Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Every day felt like a battle.

Dragging yourself out of bed, forcing your body to move despite the crushing weight of exhaustion. Brushing your teeth, showering—each task felt monumental, as if you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.

You dressed quickly, slipping into your uniform with practiced ease. The mirror reflected a version of you that barely felt like yourself. Your once-bright eyes were now framed by deep, dark circles, your skin dull, lips cracked from dehydration. You had looked better. Much better.

Stepping out of your room, you were met with the familiar scent of breakfast. Your father stood by the stove, plating up food, his usual bright smile lighting up his face.

"Good morning, my angel," he greeted, his voice warm, comforting.

You offered a small smile, sliding into your seat at the table. He always made sure you had a meal before school, no matter how early or how tired he was. You were grateful for him—for his unwavering presence, for the way he always took care of you, even when things were falling apart.

"Quick, eat before you're late," he urged, placing a plate in front of you.

You took a bite of toast before asking, "Where's Mom?"

His smile faltered. A shadow passed over his face.

"Probably out with whoever she’s set her sights on," he muttered under his breath, voice laced with bitterness.

You didn’t push further. You didn’t need to. Their marriage had been in shambles for as long as you could remember. There was no warmth between them, no tenderness—just distance, and the occasional sharp words exchanged in passing. You weren’t sure when it started, only that one day, they stopped eating together, stopped talking, stopped sleeping in the same bed.

You didn’t blame your dad. Your mom wasn’t the easiest person to live with. She had her flaws, ones that had chipped away at the foundation of your family over the years.

You finished your breakfast quickly, slung your bag over your shoulder, and stepped out of the house. The air was crisp, biting at your skin as you made your way toward school.

School wasn’t a safe haven. Not for you.

It wasn’t that you were alone—you had friends. People you studied with, sat with at lunch, even occasionally hung out with after school. But despite their presence, you always felt like an outsider. A shadow lingering on the edges of their world.

They pitied you. That’s why they kept you around. You could see it in the way they looked at you when they thought you weren’t paying attention. In the hushed whispers, the careful avoidance of certain topics, the way they never asked about your family.

But you didn’t mind. At least it meant you weren’t a complete social reject.

You probably should’ve tried harder. Found people who actually shared your interests, made real connections instead of clinging to the ones given out of obligation. But it didn’t matter. Not anymore.

This was your final year of high school.

After this, you were leaving.

Far away from this town. From these people. From everything.

And for the first time in a long time, that thought brought you a sliver of hope.

A harsh shove snapped you out of your daydream, tearing your fantasies from your vision like a cruel gust of wind scattering delicate petals.

“Look who’s here.”

Condescending gazes bore into you, sharp and unrelenting. You weren’t new to this. Their harassment had followed you like a shadow for as long as you could remember. Even as a child, you had been an easy target. It never escalated beyond name-calling, the occasional hair-pulling, or a cruel shove—nothing severe, nothing life-threatening. But it was constant.

You never fought back.

You told yourself that resisting would only escalate things. That if you ignored them long enough, they would get bored and move on. So you took it, endured it—like a quiet, obedient pet.

Your back hit a brick wall, the rough surface scraping against your spine through the thin fabric of your uniform. A sharp sting bloomed across your skin, but you didn’t react. They pulled at you—at your clothes, at your arms—snickering as they rummaged through your bag, tossing your things carelessly onto the ground.

It was fine. It had to be fine.

As long as you didn’t cry. As long as you kept your hands clenched at your sides, shaking but controlled. As long as you didn’t let them see the storm raging behind your eyes.

They would leave you alone.

Eventually.

It’s fine. You’re fine.

“C’mon, guys. Let’s go. I’m getting bored,” a voice drawled lazily, feigning disinterest.

You knew that voice.

Looking up, your gaze met his.

Gwi-nam.

Once, a long time ago, you might have called him a friend. Though “friend” was a strong word—more like an acquaintance. Someone who existed in the same orbit as you, but never quite in sync.

