful night, exactly ten days after the first encounter in the living room, when you found a stranger lying on your couch.

The stranger, as you just recently learned, was called Jisung. And despite your insistence that you wouldn’t help him otherwise, he outright refused to tell you more about himself, mumbling something along the lines of you wouldn’t believe me anyway.

“Soo…Jisung,” you gently call his name, hoping that a calmer approach would do the trick. “You want me to help you with…with that?” you gesture towards his injured abdomen. He looks down, almost as if forgetting that he is currently bleeding out on your sofa before nodding sheepishly.

“If you have a first aid kit, I could do it myself,” he chuckles. “Wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

You stare at him incredulously, as if he’s lost his mind, “Don’t worry, you’ve already inconvenienced me enough. What more is it for me to bandage you up?”

Lowering yourself on the ground, your hands reach for his soiled t-shirt, looking up at him for consent to slowly peel it up. As you slowly pull up the crimson-stained cotton, your fingers start to shake with each additional inch of skin you uncover.

The smooth planes of caramel skin are tarnished by a gash that runs across the entirety of his lower abdomen. It doesn’t seem particularly deep, however, you can immediately tell that he’s losing blood at an alarming rate.

“Oh damn,” you mutter to yourself, taking in the gruesome sight. From the couch, Jisung winces when your fingers graze over his skin. “Is it really that bad?”

Holding back the bitter words on your tongue, you force yourself to smile. “No. We just need to properly disinfect it. I should probably stitch it up too so it can properly heal.”

The boy nods in agreement, biting down on his tongue to hold in the pained groan that was threatening to slip out. He watches you gracefully stand up and dust off your pants before heading towards the bathroom, probably where your first aid kit is stored.

As you exit the living room, you feel your head turning around to glance at Jisung.

It completely takes you aback, the way his head hangs low as he runs his hand through his hair. Even as you enter the tiny bathroom, you can’t help but stare at the handsome boy. His calmness throughout the night was what surprised you the most, but it seems like he wasn’t as chill about the situation as he let on.

Opening the small cabinet above your sink, your hand reaches for the medium-sized red box with a white cross on it. It was a first aid kit you bought over three months ago during a sale at your local drug store. At least it would be of some use.

When you return, immediately, you notice how droopy his eyes have become. He looks up at you sporting a weak grin and your heart breaks at the sight. It’s almost as if you could feel the pain he is going through, despite his best efforts to hide it.

Bringing the cotton pad stained with alcohol, you mutter a quick apology before you start dabbing it on his stomach. At first, you don’t hear anything. A sigh of relief almost escapes your lips.

“Ouch—” he suddenly winces, digging his fingernails into his palm to numb the pain. Less than two seconds later, an apology leaves your lips in a soft murmur as you concentrate on disinfecting the area on his abdomen.

“D-Don’t,” he whispers, giving you a side-eyed smile, “don’t apologize…you’ve done n-nothing wrong.”

Once you’re done cleaning out the wound, Jisung groans in relief, wiping off the sweat from his forehead. You take the time to look at him again, inspecting all the blemishes on his skin, the beauty mark on his cheek, and the sharp curve of his jaw.

And it truly startles you, just how attractive he is.

The realization hits you—you’ve got a handsome stranger sprawled across your couch. Your face heats up when his eyes suddenly lock with yours.

When Jisung notices you carefully checking him out from the side, his lips stretch into a sly smirk. He caught you staring. However, when he sees your head whip to the side, eyes widening in both embarrassment and bewilderment, he feels the nagging guilt tug at his heart.

So to break the ice, Jisung decides that now truly is the best time to ask you for yet another favor. Blinking, he musters his most sympathy-inducing expression and mutters, “Do you think I could stay at your place for a while?”

And if you thought that he couldn’t surprise you anymore, you were wrong.

With Jisung, one never knew.

❖ ❖ ❖

The sounds of your rusty showerhead can be heard all over the apartment, pelting drops of water banging against the glass panel. Groaning, you try to block out the sounds by pressing your pillow over your head, creating another barrier between you and the shower.

It has been exactly two weeks since Jisung appeared in your apartment, and other than the undeniable presence of another person in your living space, you seemed to be adjusting quite well.

As for Jisung, he has managed to make himself at home.

“Y/N!” a loud screech echoes throughout your apartment, making you almost jump out of your skin. An annoyed grumble leaves your parted lips. Perhaps he is feeling too much at home.

“Yeah?”

You suppose Jisung doesn’t hear the slight edge to your voice, because in the following second, he’s yelling his request over the shower. “Could you please bring me a towel?”

Although a little bit disgruntled over the noise, he has managed to relay his wishes to you, who, unfortunately, were the one who had to get out of your soft bed and search for some fresh towels.

“Asshole,” you mutter softly, mindful of the fact that he is only two drywalls away.

Yet it seems like, despite his rather infuriating tendencies, Jisung has managed to worm himself into your heart. Yeah, you undeniably have a soft spot for the young man, even if he’s a constant pain in the ass.

“Jisung.” You carefully knock on the wooden door. After receiving only silence, you shout, “I’m coming in, okay?”

A rattling noise can be heard, likely the sound of all your bottled products falling off the shelf, courtesy of Jisung’s sharp elbows. A groan leaves your lips once you realize that you will be the one who has to clean the mess.

Clutching the frothy towel, you push the door open, blinking at the moist fog that impairs your vision. Suddenly, a pair of deep brown eyes materialize right in front of your face, making you yelp in surprise. But right before you can open your mouth to chastise him, a large grin breaks out across his face.

“Thanks, darling. You’re a lifesaver.”

It’s only then that you notice how his wet hair clings to his forehead. Your cheeks heat up at the sight, and you can’t help but let your gaze drop down, watching the clear droplets of water cascade down his chest.

Jisung smirks when he realizes what distracted you, “my eyes are up here, Y/N.”

You almost want to smack yourself for letting him catch you staring. Breathing in, you grumble, “Here you go,” before shoving the towel into his chest, slamming the door in his face, and running off to your room.

❖ ❖ ❖

“Jisung—” you whine from your comfortable spot on the couch, gripping onto a mug of hot chocolate that you managed to cook up from some expired chocolate you found at the back of your cupboard. It is truly wonderful how little you need to make a good hot chocolate.

You can hear something tumble down, landing on the floor with a thud. You glare towards the kitchen—Jisung better not be breaking your house down.

“What the hell is taking you so long?” you cry, frustration evident in your tone. Your chocolate was slowly cooling down and the television screen had the pause button on for over ten minutes.

“Just give me a second,” Jisung pleads, “Rome wasn’t built in a day, you know?”

You almost facepalm at his stupid argument. “You aren’t erecting the Colosseum from the ground, dimwit. You’re microwaving a bag of popcorn for God’s sake.”

Jisung goes silent for a second before you hear him yelp. “Sorry. It’s just that…it’s been quite a while since I used one of these. And they used to look a lot different back in the day…”

The last sentence is something you aren’t sure was meant for you to hear. Back in the day? What could he possibly mean by that? However, once he returns, seemingly unscathed with a bowl of only slightly burned kernels, you shrug it off.

It was probably nothing, right?

❖ ❖ ❖

“Fuck, I’m late,” you curse, running around your living room trying to gather all your things. Your backpack, water bottle, keys…oh shit, your laptop is still charging!

Running into your bedroom, you collide with the still very sleepy Jisung, who looks like he will fall asleep at any given moment.

“Oh, are you okay, darling?” The crash must have shaken him into a more aware state as his arms immediately secure themselves around your waist. He steadies you against his chest before yawning. “What’s the rush for?”

Scoffing inwardly, you pull away from his disgustingly toned body. How did this loser manage to get ripped, you wonder.

Suddenly, you remember why you were running in the first place. You slip past him, ignoring his bewildered gaze as you grumble. “Not all of us can sleep around all day. I have an 8 am class today.”

Pulling out your laptop from the wall, you shove it inside your backpack. “Aren’t you going to eat breakfast?”

Jisung clearly seems shocked by the fact that you’re leaving your house without eating anything. “Nope. Don’t have the time.”

A pout appears on his lips as he watches you slowly depart, exhaustion clearly visible on your face. He tries to recall a day where you actually went to sleep before three o'clock in the morning, but as terrifying as it appears, he can’t remember a single one.

❖ ❖ ❖

The apartment seems eerily empty without you.

That’s an observation Jisung made long ago. It’s one he made when he accidentally called your name while reading something funny in a book, forgetting that you weren’t there. The sudden urge to share something with you overwhelmed him so much that when he realized that you weren’t there to witness it, his heart started to feel empty.

Loneliness has filled him ever since.

You have done so much for him. From patching up his injuries to letting him stay at your place, even though he was a complete stranger. In the past days, you have shown him nothing but kindness and compassion, allowing him to see just how big your heart was.

And maybe…maybe it was time for him to help you out too.

He looks around, glancing at the pile of clothes on the floor, the crumpled-up blanket on the couch, the dishes in the sink…

There’s a lot of work to do here, but Jisung decides that it is all worth it. You are worth putting all the effort in. At least, that’s what he thinks.

With a clear goal in mind, he grabs a pair of yellow, rubbery gloves from underneath the sink and pulls them over his hands. He gazes over the piles of plates stacked on top of each other in the sink with a grimace, but then he remembers how tired and lifeless your eyes were this morning.

Squirting some dish soap onto the sponge, he starts scrubbing the dishes clean.

After dealing with the mess in the sink, Jisung heads over to the living room. Slowly, one by one, he begins to pick up all your discarded clothing from the floor, separating it into two piles. One for clean clothes and one for laundry.

Minutes later, it doesn’t even feel like a chore anymore.

He dumps the dirty clothes into your hamper, proceeding to fold the rest into neat little squares that he delicately places on your bed. Glancing over at your desk, he notices a printed document neatly splayed on the polished wood. The title of it seems somewhat familiar.

Wait a minute…

It was your research paper. A research paper that you spent the entire evening on. The one that took you over a week to gather all the needed materials. And also, what terrifies him the most, it was the paper you said was due today.

Shit.

Jisung glances at the clock hanging above your door, the gears spinning inside his head. If he were to run all the way to your campus, he could make it, right?

With no time to lose, he snatches the paper from your desk and runs to the door. His shoelaces are untied, flapping in the air as he sprints down the sidewalk. He has to bring the paper on time.

Trying his best to recall the shortest way to the campus, Jisung reminisces his old memories from this street. The neighbors who always greeted him when he passed by, how he used to play in the nearby park and feed the stray cats…everything that led up to that one night.

The night that changed everything.

The pain, the screams, the flowers that scattered across the asphalt…everything was coming back to him.

No… this wasn’t the time.

Jisung tried his best to shake off the nauseating feeling creeping down his spine, instead, focusing on his current goal.

Right—bringing you your paper.

After a few sharp turns, Jisung finds himself on the college campus.

A wave of emotion crashes over him when he sees all the students running around from one building to another, eating their lunch under the large trees that provide shelter from the sun, and clutching cups of hot coffee from the cafe nearby…

It all overwhelms him to the point of tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

This was supposed to be me too, he realizes bitterly. I was supposed to be one of these students.

It’s almost as if all the pent-up anger and frustration just swells up inside of him and bursts, no longer able to contain itself within his fragile heart. He can almost feel the fragments of his heart piercing through his insides.

Out of nowhere, a group of students passes by. He’s about to yell out a “watch out”, but something stops him. A throbbing pain spreads throughout his body, lighting every inch of his skin on fire, and allowing a yelp to run past his lips. Panicking, he looks around to see if anyone heard, but to his utter terror, he can’t find them anywhere.

Correction—he can’t find them anywhere around him. The students are no longer passing by, they are going through him, almost as if phasing through his body.

Not almost…they were phasing through his form.

The prickling pain settles in his guts, one akin to a thousand tiny needles piercing him all at once, and the moment the last student finally emerges on the other side, he sighs in relief.

Now, a much harder quest awaited him. He had to find the professor’s office so that he could deliver your papers on time.

Taking a deep breath, he blends with the crowd of sleep-deprived students and makes his way to the main building.

As he’s running down the hallway, a familiar sense of grief washes over him. These very halls of the town college were supposed to house him for four years too. Inside this old building, he was going to build his future…

“Forget it, Jisung,” he mutters under his breath, “the past is in the past.”

Looking down at the slightly crumpled piece of paper, Jisung scans the top corner of the page.

“Aha,” he whispers, “Professor Kang.”

Luckily, he could remember in which teacher’s lounge she resided. When he was in his final year of high school, the professor used to give lectures about her subject, hoping to get more students to apply for college. He remembered her kind, brown eyes, the ones that always smiled at him when his hand excitedly shot up in the back of the room to ask another question.

Once he arrives in front of the large, double doors, he carefully raises his hand curled into a fist, but before he can begin knocking, someone hastily bursts through the doorway, nearly slamming the door in his face.

“Woah,” he just barely manages to jump back, evading the dark oak. Yet despite the rather unpleasant experience, he is now left with the door wide open, allowing him easier access to the room.

So without a moment of hesitation, Jisung slips inside the room. The smell of orange blossoms greets him, courtesy of the Yankee candle that someone, probably professor Kang, took the liberty to light. Faster than lightning, Jisung finds her desk and drops the paper on top of it.

And just like the wind, he’s gone…

❖ ❖ ❖

“Please hand over your papers if you haven’t yet,” professor Kang hollers over the racket, tucking a strand of silver hair behind her ear. As much as she understands why you’re all so noisy—after all, lunch break starts in five minutes—her patience is running thin. She hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks and all the ruckus is bringing back her headache.

Bending over your desk, you reach into your backpack to pull out your paper. Your fingers relentlessly search through the pocket, pushing away all the school books and random scraps of paper. Your research paper, however, is nowhere to be found.

A feeling of dread washes over you. Just then, you remember something. The image of your paper laying on your desk is still fresh in your mind, and then it hits you…you left it at home.

Tears well up in your eyes, frustration bubbling up inside your chest as you try to recall what repercussions you would face. And you realize they would not be pretty…

All the hard work you put into that paper, all the effort that went into it. Gone. It would all go out the window.

Ignoring Jeongin’s question about eating lunch together, you sprint to the door hoping to catch professor Kang before she exits the classroom.

You almost trip in the process, but in the last second, you manage to regain your balance.

“Professor Kang!” you cry, panting as you finally reach her by the door. Your clothes are disheveled and your shoelaces are untied, but you ignore that for now.

“About the paper, I wanted to ask if—”

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetie,” she interjects, pushing her glasses up her nose. “I got your paper right here with me.”

To your utter bewilderment, she waves the paper in front of your face, and your eyes widen when you realize that it is yours, indeed.

But…how?

When she spots the puzzlement on your face, she laughs. “Oh, Y/N! You left it on my desk this morning, remember?”