You remembered the playground, years ago. How he sat alone, watching the other kids laugh and run. You had recognized the loneliness in his eyes—an unspoken understanding passing between you. So you had shared your lunch with him, wordlessly offering a piece of bread.

It only happened a handful of times—twice, maybe three times—but the memory lingered.

Not that it mattered now.

Whatever kindness had once existed between you had long since been buried under cruelty, swallowed whole by the person he had become.

The moment they had their fill of tormenting you, they lost interest. One by one, they peeled away, laughing amongst themselves as they walked off.

You exhaled, your shoulders slumping as you bent down to gather your scattered belongings. The sting on your back pulsed dully, but you ignored it.

You just needed to get through the day.

Just a few more hours, and school would be over.

And that was the only thing that mattered.

The shrill ring of the bell echoed through the classroom, signaling the start of lunch. Finally.

I’m starving.

Pushing back your chair, you stood, stretching out the stiffness in your limbs before making your way to your usual lunch group. It was always On-jo and I-sak. Sometimes others would tag along, drifting in and out like waves, but the core remained the same.

The three of you walked together down the bustling hallway toward the cafeteria. On-jo and I-sak were engaged in their usual chatter, talking about whatever had happened during the lecture—some joke the teacher made, an assignment they had already forgotten about. Their voices blended into the sea of students around you, a background noise that you only half-registered.

Maybe I should make an effort to join in…

But the thought was fleeting. Your insecurities latched onto it, crushing it before it could fully form.

So you stayed silent, nodding at the right moments, letting them fill the space with words while you remained invisible.

Lunch wasn’t bad. It never was. You ate slowly, savoring each bite, dragging out the moment as much as possible. This was the only part of the day you could tolerate—the only time you felt a semblance of peace.

Tuning everything out, you focused on the food in front of you, letting the noise of the cafeteria fade into the distance. For just a few minutes, you could pretend that everything was fine. That you were just another student, just another person eating lunch with their friends.

But the illusion never lasted long.

A sharp thud against the back of your head. Cold liquid dripping down the nape of your neck.

An empty juice box.

You didn’t need to turn around. You already knew who it was. It was always the same people. Always the same tormenters.

The meaning was clear.

You sighed, setting down your chopsticks before grabbing your tray. Cleaning up after yourself, preparing for what came next.

But before you could leave, a hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“You don’t have to go.”

On-jo’s voice was quiet, hesitant. Her eyes—full of pity—looked into yours, pleading for you to stay.

You hated that look.

She wasn’t going to help you. She never had. She only kept you around to ease her own guilt, to make herself feel better. She was just like everyone else—selfish. Pretending to care but never actually doing anything about it.

You detested her.

So, you nodded, as if acknowledging her words. As if considering them.

Then, without another word, you turned and left.

They were waiting for you.

Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, sneering. Malicious grins stretched across their faces, eyes filled with twisted amusement.

They didn’t waste time.

The first shove sent you stumbling back. The second knocked the air from your lungs. Their words, their laughter, their jeers—it all blended together, white noise against the pounding in your ears.

Just hold on. Ten minutes. Just ten minutes.

You could endure ten minutes. You always did.

You were fine.

When the bell rang, they scattered, leaving you crumpled on the dusty concrete. Bruises forming on your knees, raw scrapes burning against your skin.

It hurt to walk, but skipping class wasn’t an option. You weren’t the prettiest, you weren’t the most likable—but you could at least be smart.

You couldn’t disappoint your father.

Not after everything he had endured for you.

Not when the day was almost over.

Just a little longer.

Then it would all be over.

It was dark outside. The streets stretched endlessly before you as you wandered without direction, your footsteps slow, unhurried.

You were supposed to be home hours ago. If you checked your phone, you were sure you'd find countless missed calls from your parents—maybe frantic messages, maybe angry ones. But you didn’t check. It didn’t matter.

You couldn’t be home right now.

Not when home meant listening to your parents fight night after night. The sharp shatter of porcelain plates against the walls. The screams that started as muffled arguments but escalated into something ugly, something violent. The sound of doors slamming so hard that your room shook.

Being home meant being there for all of it. Meant being a spectator, an unwilling witness to the slow collapse of something that had already been broken for years.

So you stayed out.

Sometimes you’d sit in a random study café, pretending to focus on schoolwork. Other nights, you’d kill time at some fast-food place, eating whatever you were craving just to have something to do. Anything was better than going back.

Tonight, you found yourself on an empty bench in a park. The only company you had was the moon, its pale glow reflecting the loneliness that curled inside you like a second skin.

A cold, damp can of mango juice rested between your palms. You stared at it, running your fingers over the condensation, feeling the chill seep into your skin.

Then—

“What are you doing here?”

A voice.

You startled, whipping your head around. You had been sure you were alone. The quiet of the park, the absence of movement—it had lulled you into a false sense of solitude.

But you weren’t alone.

Standing a few feet away was him.

Gwi-nam.

His tall frame was relaxed, one strap of his bag slung lazily over his shoulder, jacket wide open despite the night’s chill. He didn’t wear his usual smirk, the one laced with arrogance and mockery. Instead, his expression held something else—something closer to curiosity, maybe even confusion.

“You don’t live in this neighbourhood,” he stated.

It wasn’t a question. Just an observation.

You wondered how he knew that.

You didn’t ask.

You only nodded.

You had expected your lack of response to bore him. That he would roll his eyes, scoff, and walk away, deciding you weren’t worth his time.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he did something unexpected.

He sat down next to you.

Legs spread wide apart, arms resting loosely on his knees, he made himself comfortable—like he had every right to be there, like this was something natural.

You stared at him, unsure of what to make of it.

“I’m guessing you don’t wanna be home right now,” he said, his voice casual, as if this was just another conversation. “I get that. Happens to me too, sometimes.”

That made you pause.

Your gaze flickered to his face, searching for any sign of sarcasm, any hint that he was mocking you. But there was none. Just quiet honesty.

You had always suspected that his home life wasn’t great. Bullies often lashed out because they had no control over their own lives. It wasn’t exactly shocking to hear him admit it.

But what baffled you was the fact that he was talking to you about it.

Willingly.

Without judgment.

For the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel so alone.

Chapter Text

Reaching deep into his pockets, he pulls out a lighter and a cigarette. The small metal object catches the dim light of the streetlamps, flickering as he flicks it open. He slips the cigarette between his lips, then glances over at you with a small, almost mischievous smile. Without a word, he offers you one.

You hesitate for a moment, but then take it, not wanting to seem rude. After all, he had been kind enough to try and comfort you in a moment of weakness, even if you hadn’t asked for it.

The repetitive click-click-click of the lighter echoes in the night, a steady rhythm against the sound of the wind. The breeze is gentle—just enough to stir the air and cool the warmth of the evening. He lights his cigarette first, the flame flickering brightly before settling into a steady glow.

You bring the cigarette to your lips, inhaling the smoke tentatively. It burns your lungs, catching in your throat, and you cough it out almost immediately. The taste lingers, sharp and acrid.

His head kicks back as laughter erupts from him, deep and full of life. It sounds genuine, like he’s found humour in something simple. “Guess you’ve never smoked before, huh?” His grin is wide, playful, as he looks over at you.

You avoid his gaze, feeling suddenly small under the weight of his amused stare, his eyes twinkling with that playful glint.

He takes another drag, blowing the smoke out slowly, directing it in your direction as if to tease you. You don’t flinch. You don’t cough or pull away. Instead, you watch the smoke swirl and drift into the night air.

It’s a game for him, a small challenge. But to his surprise, you remain unfazed.

A peaceful silence settles between you, the only sounds being the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind and the distant hum of the city. For a moment, there are no words needed. Neither of you rushes to fill the quiet, both content just to be there, sharing this strange, unspoken connection. The world feels smaller in this moment, the tension from before fading into the night.