The gears are spinning inside your head. Forcing yourself to laugh it off and nod, you zip up your bag and say goodbye to her, and head to the cafeteria.

That’s when it hits you. Jisung. He’s the only one who could’ve done it. No one else has access to your apartment, not to mention the only one who knows you’ve been stressing out about this paper for days. He must have realized you left the paper at home and ran to your school to deliver it to Professor Kang’s desk.

A large grin appears on your face. That idiot truly saved your ass. You would be in a lot of trouble if you hadn’t handed in the paper today.

On your way back home, you pass by the local pizza shop and a lightbulb suddenly lights up in your head: as a thank you gift, you can bring him back some pizza!

Jisung’s stomach is the equivalent of a bottomless pit. That guy could eat three ramens, two whole burgers and still have room for dessert. One of the biggest setbacks of having an unexpected roommate was your food bill nearly tripling.

The first week, you almost yelled at him for finishing the four cups of pudding that were in your fridge in less than two hours. Now, you felt quite guilty for putting him through hell (also known as your wrath) for simply craving some sugar.

That’s why you decide to splurge—buying three large pizzas for the two of you to share.

“I’m home,” you greet from the doorway, panting after having run up the stairs so the pizza wouldn’t get cold. When a startling silence welcomes you, a frown appears on your lips. Usually, Jisung would’ve been at the door already, taking off your coat and welcoming you with a hug.

“Jisung?” you call as you tip-toe into the living room. Your lips stretch into a knowing smile when you see the boy lying down on your couch, eyes shut and soft snores escaping his lips.

There is no doubt—he is fast asleep.

As you slowly make your way closer to him, careful not to wake him, you can’t help but coo at his current state. Jisung looks nothing short of adorable with his bunched-up cheeks and a little bit of drool trickling down his chin; he reminds you of a squirrel.

A rowdy, yet lovable squirrel.

“Hey…Ji,” you whisper, tracing your palm against his cheek. Smoothing down the soft flesh with your thumb, you run to the closet to grab a blanket you can cover him with.

That’s when you finally get the chance to properly look around, and your eyes widen when a startling occurrence comes to your attention.

Did he clean the entire apartment?

After carefully placing the fuzzy throw over his resting body, you take a seat on the floor next to the couch. Threading your fingers through his hair, you whisper, “you really saved my ass there, Ji. Bringing my paper to school. I’m really grateful, you know.”

A soft sigh escapes his lips, and you move your fingers upwards to gently massage his scalp.

“Thank you for cleaning the apartment too. It was a big mess before I left this morning but you cleaned it up, didn’t you?”

You stay there for a few more minutes before you start setting the table. You don’t want to wake him, so you decide to let him rest for now. Grabbing yourself a slice of pizza, you begin munching it down, mindlessly scrolling through your phone.

You don’t even notice Jisung opening his eyes from his spot behind the couch, looking at you from under his lashes with a fond smile.

❖ ❖ ❖

“Can you pass me the milk?” you shout over the loud noises from the construction right behind your building. A yelp sounds from behind the fridge, and you turn around just in time to see Jisung juggling your favorite bowl in his hands.

You shoot him a glare, “careful there, buddy. That’s my Lilo & Stitch bowl, you better not drop it.”

Jisung laughs in bewilderment, a sound you’ve truly come to love in the past few weeks. “Lilo and Stitch? Seriously? How long have you had this bowl for? Fifteen years?”

You grumble; he’s not that far from the truth. The bowl was given to you when you were still a child by your great grandmother. It’s a memento you’ve cherished for your entire life and something you’ve kept around ever since she passed away.

Jisung notices the slight shift in mood. He can sense the harrowing thoughts infiltrate your mind one by one as they push away your cheerful spirit and settle inside of you.

Immediately, he walks up to you, pressing his warm hand against your back and rubbing comforting circles into your skin.

“Here you go,” he hands you the bowl with milk. His hand grazes over yours as he reaches for the cereal.

Strawberry cini minis—your favorite.

As he tips the box above the milk, ready to dump some into your bowl, he notices you looking at him intently.

“What?” he questions, feeling queasy from your intense gaze. You glare at him for a few more seconds before bursting into laughter, thoroughly enjoying the fact that you finally caught him off guard.

“N-Nothing,” the word barely comes out of your mouth as you’re too busy holding in the fit of laughter, “it’s just that you’re the first person I’ve ever met who pours in the milk before the cereal.”

“Hey!” his ears turn pink, “I’m sure there are other people who pour in the milk first.”

The pointed look you give him sends chills down his spine.

“Okay,” he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, “maybe not.”

❖ ❖ ❖

“You look hideous,” you grumble pointedly when Jisung finally comes out of the changing room, a cheap hoodie three sizes too big draping over his frame and tight sweatpants covering his legs.

Jisung pulls a face, but after looking in the mirror, he realizes that you’re right.

“Look, we can get you a nice outfit somewhere else, okay?”

Huffing out a dramatic sigh, Jisung whines, “But where? Nothing I try on seems to fit me. I’m starting to think I just don’t look good in clothes.”

You almost bark out a laugh, catching on to what he’s trying to convey. Yes, he had a nice body—something you get to see first hand whenever he stumbles out of a bathroom shirtless, looking for his t-shirt, but you won’t let him get to you again.

After he changes back into his (yours, actually) clothes, you drag him out of the store and head to another place. One you deemed would have a nicer selection.

“Here, I think this size should fit you better.”

He gladly accepts the articles of clothing you shove in his hands, pulling the curtain in the stall. Meanwhile, you take a seat on the small, wooden bench, curious how he will look in the things you chose for him.

And as always, the universe has proven you have impeccable taste.

The curtain slowly peels, revealing Jisung, who is nervously treading from place to place, rubbing at the back of his neck. Uncertainty hazes his eyes, but at this moment, you can barely recognize him.

From the boy who appeared in your house all roughed up, to a handsome young man, clad in jeans and a simple, white t-shirt.

You can’t believe how much the outfit affects you, and the heat rises to your cheeks as you take in the sight. The form-fitting shirt sits deliciously tight around his torso and arms, further emphasizing his toned body. The light wash jeans have a couple of rips on the knees, allowing slivers of his tan skin to peek through the stiff material.

One thing’s for sure—he does clean up nicely.

Heat rises to your face as you look away, not wanting him to see you embarrassed again. Jisung knows the power he possesses—he is far too cocky for his own good and you figured he would never shut up about it if he knew how attracted you were to him.

“Do I really look that bad?” the question startles you from your distracted state, brow shooting up. Does he think he looks bad? Is he joking—

However, when you turn around to look at him, you can’t help but notice how out of place he seems. The way his head hangs low and his fingers clutch onto his jeans—he almost seems like an entirely new person.

Out goes the confident and cocky guy who sometimes walks around shirtless in your apartment and in comes the shy, introverted boy who more than anything else, values your opinion and always puts your comfort before his.

It’s truly startling to see those two flip sides of a coin merge into one, creating a masterpiece of a guy that Jisung is. And more than anything, you want him to realize his worth.

“No,” your hand comes to rest at his shoulder, making him slowly lift his gaze until his chocolate orbs are looking straight into yours. With as much confidence as you can muster, you continue, “you look really good, Jisung. How do you feel in it?”

“Uhm… it’s actually kind of nice,” he muses, smoothing down the creases of his shirt. “The material is really soft and comfortable. I’m just—”

You stare at him intently, waiting for him to continue. A nervous smile play on his lips. “I’m just not sure if these kinds of clothes suit me. I’m not really a gym rat,” he chuckles, tugging on the tight sleeves.