You both simply exist in each other's company, no expectations, no judgment. Just the stillness and the shared peace of being here, now.

The silence stretches on, neither of you feeling the need to fill it. The faint scent of tobacco lingers in the cool air, mixing with the distant smell of rain. You notice the way the moonlight reflects off the pavement, casting long shadows that seem to shift with the wind. Everything feels calm, almost like time itself has slowed down.

“Not much of a talker, are you?” he says, his voice still light, but there's a flicker of amusement in his eyes. You only shake your head, not sure how to respond.

“That’s fine. We don’t need to talk,” he adds, his words soft, almost understanding.

But why was he being like this? Sweet. Considerate. So completely different from the person you thought you knew. This wasn’t the Gwi-nam you’d been used to—the one who tormented and mocked.

It must be a prank.

It had to be. Maybe his group of friends was hiding around the corner, waiting to catch you off guard, ready to laugh at you when you fell for it. You could almost picture them, crouched behind some building, eager to see how far they could push you before you cracked.

Grabbing your bag from the floor, you stand up quickly, already making your way to leave. But you don’t get far.

He moves in front of you, blocking your path, though it’s not like you expected him to let you go that easily.

“Wait—where are you going?” His voice sounds almost… worried?

You don’t answer, walking right past him. You can feel his gaze shift, his suspicions growing. But he doesn’t stop you. He steps aside, giving you the space to leave, though it feels like he's giving you a choice you don’t actually have.

“I’m not here to hurt you, honest to God,” he says, his tone softer now, more sincere. “But if you want to leave, I won’t stop you.”

His words hit you harder than you expect. Why was he being like this? This kindness felt… foreign.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, you find yourself speaking, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “Why… why do you guys hurt me?”

A dry chuckle escapes him, low and almost painful. The tension between you both thickens with every passing second. He doesn’t look at you directly as he answers, his gaze shifting down toward the ground.

“It’s not like I want to, you know?” he starts, his voice quieter, almost apologetic. He rubs the back of his neck, a sign of discomfort, of someone caught between two worlds. “I don’t really have a choice if I want to fit in.”

You roll your eyes, the bitterness rising in your chest. "Yeah, right," you mutter, not believing a word of it.

But that’s when he shifts again, his grin wide and predatory. “Oh, so she fights back now?” He leans forward slightly, a gleam of playfulness in his eyes. It’s the same smirk, the same attitude, but there’s something different about it now—something that makes it feel almost... human.

The line between the bully and the person sitting beside you, sharing this strange moment, feels blurrier than ever. You can’t tell if he’s genuinely playing around or if he’s just trying to hide something deeper.

But as much as you want to run away, something keeps you rooted in place. There’s a strange mix of vulnerability in his eyes, something that makes it hard to just walk away.

So you stay. You stay until the last buses stop running, until the streets fall silent, with no cars left on the road. You stay until the lights in the houses around you flicker off, one by one, signalling that the world is going to sleep. And even though you’re here with one of your tormentors, the one who’s made your life a bit of a nightmare, you can’t help but feel an odd sense of peace.

The tension from earlier, the weight of the past, seems to dissolve in the quiet of the night. It’s just you and him now, an unlikely pair sharing the same space under the stars. The silence is comfortable, not forced.

When it’s finally time to call it a night, he offers to walk you home.

At first, you refuse. You give a few excuses, reasoning that it would be a detour for him, that he doesn’t need to go out of his way. But he insists.

“Can’t let a pretty lady walk alone at night,” he says, his tone teasing, but there’s something almost... protective in it.

You can’t help but chuckle, reaching out to softly punch his shoulder. There's no real fight in the touch, just a light-hearted response to his words.

The walk is short—about fifteen minutes—but it feels longer. Maybe because there’s no rush, no need to fill the silence with meaningless chatter. For once, you’re both just walking, side by side, with no expectations.

When you reach the familiar street near your house, you slow down, suddenly unsure of how to end this night. The thought of going back to your house, where the chaos waits, fills you with hesitation. You’re not ready to step back into that world yet.

You stop in front of your door, your hand hovering over the doorknob, stalling.

He whistles softly, the sound breaking the quiet. “Nice house,” he says, glancing up at the building. “So, are you rich or what?”

You shrug in response. “I wouldn’t say rich, exactly. More like… comfortable.” You try to sound casual, but there’s a strange sense of pride that bubbles up.

“Well, thanks for walking me home,” you say, finally meeting his gaze. “And for keeping me company.”

He nods, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Anytime.” Then, before you can say anything more, he turns to leave, walking off into the night without a backward glance.

You watch him go for a moment, the strange feeling lingering in your chest. The night has changed something between you two, though you can’t quite put your finger on what.

You open the door and step inside, but the silence of your home greets you with its usual coldness. The contrast between the warmth of the evening and the emptiness you’ve walked back into feels sharper than ever.

The next day, there was a noticeable shift inside of you. It was subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone else, but to you, it felt like a weight had been lifted. You woke up with a new lightness, a sense of freedom that you hadn't felt in years. Rolling out of bed, you moved with a renewed energy, getting ready with a pep in your step that was rare for you. The weight of the world that had always pressed down on your shoulders seemed to have vanished overnight.

Even when your father grumbled at you for coming home late, his voice sharp and tired, it didn’t bother you. You nodded in agreement, but inside, you felt untouchable, like you could handle anything. Your mother’s absence didn’t sting as much, either. It was just another silent reminder of how fractured everything in your life had become, but today, it didn’t seem to weigh you down.

As you made your way to school, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of lightness in your chest. The usual dread didn’t sit in your stomach. It felt like a new beginning, even if you didn’t fully understand what had changed.

And then, as you approached the school gates, something you hadn’t expected happened. Myeong-hwan and his group of lackeys weren’t standing there, waiting for you like they always did. They weren’t hurling insults or giving you those looks that made you feel small. You looked around, confused, and for a moment, you thought you had imagined it.

Maybe Gwi-nam said something to them, you thought. Maybe he made them realize their wrongs.

The idea was almost laughable. But as you walked through the gate without the usual jeers, you felt a glimmer of hope. For the first time in your life, you were walking into school free from the heavy gaze of tormentors. You were free, even if it was just for today.

The day passed in a blur, faster than any school day had ever gone by before. You found yourself at your usual desk, zoning out of the teacher's words as you looked out the window. The world outside seemed brighter, more alive. The colours of the trees and sky seemed to pop in a way you hadn’t noticed before. Everything felt different—better, even.

Time moved quicker than usual. The ticking of the clock seemed to melt away, the minutes slipping past you unnoticed as you admired the scenery outside.

As the lunch bell rang, you fell into your usual routine, trailing behind On-jo and I-sak as they made their way to the cafeteria. The chatter between them was the same, but there was a subtle shift in the way you walked, the way you held yourself. They noticed it too. You could see it in their eyes as they glanced at you, but neither of them said a word. They didn’t acknowledge the change in your mood, nor did they ask about it.

It was as if they couldn’t quite understand what had happened, or maybe they just didn’t care to. But you didn’t mind. Today was for you, for the quiet freedom that had started to bloom within you.

As you sat at the cafeteria table with them, you felt a strange sense of peace. Even though you were surrounded by people who didn’t truly understand you, you were okay with it. For the first time in a long while, it felt like you could be yourself, just for a moment. And that small sliver of freedom was enough to make the day feel different.

But the joy you had found was short-lived. A sudden, cold sensation at the base of your neck snapped you out of your thoughts. Before you could react, a thick, white liquid began trickling down the front of your blouse, seeping into the fabric and leaving it completely soaked. The laughter erupted around you like a wave crashing against the shore—loud, sharp, and mocking.

You didn’t have to look up to know who was responsible. Your gaze locked with his.

Gwi-nam.