You quirk your brow. “You’re not a gym rat? Really?” you almost feel like bursting into laughter. Dropping your gaze to his arms you scoff. “Yeah… definitely not a gym rat.”

“Oh,” the word comes from his mouth in an airy breath. “You mean these guns?”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Jisung cringes internally. Why did he always have to make such a fool out of himself? Well, at least he had managed to humor you—the burst of laughter you fall into is a symphony for his ears. He supposes he’s grateful for his high school years where he used to spend hours at the gym, believing that it was the only time he could get ripped.

“Let’s get going, you dork.”

Shoving him back inside the stall, you pull the curtain before taking a seat on the bench. Pulling out your phone, you notice it’s already past two, and your gut was telling you that neither you nor Jisung were going to last without food much longer.

Once he emerges from the small stall with the small heap of clothes in his arms, you head to the cash register. With a swipe of your card, you purchase the items and hand his the small paper bag.

“C'mon. Let’s get something to eat.”

Upon arrival at the overcrowded food court, Jisung gasps in awe. When you turn your head to him, raising a brow, he shrugs. “Hey, it’s been ages since I’ve been here. This mall changed a lot.”

Was he from here? Your brows furrow at the though; this wasn’t the first time he hinted at knowing this place. Nonetheless, you already knew that asking him personal questions would get you nowhere. For God’s sake—it was like talking to a brick wall!

You end up ordering some chicken nuggets and a smoothie. Jisung, on the other hand, opts for a cheeseburger. Well… three, actually. Wincing at the thought of your drained bank account, you swipe your card on the terminal.

“I’ll take it,” he grips the tray before you, walking towards an empty table in a secluded corner at the back. It’s a lot less noisy here.

Dipping your nugget in the sauce, your eyes wander off, landing on the boy in front of you. A chuckle escapes your parted lips as you watch him wolf down the burger in three bites.

“This is really good!” Jisung grins, practically inhaling the second burger with how fast he was eating. During your silent observation, you manage to notice a particular detail.

He stores his food in his cheeks.

Oh fuck, he’s so damn cute, he almost looks like a squirrel. Your heart swells up at the realization that he has so much in common with the adorable rodent. With how mesmerized you are, you don’t notice Jisung’s gaze landing on you.

A small smirk plays on his lips—you were watching him.

Suddenly, he stands up to his full height, bending his torso over the table until his face is right in front of yours. His lips stretch into a large grin as he watches the heat rise to your cheeks, looking at you like you held the entire Milky way in your eyes.

You feel bashful under his intense gaze, unable to properly deal with your emotions and simultaneously handle his cocky smile. Biting down at your lower lip, your eyes slowly close in anticipation, gripping at the soft material of your hoodie. You aren’t sure what makes you react that way, but before you can properly dwell on it, you feel something touch your cheek.

Jisung watches your eyes close with amusement, giddy at the fact that he managed to elicit such a reaction from you. His deep brown orbs fixate on your face, taking in all your pretty features before his thumb brushes off the sliver of sauce that stains your cheek.

“You got a lil’ something there, darling.”

Your eyes instantly open, an inaudible gasp leaving your parted lips. You stare at Jisung for a couple more seconds, blinking a few times, before your eyes dart sideways.

A heavy silence falls between you.

You’re too flustered to speak, meanwhile, Jisung, who is currently sipping ice tea from his jumbo-sized paper cup, flashes you a toothy grin. Rolling your eyes, you slowly get up and grab your tray.

“We should probably head back home.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, placing his hand on your lower back and gently guiding you to the exit. “Let’s go home.”

❖ ❖ ❖

“Done!” you softly mutter under your breath, sliding your finished bagels into a paper bag. You haven’t been really enjoying the food in your canteen for the past few days so you decided to make your own. And you have to admit—your homemade bagels look a thousand times better than the mystery meatloaf your school offers to the poor, hungry students.

Upon smelling the toasted bagels, Jisung materializes right behind you, placing his hands on your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. Your heartbeat quickens when you hear his raspy voice whisper in your ear.

“These look so good. What’s the occasion?”

His hand slowly reaches for one of the bangles, but you promptly slap it, wrapping the bagels before he can eat them.

“Hey—” he whines playfully, pinching your side. “What was that for?”

A pout appears on your lips as you chastise him. “This is my lunch today. The food’s been terrible this week so I decided to make something myself.”

“I see. Are you sure you can’t spare a little something for me?” He juts out his lower lip in an attempt to make you change your mind. However, the anticipation of hunger overrides his cuteness and you manage to hastily decline.

“Sorry, Ji. I’ll need all the energy I can get today. I have two evening classes so I’ll need to stay awake.”

Jisung grumbles something about how you’re practically starving him (while he’s eating some of your cereal straight from the box), before waddling away, the fuzzy blanket that’s draped around his shoulders dragging across the floor.

You bite your tongue in exasperation before angrily shouting, “Jisung! Get my blanket off the damn floor!”

Rushing back to your room to grab your books, you dump everything into your backpack. You even fill up your water bottle—having the time to do so for the first time in months—before walking out the door.

“Goodbye, Jisung!” you shout over the sound of the washing machine, smiling softly at the fact that Jisung is already helping out so early in the morning.

“Bye, Y/N. Enjoy your day!”

Unbeknownst to you, the brown, paper bag lies forgotten on your kitchen counter.

❖ ❖ ❖

You sigh bitterly, dropping your backpack on the soft, green grass before you lower yourself until your back is pressed flush against the stale, oak tree on campus grounds.

The loud grumble of your stomach makes you drop your head in your hands, gripping at the roots of your hair in frustration.

How could you have forgotten something so important? Again. Are you really that forgetful?

From the corner of your eye, you see Seungmin and Jeongin walking up to you, both sipping cups of boba from the new boba place that just opened two weeks ago.

“Hi, Y/N,” Jeongin waves, the straw never leaving his mouth. “Mind if we take a seat?”

You nod in agreement, moving your backpack so that there’s more space for them to sit. A loud grumble of your stomach makes the heat rise up to your cheeks.

“Quite the whale coming out of your stomach,” Seungmin quips, pointing at your lower belly with a toothy grin. Jeongin joins in on the laughter too, a teasing smile appearing on his lips.

“S-Shut up!” you cry, hiding your face in embarrassment as you instinctively cover your abdomen. “I forgot my lunch at home, okay!”

As the two of them continue to laugh at you, you notice a quick movement materializing from the corner of your eye. Once the person finally comes into view, you break out into a large grin.

“Jisung!” you yell at your friend, waving at him frantically before getting up and breaking into a sprint.

As the distance between you and him shrinks, Jeongin’s eyes are blown out wide.

His hands start trembling at the mention of the familiar name. Chills run down his spine as he watches you run, eyes helplessly searching for him.

He finds nothing.

All the memories of that day—the worst day of his life—start slowly trickling back into his mind, drowning him in the dread and agony he went through exactly ten years ago. His hands start clenching into fists, gripping at the emerald green grass and pulling it out of the soil.

Both him and Seungmin are watching you intently, but neither of them are able to spot this “Jisung” you’re speaking of.

“What are you doing here, Ji?” you whisper into the boy’s chest when the two of you finally collide, his strong arms pulling you into an embrace. Sighing at the soft scent of your washing detergent, you bury your nose into his neck.

With just his presence alone, he has managed to lull you into a state of bliss.