Of course it was him. Why wouldn’t it be? He was Myeong-hwan’s loyal dog, after all. The same one who had tormented you day in and day out. You had been foolish enough to believe in the moment you two shared yesterday—the brief connection, the kind words, the rare kindness. You had let him lull you into a false sense of security, and now it felt like everything had been a lie. Just like always.

It stung in a way you couldn’t fully express, not just because of the humiliation, but because you had allowed yourself to believe that something might change. You should have known better. You should have known that nothing ever did.

Why would this time have been any different?

You couldn’t find it in yourself to direct your anger toward them, not really. It felt pointless. It was your fault. You had let your guard down. If you hadn’t been so naive, so desperate for even a sliver of connection, this wouldn’t have happened.

You had shown your weakness to him, and now you were paying for it.

You took one last glance at him, your eyes hard and empty, but there was nothing left to say. The anger, the frustration, the shame—it was all internalized, a storm that you would carry with you in silence. You stood up, the weight of their eyes on you as you made your way to the door.

Without a word, you left the cafeteria, feeling the lingering gazes of your peers on your back. The world around you felt different, heavier. But this time, you didn’t care. All you wanted was to be away from them, away from their mocking laughter, and to escape into the solitude you had come to know so well.

Chapter Text

You had lost track of how long you had been sitting in the stall, curled into yourself, the looming walls shielding your vulnerability from the world. At first, you had cried—silent, shuddering sobs that wracked your body, tears falling freely as if they would never stop.

Now, you just sat there. Empty. Numb.

Your blouse clung to your skin, the damp fabric sending unpleasant chills down your spine. The cold had settled into your bones, making your body tremble every few minutes, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

A small part of you had hoped—naively, foolishly—that someone might come. That someone, anyone, would step through the door and offer you a spare set of clothes, or even just a word of comfort. It was normal to have sympathy for someone in a situation like this, right?

But no one came.

You weren’t sure why you had expected anything different.

Your only option now was to wait. To stay hidden until the halls emptied, until school was nothing more than an abandoned shell. Then, and only then, could you slip out unnoticed, avoiding any more lingering gazes of amusement or pity.

Waiting was dull, agonizingly slow. With your phone left on your desk in the classroom, you had no distraction—only the distant echoes of students passing by, their laughter, their conversations, the world moving on as if you didn’t exist.

You pressed your forehead against your knees, exhaling shakily.

What if the teacher locked the classroom before you could get back? What if you had to leave everything behind—your phone, your bag, your books? The thought made your stomach churn.

This sucked. This really sucked.

At the sound of the last bell ringing through the school, you remained perfectly still, waiting for the chaos outside to settle. Slowly, the noise dwindled. Footsteps faded, lockers slammed shut one last time, and the halls grew quieter and quieter.

Only when the world outside had finally fallen silent did you gather the courage to move.

Just as you were about to abandon the fragile comfort of the stall, the bathroom door creaked open. A single pair of footsteps echoed against the tile, the sound bouncing off the walls.

Great. Now I have to wait even longer to leave.

You stayed perfectly still, barely daring to breathe, hoping whoever it was would just leave. But instead of footsteps retreating, something soft landed in your lap.

A vest.

Blinking in confusion, you hesitantly picked it up, the fabric slightly worn but warm between your fingers. Your first thought was that a teacher must have heard about what happened in the cafeteria. Maybe they had felt bad for you and decided to help.

Stripping yourself of the sticky top, you slipped into the sweater, its warmth a welcome contrast to your chilled skin.

Taking a deep breath, you unlocked the stall, already preparing a quiet thank you—only to have the words die in your throat when you saw who was standing there.

Your stomach twisted.

“I’m sorry about—” He barely got the words out before you brushed past him, making a beeline for the door.

He was faster. Stepping in front of you, he blocked the exit, his hands pressed against the doorframe.

“I didn’t have a choice,” he muttered, his voice low.

Just ignore him. Just ignore him. Just ignore him.

But every fibber of your being screamed for a reaction. Your hands clenched at your sides, nails digging into your palms. You wanted to hit him. Kick him. Yell at him until your voice broke. Show him what it felt like to be powerless.