Jisung rubs comforting circles on your back with his right hand before he pulls something from behind his back. A sudden silence hangs over you, your brows furrow for a second before you squeal in awe, realizing what he was holding.

“You brought my lunch!”

You look up at Jisung, giving him the widest smile you can possibly muster. Overwhelmed by your exhilaration, he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. He’s happy to see you so joyful—your smile has the ability to light up his entire universe and simultaneously bring him to his knees. Something he realized when he saw you flash him a grin for the first time.

Till this day, Jisung remembers the twinkle in your eyes—the ones that carry entire galaxies in them—when he says something remotely funny. It’s the way your eyes lighten up and look at him with such fondness and admiration—it’s a deadly combination that makes him weak in the knees.

Jisung knows he’s weak for you. Utterly weak.

“C'mon, we can share!” you wiggle your brows, suggestively waving the small paper bag in front of you. Jisung’s eyes lighten up as he recalls how good they smelled in the morning.

“Yes, please!”

As the two of you walk away with your arms linked, you fail to notice how pale Jeongin has gone and how incredulously Seungmin is looking at you. With a quick turn of his head, Jisung searches for the people you were sitting with prior to his arrival. Curiosity gets the better of him—he truly wants to know who your friends are.

However, once his eyes land on the two guys who are currently standing up from the ground, one of them patting the other on the back, a wave of nausea washes over him, chilling him to the bone.

No… it can’t be.

He almost refuses to believe it at first, but when his eyes focus on the sharp, fox-like features of your friend, it feels like someone punched him in the stomach. With his eyes blown wide, he starts connecting the dots, one by one.

It really is him.

Other than the massive growth spurt over the past ten years (his shoulders have broadened unbelievably, he notes), he looks exactly the same, down to the mischievous twinkle in his eyes and the black beanie he always wore.

“Are you okay there, Ji? You’re not hungry anymore?”

Your voice pulls him out of his trance, and shaking his head, he gives you a forced smile.

“I’m fine, just got a bit distracted. Let’s go over there.” He points at a secluded area behind the gazebo, suggesting that you two sit on the bench.

“Sure.”

❖ ❖ ❖

The smell of lasagna wafts through the air as you paddle down the hall leading to your living room, careful not to trip on anything that could possibly be in the way (like Jisung’s dirty laundry). There’s a makeshift blindfold tied around your eyes, causing all your other senses to heighten.

“Careful! There’s a sock at three o'clock!” Jisung warns, his hands that are securely wrapped around your waist gently guiding you to evade the garment on the floor.

You sigh, placing your palms gingerly over his. You could feel his breath lingering on your neck, making you shiver. “Jisung, what am I even doing? Running around my apartment blindfolded…”

A childish whine leaves his lips. “C'mon, darling. Lighten up! I promise you it’s nothing bad—it’s just a little surprise. That’s all.”

Although still a bit skeptical, you nod, threading your fingers with his as he walks you into what you assume is the kitchen, judging by the fact that the lovely smell has intensified.

“What’s this?” You sniff, surprised at how good the food smells. “You ordered takeout?”

A brief chuckle escapes his lips at the implication. Unbeknownst to you, he has no idea how to order food from those apps on your phone. He doesn’t even have a phone in the first place!

Instead of replying, Jisung’s hands reach for the back of your head, fingers working to untie the knot that keeps the blindfold secured around your face.

“Surprise!” he yells in your ear, throwing his hands in the air for a dramatic effect. You let out a surprised gasp, eyes widening at the scene before you.

“Jisung!” The shock still hasn’t worn off as you take a few steps forward, gently placing your hand on the fresh table cloth lying on your table and examining his handiwork. “I-I can’t believe this!”

While you were working on your assignment in your room, Jisung cleaned the entire place up, changing the table cloth and setting the table. There were long candles placed between the plates that he set up, just like in a fancy restaurant. On top of that, a large bouquet of daisies stood in the center, completing the entire picture.

“It's…” You rack your brain, desperately trying to find the right words, but failing. “It’s really beautiful.”

Discreetly wiping off the moisture under your eyes, you turn around to face him, pulling him into a bone-shattering hug.

He gently pats your back before placing his palm against your cheek and motioning for you to look him in the eye. “Thank you. I hope you’ll enjoy what I’ve planned for you today.”

Leading you to the table, he pulls out your chair and places his hand on your lower back to guide you to sit down. The heat rises to your cheeks at the action, one usually associated with couples, as you slowly take a seat, breathing in to calm your racing heart.

Pulling on oven mitts, Jisung turns off the oven and pulls out the lasagna. Your mouth waters upon seeing the finished product of his hard work. He catches you lovingly staring at the food and flashes a grin.

“Here you go.” He cuts out identical pieces of the dish and places them on both your plates. A soft “thanks” leaves your lips as you watch him run back into the kitchen, grabbing some matches to light the candles.

“There we go.” He calls out cheerfully once all is ready, taking a seat opposite to you. Rubbing your hands together, you smile appreciatively before digging in.

The burst of flavor on your tongue is something you truly aren’t ready for. Eyes widening in surprise, you open your mouth to speak. “This is really good.”

Although muffled by the food you are chewing, Jisung understands and chuckles at the sight. “Thanks. I found a really cool recipe online and changed it up a bit. I’m glad you like it.”

And it truly hits you then—just how much Jisung has done for you. His presence has become somewhat of a constant in your boring, ordinary life. An unpredictable force that came barging through the window like a warm gust of wind, changing all your days for the better.

Over the time that he has spent with you, he always came rushing whenever you needed help. He had cheered you up during the times you were at your lowest, allowing you to cry your heart out while rubbing comforting circles on your back and whispering sweet nothings into your ear. He cooked, he cleaned, he even brought you things to your college whenever you forgot them—like your assignment or your lunch. As horrible as they sometimes were, his cheesy jokes always managed to put a smile on your face—something you have come to love.

After swallowing the last piece of your lasagna, you were about to get up to wash the dishes. However, Jisung places his palm over yours, stopping you from doing so. “It’s okay. I’ll do the dishes later. I still have something planned for today, remember?”

The twinkle in your eye manages to set your heart onfire, a large smile decorating your lips as you follow him to the couch. Your eyes widen at the setup of the coffee table; a couple scented candles are placed across the surface, there’s a massive bowl of ice cream, and in the middle sits the star of the evening.

A beautifully decorated fruit cake.

You let that sink in for a moment—Jisung baked you a cake.

A stunning one at that.

Ever since that baking fiasco in grade 7, you’ve known first hand how hard it is to bake and decorate such a nice cake. And to know he went through all the trouble—it makes you really emotional.

“Thank you, Ji. I absolutely love it!” You wrap your arms around his shoulders, burying your head in his chest.

Jisung’s eyes widen, a crimson hue painting his cheeks as he pats your head affectionately, a goofy smile appearing on his lips. “I’m glad you like it.”

After that, he rests his hand on your back, pointing at the couch. There, spread across your fluffy throw blanket, lays a selection of DVDs, ranging from rom-coms to popular horrors. You sigh at the sight; it has been quite some time since you saw those, having opted for purchasing a Netflix subscription years ago.

“I borrowed these from your neighbors. They said we can return them anytime next week.”

Gazing from one end of the couch to the other, you look at all your possible choices before a title catches your gaze. Gently hovering your hand above the plastic case, you lower it to grab the movie, flipping it to the other side so that you can read the description.

A small chuckle escapes your lips. “Look—it’s a ghost story. That should be fun since it’s almost Halloween.”

Unbeknownst to you, Jisung, who is standing right behind you, pales, all the color draining from his cheeks. “A-A ghost one?”

You curiously glance his way, immediately noticing his unrest. Upon seeing the frown etched onto his face, you raise a brow.

“I take it that you’re not really one for horrors.”

When he doesn’t reply, you place down the DVD. “It’s okay—I get scared quite easily too. We can watch something—”

“—No.”

Slightly amused, you look at him, chuckling at his rushed response. “You sure? I’m really okay with—”

He places his hand gently over yours. “It’s fine. I want to watch this.” You look at him incredulously, but he gives you such a cheeky grin that you can’t help but give in. Sitting comfortably on the couch, Jisung puts the DVD into the player and plops into the empty spot right next to you, grabbing a knife and cutting off two slices of cake.

After placing the delicious treat on a plate, he hands it to you, making one for himself too.

Curiously tapping the spoon on the edge of the table, you press play before digging into the cake and shoving the spoon in your mouth. A groan leaves your lips.

“Jisung! This is so good!” You gush, excitedly taking another piece. Next to you, Jisung sits cross-legged, quietly observing you with a fond smile. His eyes crinkle when he sees how much you’re enjoying his treat. A familiar feeling spreads throughout his body and he feels warm and fuzzy from the inside.

“I’m glad you like it.”

Selecting the language options, the two of you recline back in your seats, eyes focusing on the TV.

❖ ❖ ❖

“I wasn’t scared at all! I swear!” Jisung tries to convince you as he’s gathering all the plates, about to carry them to the sink. You snicker. “Yeah sure, Ji. I totally believe you.”

A pout appears on his face as he juts out his lower lip, feigning hurt. “I really wasn’t!”

“AAAAAA. Heeelp, Y/N. I’m so scared!” You yell in a high pitch, trying to imitate his voice.

A mild blush covers his cheeks, and Jisung can’t help but realize he may or may not have screamed something like that at one point. But it’s not like he could help it—cinematography has progressed a lot in the past years, and he wasn’t used to all the flashy effects.

“It’s okay,” you pat his back, pinching his soft cheek before grabbing one of the plates and beginning to wash it. “I was pretty scared too.”

The crease in his brow disappears, but he still looks a bit distressed. Puffing out his cheeks, he joins you in front of the sink and starts washing the dishes too.

The two of you work in relative silence—each of you too lost in thought to lead a proper conversation. But even though no words are exchanged, a familiar ease hangs in the air, the atmosphere between you very pleasant—like two people who have known each other long enough to communicate without words.

Even though your fingers struggle to grip the plates properly, you still manage to clean them at a moderate pace. And as soon as you’re done with washing it, Jisung is there to take it from you and dry it with a fluffy towel.

“Thanks for helping me out with the dishes.”

His body tenses for a second, before he regains his composure and continues drying. “Yeah. It’s no problem, really.”

You glance up at him from underneath your lashes, admiring his sharp features as he focuses on the task at hand. Your heartbeat starts racing as you notice, one by one, the little quirks and subtle things that he does.

The way his eyes stay sharp and focused—there’s something truly magical about that. The little scrunch of his nose when he stands on his tippy toes to reach the top shelf. The way his Adam’s apple bobs and his strong arms gripping onto the plates.

Everything about him suddenly seems so enchanting you can’t take your eyes off him.

They say love makes you blind. Well, that may be true, but for you… it was different.

It made you foolish. Stupid. Crazy, even. Like something straight out of a fairytale. Who would’ve thought that you, out of all people, would be the one to fall for a guy who just appeared at your place, asking to stay. His skin was littered with bruises, and he refused to go to the hospital, despite his serious injuries. He was a guy you knew nothing about.

Yet it seems like once again, fate has found a way to bring you two together, tying your heartstrings and forming a special bond between two virtual strangers.

Ever since you found him lying on your couch, your world was quite literally flipped upside down. Jisung came in like the wind, unpredictable and wild, throwing things out of place like a hurricane—in this case, those things were your own feelings—and wreaking havoc in your heart.

Yet despite that, this miracle of a person has managed to establish himself as a solid part of your life. It didn’t take long for you to realize how happy you suddenly became when he was around, how the mood shifted whenever he entered the room and how a smile instantly appeared on your face. He’s always there for you, something you never thought you’d be able to confidently say about someone.

He has become your anchor. Someone you can rely on when things aren’t going well. Someone who isn’t afraid to put your needs before his when needed. Someone who knows exactly when to tell you to stop if you’re pulling another all-nighter or neglecting yourself in any way, shape, or form.

And you decide to tell him exactly that.

“Jisung,” you whisper, keeping your eyes trained in front of you. Said boy hums, not looking up from his work as the tip of his tongue darts out in concentration.

“Yeah?”

You take a deep breath. This was a lot more stressful than you anticipated, you realized. “I—” the words get lost on your tongue just as you’re about to ask. Swallowing the ball of spit that formed in your throat, you continue.

“I’m really grateful for having you in my life. I know we don’t know each other for too long, but spending time with you has become one of my favourite things. Whenever I’m with you, I feel like all my problems disappear. Like everything’s going to be okay…”

You trail off with a solemn tone, keeping your eyes down as you feel all these overwhelming emotions take over you.

Suddenly, you hear the room go quiet. Blinking away the confusion, you notice that the sink isn’t running anymore, the corners of your eye catching Jisung’s palm closing the faucet. You nervously grip onto your shirt, closing your eyes and allowing the demons to whisper in your ear once again.

You shouldn’t have told him. He doesn’t care. Nobody ever does…

“Darling…”

A familiar voice shakes you from your thoughts, preventing you from sinking any lower. It’s a sweet melody calling out to you and pulling you out from the trench you were currently falling through.

As your gaze slowly rises, you notice a pair of intense, brown eyes looking at you, carefully studying your face.

Shying away in embarrassment, you feel the heat rise to your cheeks. The serious expression on his face worries you slightly—his usually cheeky demeanor gone and instead replaced with a fierce gaze as his lids flutter.

In a flash, he leans forward and presses his lips to yours, pushing you against the counter. Your eyes widen in surprise, hands immediately gripping onto the sleeves of his shirt to anchor yourself. You feel his hands snake around your neck, gently cupping your cheek as he pulls you closer to him, until there’s no space between you.

A few seconds pass before he lets go, detaching his lips from yours with a smile. His eyes twinkle, gleefully watching you fluster before he finally speaks up.

“I like you too, you know. I have for a while, actually…”

With another press of his soft, kissable lips, you close your eyes in bliss.

❖ ❖ ❖

Jisung is scared. Shivers are running down his spine as his breath heaves; he looks down at his arms to try and understand what’s going on with him. He’s utterly terrified as his sharp gaze manages to quite literally pierce through his hand.

Except, there’s no longer a hand for him to look at.

He’s dissolving.

The chilling truth sinks in as he comes to a realization of what’s going on. Perhaps he has been testing his luck for far too long, dancing on the edge of what was deemed appropriate for someone like him. But he thought that it could be different… that you could be the person for him. One that would bring him back from this misery he was about to fall back into.

Your soft snores echo through the apartment, a painful reminder of today’s events that he would never want to forget. The sweet smile on your lips, how your eyes glossed. He thought that he had finally found peace amongst the thorns of the afterlife.

But it seems like fate had other plans, granting him the sweet taste of love before cruelly ripping it away, leaving his shattered heart behind.