He exhaled sharply. “If I didn’t do this, they would have hurt you.”

You scoffed, finally lifting your gaze to meet his. “And what do you think this is?” You gestured to your soaked uniform, to the lingering humiliation clinging to your skin.

He faltered, looking away, jaw tightening. For a moment, just a moment, he actually looked guilty. But guilt didn’t erase what he did. Guilt didn’t change anything.

Then, he extended his arm toward you.

Your body tensed, instinctively flinching away, bracing for the impact. He’s finally snapped.

But the hit never came.

Slowly, hesitantly, you opened your eyes and saw what he was holding. A bag. Your bag.

“Let me take you home.” His voice was softer now, almost careful, as if speaking too harshly would shatter whatever fragile thing existed between you.

You let out a dry, bitter laugh. What a joke. Did he seriously think that after the humiliation you had endured—after he had been the one to pour milk over your head in front of the entire cafeteria—you would just… what? Forgive him? Act like it never happened?

You didn’t even dignify him with a response. You scoffed, stepping out of the stall and heading straight for the exit.

The hallways were eerily empty. All the lights had already been turned off, casting long shadows across the floor. You kept walking toward the front gates, eager to put as much distance between yourself and him as possible.

But then—footsteps.

A second set, falling into rhythm with your own.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to confirm what you already knew. Gwi-nam was following you.

You rolled your eyes and picked up the pace. So did he.

“You can’t be serious,” you muttered under your breath.

But he was.

All the way home, he was never too far behind. Like a loyal dog trailing after its owner. Like a shadow that refused to disappear.

You tried to shake him off, taking random turns, slipping into narrow alleys, even waiting behind a convenience store until you were sure he had lost your trail.

And yet—without fail—he always reappeared a few streets down. Watching. Waiting. Never saying a word.

By the time you finally reached your house, you were exhausted. Frustrated. Confused.

Still, he lingered.

You threw the door open with urgency, stepping inside and slamming it shut behind you before he could say anything else. Before he could pretend, even for a second longer, that he cared.

Letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, you made your way to your bedroom, tossing your bag to the floor. You weren’t sure what you were feeling—anger, maybe. Confusion. Something else you weren’t ready to name.

And yet, despite yourself, you found your feet moving toward the window.

Peeking through the curtains, your heart stuttered.

He was still there.

Standing just outside. Hands stuffed into his pockets. Unmoving.

You didn’t understand why.

You weren’t sure you wanted to.

Morning came as it always did. Cold, gray, and unrelenting.

Thursday. Two more days before you could finally catch a break.

Like every morning, your father was waiting for you in the kitchen, a half-drunk cup of coffee in one hand, his phone in the other. The usual exchange of clipped words passed between you—short, indifferent, rehearsed. You told him you were leaving. He barely looked up.

Stepping outside, you inhaled the crisp air, hoping it would wake you up. But before you could take another step, your heart sank at the sight in front of you.

Leaning casually against the brick wall across from your house, arms crossed, expression unreadable—Gwi-nam.

A scoff left your lips before you could stop it. “Are you stalking me or something?”

His head lifted slightly, a smirk creeping onto his face. He pushed himself off the wall lazily, hands still stuffed into his pockets.

“If I was, would you do anything about it?”

You rolled your eyes, stepping past him, ignoring the way he fell into stride beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I don’t have time for your games, Gwi-nam.”

“Who said I was playing?”

His voice was light, teasing. But there was something else there. Something you couldn’t quite place.

You exhaled sharply, gripping the straps of your bag a little tighter. The morning was peaceful—if you ignored him. The sun had barely risen, the sky painted in soft hues of blue and gray. The streets were waking up slowly, filled with the distant hum of traffic and murmured conversations from early commuters.

It should’ve felt normal. Just another day.

But it didn’t.

Not with him walking beside you.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. His posture was relaxed, but there was something off about him—like he was carrying a weight you couldn’t see.

Half-joking, half-dreading the answer, you asked, “Did you wait outside my house all night?”