Why is it always like that for him? Ever since he was young, he knew he wasn’t particularly lucky. As a child, he wished he could get his hand on the infamous Felix Felicis potion for years. It was a ridiculous and naive wish—he is now aware of that—but thinking back, it would really come in handy.

A sharp ache flutters through his hand as he gasps at the sight of his appendage. From the wrist down, it’s all gone. His heart clenches when he realizes what that means, pain ebbing through his entire body at the mere thought.

He can’t.

He really doesn’t want to, but unfortunately, fate doesn’t listen to what one wants. Instead, it does its own thing, intertwining, separating or melding the lives of millions of people, all according to its own ways.

Fate isn’t something he can escape, and sadly, Han Jisung is very much aware of that fact.

He won’t dare go against such a powerful entity. At least not when the stakes are so high…

Ignoring the pricking pain in his left hand, he grabs a piece of paper and a pen, scribbling a quick goodbye note. Tears are streaming down his face; droplets of salty water dripping onto the paper as they create small blotches of smeared ink.

But Jisung can’t afford to even remotely care, his left hand is slowly dissolving and it’s only a matter of time until his entire body disappears. He has overstayed his welcome.

A choked sob leaves his lips, one full of hurt and anger, as he hurriedly jots down his last words of love, encouragement, and apologies. For the last time, he takes a look around the apartment—the one that housed him for the past few months—and wipes his tears off his face.

And just like the wind, he’s gone.

Except this time, he has no plans of ever returning again…

❖ ❖ ❖

You’re freaking out. It’s the only thing you’ve been doing for the past few hours, other than frantically running around your apartment, calling for him like a maniac. But despite your best efforts, you haven’t been able to find him. Fresh tears start rolling down your cheeks as you open the folded piece of paper, re-reading its contents for the 100th time.

But even if you read it a million more times, you still won’t understand the reasoning behind his actions.

What does he mean by I really can’t stay any longer, it isn’t physically possible anymore. The words seem like they aren’t even his to begin with. They’re rushed, serious, and full of apologies, and it almost feels like Jisung was going through a great deal of pain while writing them.

The splotches on the paper indicate that he was also crying, something you find especially heartbreaking, and it only serves to make you sob louder.

You can’t believe he’s gone, especially after what happened yesterday. The entire evening was full of laughter, half-lidded gazes, and sweet words that the two of you exchanged. It was the day you finally confessed your feelings, something that took a lot of effort and courage on your part.

You thought your life was finally coming together. Relief washed over you when you ultimately thought that you found someone that was going to stay by your side. That wasn’t going to leave you behind like everyone else did.

Despite your best efforts to deny it, it seems like you were wrong.

❖ ❖ ❖

It is raining again, the dark clouds painting the sky a murky grey as they release a waterfall of droplets onto the city, but you can barely feel the water touch your skin.

You’re running, running down the sidewalk with no plan in mind—only a feeling of desperation. Puddles of water are sloshing under your feet as you sprint straight through them, anger and betrayal mixing inside your head.

You don’t know what to do, quite frankly; you don’t even know how to feel.

A few minutes ago, you bumped into Minho, your landlord, as you were running down the stairs. The handsome man gave you a wide smile, greeting you as he slowly took in your state.

Disheveled, messy clothes; tears running down your face; red eyes… Yeah, you probably weren’t looking your best right now.

A frown took over his face when he caught sight of the tears spilling from your eyes. “Y/N? Is everything alright?”

You choked on a sob, shaking your head in denial. “N-No, h-he’s gone…”

He watched in fear as you almost broke down in the hallway, hands clutching onto your arms as you tried to lull yourself into a state where you could think normally.

“Who’s gone?” Minho inquired, brows furrowing. His arm slowly wrapped around your shaking shoulders, guiding you towards his apartment. Perhaps he could offer you a cup of warm tea to help you calm down.

Taking a deep breath, you whispered, “Jisung.”

You never saw the color drain from someone’s face as fast as now.

Minho’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, his arm immediately letting go of you as he took a step back. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead, a pained expression appearing on his face.

“J-Jisung?”

His voice was strained, the single word pronounced in a quiet stutter. You almost had to crane your neck to even hear what he was saying. The shift in his expression scared you, though.

His eyes darted sideways, as if he was expecting someone to appear out of nowhere and startle him. Glancing down, you noticed his hands were shaking, something that very much reminded you of the way he reacted to a joke you made when you first moved in.

“I-I… I h-have to g-go,” he mumbled before dashing down the staircase and leaving you behind.

Frankly, it wasn’t even the worst reaction you got.

After Mr. Lee left you standing in the hallway, you asked a couple more people if they knew where Jisung could’ve gone, and to your utter surprise, most of them replied that they had no idea who you were talking about.

That bit was what startled you the most—they had seen you and Jisung hang out multiple times. You even greeted them as you passed by, indulging in a little small talk for God’s sake.

How could they have not known?

It isn’t until you reach the local internet cafe, stepping inside and shedding your coat. You wipe off the tears from your face before walking up to the main barista, Hyunjin.

Everyone knows that Hyunjin is the main gossip girl in town. If you need some information, be it the latest buzz about celebrities, or who asked whom out from your college, Hyunjin is your guy.

Walking up to him, you try to smooth out the hem of your shirt so you don’t look like you just rolled out of bed. Hyunjin greets you with a friendly smile and a familiar ‘sup as he finishes up a caramel latte.

“How have you been?” he mouths, spraying a generous dollop of whipped cream on top of the beverage. You give him a broken smile, exhaustion peeking through the mask you’re trying to put on, and his face immediately shifts.

“Are you alright? You don’t really look too well,“ says Hyunjin. "No offence!” he adds hastily.

A sigh leaves your lips. “Yeah… I’ve been better, honestly. It’s just that my friend is gone and I don’t know what to do or how to find him…”

At this point, you’re exhausted enough to plop down into the cushioned seat near the cash register to watch Hyunjin work. You always found his presence calming.

Said boy glances at you, curiosity glimmering in his eyes as he wipes down the counter. “And who is this mysterious person you’re looking for, if I may ask?”

“Jisung… his name is Jisung.”

For a moment, everything goes so silent you could hear a pin drop. Hyunjin halts all his movements, dropping the plastic cup he was holding and letting it fall to the ground.

He pierces you with his eyes, his gaze no longer friendly and cheerful. Instead, you see pain, agony, and anger. Anger that has now apparently been redirected towards you.

The stare he gives you chills you to the bones. His sharp eyes glare daggers into you before he sighs, massaging his temples. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, Y/N, but I suggest you stop whatever little game you’re onto.”

Your eyes widen. Game? What game? This is perhaps the most perplexed you’ve been in a long time. And that was saying a lot given you lived with a stranger for months.

“Hyunjin,” you whisper, furrowing your brows. You extend your hand forward, intending to place your palm over his in a friendly gesture. But he rips his hand away before you even get close.

You feel a bit offended by the action, hurt that he’s going this far to avoid you.

“H-Hyunjin? Is everything al—”

“—Y/N!” He cuts you off, not even allowing you to finish your sentence. His eyes are sharp, piercing through you judgmentally. “I know you’re not from here, but you should know by now that you don’t bring up Jisung here. Ever.”

Your eyes widen as you take a step back from him. You ’re scared. This reaction was by far the worst one you’ve received. You’re afraid that you’re missing something… something crucial. It’s a piece of information that everybody in town knows, you assume.

Except for you…

“H-Hyunjin?” you call after the boy, hoping to find some answers, but he gives you one last glare before walking off, disappearing behind the ‘staff only’ door.

The overwhelming urge to start sobbing consumes you from the inside. You’re puzzled, baffled, confused. Everything starts blurring, and for a second, you think that he may just be a figment of your imagination. That there never really was a Jisung—he was just someone who came to be in your head.

No. It can’t be true… you remembered him clearly. His nose… lips… smile. The twinkle in his eyes. The taste of his lips. Everything was there, there’s no way you could’ve imagined this all… right?

Right.

Your hands dig into your pocket, retrieving the small piece of paper that was neatly folded into a tiny square. You’re sure of it—Jisung is real!

Suddenly, your eyes dart, catching sight of the computers lining one of the walls.

Computers. Internet. Technology. Bingo—online archives! Whatever part of the story you were missing, you could just look up! Shivers run down your spine in anticipation as you’re about to make your way to one of the devices, but a chilling call of your name stops you.

“Y/N.” Hyunjin’s jaw is set in anger, something you notice once you turn around to follow the voice. “I think it would be best if you…if you went home.”

Embarrassment settles deep within your core. His eyes—laced with fury—are something you would never expect to be on the receiving end of. Humiliation boils in your veins as you excuse yourself, tears crystalizing at the corners of your eyes. Wordlessly, you run out the door, a clear goal in mind.

Home… you wanted to go home.

❖ ❖ ❖

The blue light from your laptop screen illuminates your face as you hunch over the table, squinting your eyes to read the tiny text.

For the past two hours, you’ve been searching the internet for anything—just a sliver of information on Jisung.

To say that you’re confused would be an understatement. You’re baffled, perplexed… bewildered. It feels like there’s this big secret going on around town and nobody thought about filling you in. Nothing seems to make sense anymore, nothing at all.

Your brows furrow, a large crease appearing in your forehead, as you notice something that catches your eye. You bite down on your lip nervously as you realize that it contains all your key phrases; Han Jisung and your town’s name.

Your blood runs cold as you read the headline, freezing in your spot for a second. This… this can’t be true, can it?

In your chest, you feel your heartbeat stall as you nervously move your mouse and click on the article. It’s from ten years ago, you notice.

It takes a while for the page to load, these few seconds allowing you to ponder upon what you saw. Did you read it correctly? Will there be some sort of continuation that will allow you to make more sense of the headline? Could this be another person they’re talking about?

The article finally loads, and when you see the words, black on white, you feel like your heart stops in your chest.

18 year old Han Jisung crushed to death on Park Avenue construction site:

The denial comes almost immediately. For a full minute, you shut your eyes and try to convince yourself that you read wrong. It just can’t be possible! That’s what you tell yourself. However, after taking a deep breath and opening your eyes, you scroll down to read the article, and this time, you know it’s true. Tears well up in your eyes as you gloss over the words.

❝ The beloved town resident was found dead under a construction pillar on October 31th at 10:40 PM by 9-year-old Yang Jeongin, a boy with whom the late teen used to play. The paramedics described the scene as “brutal” and “gory”, adding that there hadn’t been any hope for the boy to survive.

“When we arrived at the scene, he was still alive. Crushed under the weight of the pillar and likely in a lot of pain, but breathing. But everything from his torso down was buried under the collapsed beam and unfortunately, we couldn’t save him. When he stopped breathing, we were all relieved—the pain must’ve been excruciating.” said local firefighter, Seo Changbin.

Our sources tell us that the boy was picking flowers before the metal beam collapsed over him. These accounts are supported by the fact that when he was found, an array of hand-picked flowers was scattered around his body. In his right hand, he was clutching onto a cluster of chrysanthemums. ❞

Your heart clenches at the irony. Chrysanthemums. An almost-laugh escapes your lips but your voice cracks midway as a choked sob wracks your throat.

In his last seconds before death, he was holding onto flowers that represent love, happiness, and longevity. It’s almost too cruel, you think. Like the higher power did not only think such a brutal death was not enough, but also had a flair for dramatics.

Scrolling down, you notice they’ve attached a photo of him, and you almost break down after seeing the familiar face. He looks exactly the same as you remember him; bunched up cheeks, goofy smile, and the familiar twinkle in his eyes that gave him that laid back, mischievous look. If you weren’t sitting, your knees would definitely buckle under the weight of your body. He doesn’t look a day older than nineteen.

Way too young to have passed away…

By now, the tears are fully streaming down your face, dripping onto your white t-shirt. You try wiping them off but it’s no use—fresh ones replace them in no time.

You’re taken aback to the point you start questioning everything. This article managed to throw off your entire life here, making you question what was real and what was just a figment of your imagination.

Was Jisung really ever here with you? How could he—he’s dead for God’s sake! With a solemn glance, you confirm your suspicions. Ten years have passed since his death. The anniversary was actually quite recently—it was the day you met him for the first time…

As the clock strikes ten, eleven, twelve… you sit by the table, weeping as you recall all your shared memories. The fuzzy blanket weighs down on your shoulders heavily, as a constant reminder of his warm and comforting presence.

“I… I’ll miss y-you, Jisung.”

❖ ❖ ❖

The wind is light and breezy, sweeping through the empty streets as you make your way down the street. It’s fall again, almost a year later, and the leaves have turned a pretty orange hue, crunching under your boots.

In your hands, you gingerly hold a small bouquet of chrysanthemums and a plain, white candle.

A sad smile appears on your lips as the gate of your town’s cemetery starts materializing in the distance, long black beams cutting through the fog.

Along the main road, you see multiple carved out pumpkins lining the entrances of each house. A fleeting thought crosses your mind, one where you and Jisung spend Halloween together, carving out pumpkins and going trick-or-treating in ridiculous costumes. And as soon as it comes by, you shove the idea to the very back of your head, not wanting to think about all the what-if’s.

You have come for one thing and one thing only.

When you arrive at the entrance, the old man gives you a once over before letting you in. After your third visit, he had managed to remember you and always let you in without asking further questions.

You give him a quick smile before quickening your pace and walking towards your destination.

The gravestone is cut out of a darker shade of granite than the ones surrounding it. Although a bit smaller in size, anyone can tell it’s a lot newer—the edges are still sharp despite the light signs of wear.

In memory of Han Jisung

A loving son, friend, and brother

September 14th XXXX — October 31th XXXX

No matter how many times you read it, you’d always end up sobbing uncontrollably. Today is no different.

You place the bouquet of carefully picked chrysanthemums on the grave, taking a step back to absorb the painful setting. Like usual, there’s another bouquet there already, matching yours almost to the T. You used to wonder who this person was, but after some time, you learned to let it go.

They obviously come here secretly for a reason. You assume they knew Jisung personally from his teens, likely a friend or family member.

It’s then that you remember the small candle weighing down your pocket. With a quiet sigh, you light it with a match and gently set it on top of the stone. Another tear rolls down your cheeks as you say what’s on your mind.

“I really miss you, Jisung. I’m not sure under which circumstances we met, and whether you were even alive, but I miss you. I’ll come back again next week, I promise. Halloween should be over then—” a choked sob escapes your lips. “A-And it’ll be time f-for Christmas. Don’t worry, I’ll bring you a present!”

A sudden blow of the wind blows out the candle, allowing the suffocating darkness to envelop you as a whole.

With a sigh, your hand extends towards the grave, in a sort of desperate plea, before you walk away.

Unbeknownst to you, a pair of twinkling eyes are watching you, a gentle smile on their lips…