“Nah.” He kicked a stray pebble down the pavement. “Only till, like… two, maybe three?”

You stopped in your tracks. “Are you insane?”

He only grinned, tilting his head. “Debatable.”

Your stomach twisted. What the hell was he doing? Why was he still hanging around?

Just yesterday, he had humiliated you in front of the whole cafeteria. Just yesterday, he had followed you home like a stray mutt. And now, here he was, walking beside you as if nothing had happened. As if this was normal.

“What do you want from me?” you finally asked, exasperation lacing your voice.

For a second, just a second, his smirk faltered.

Then, just as quickly, it returned. “Dunno.” He shrugged, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets. “Guess I just like messing with you.”

You wanted to be angry. You should’ve been angry.

But all you felt was exhaustion.

The rest of the walk to school was silent. Not the comfortable kind, not even the tense kind—just empty.

You should’ve ignored him. You tried to ignore him. But every few steps, you found yourself stealing glances at him, trying to decipher what the hell was going on in his head.

And then, before you knew it, you were standing in front of the school gates.

Gwi-nam stopped. “Well, go on then.”

You frowned. “You’re not coming in?”

“Not yet.” He rolled his shoulders, like he was shaking off a thought. “Got some business to handle first.”

You hesitated. You should’ve just walked away, pretended like none of this had happened. Pretended like he hadn’t happened.

But instead, you looked back at him one last time before stepping onto school grounds.

And that’s when you saw them.

Myeong-hwan. His usual group of lackeys. Standing a few feet away. Watching.

Not just watching you—watching him.

Your stomach twisted. The way they were looking at Gwi-nam… it wasn’t the usual smug confidence they carried. No teasing smirks, no taunting sneers.

No—this was different.

For the first time ever, they looked uneasy.

Gwi-nam met their gazes head-on, an unreadable expression crossing his face. Then, without a word, he smirked—that same cocky, dangerous grin—but his eyes didn’t match.

You barely had time to process it before he turned and walked toward them.

Myeong-hwan’s jaw clenched. His fingers curled into fists at his sides.

Something had changed.

And you had no idea why.

Chapter Text

There was a shift in the air the moment you stepped into homeroom.

Conversations quieted, laughter died down, and all eyes slowly turned toward you. Their postures changed—some stiffened, others leaned in as if expecting something.

You froze in the doorway for a split second before forcing yourself to move, trying not to let the weight of their stares crush you.

Did your hair look bad? No worse than usual. Was there something on your face?

Then it hit you.

The cafeteria.

They had all seen it happen. They had laughed, whispered, enjoyed the spectacle of your humiliation. And now, they were waiting to see how you’d carry it. Would you lash out? Run out crying? Pretend nothing happened?

Your fingers tightened around the straps of your bag as you kept your head down, willing yourself to disappear. You shuffled toward your desk in the back, shoulders hunched, trying to make yourself smaller. The stares didn’t cease immediately, but one by one, they lost interest. The classroom slowly returned to its usual rhythm—light chatter, morning grogginess, students pretending to care about the lesson plan.

But not her.

You felt On-jo approaching before you saw her. Her presence was hesitant, her movements uncertain. She had left her seat across the room, and you caught the way her friends ushered her forward, like they had all silently decided someone should check on you, and she had drawn the short straw.

Your stomach twisted.

You never really talked to On-jo outside of lunch, and even then, it was always in the safety of the group—not one-on-one. What did she want?

To pity you?

She stopped in front of your desk, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Hey.”

You stared at your desk. “Hey.”

A pause. A deep breath. And then—

“Are you… okay?”

There it was. The question that always felt more like an obligation than actual concern. Are you okay? The easy, meaningless thing people asked to ease their own conscience.

You finally looked up at her, searching for something—anything—in her expression that felt genuine.

What would happen if you told her the truth? If you told her that your uniform still smelled like spoiled milk, that the memory of yesterday made your skin crawl, that you were exhausted? That no, you weren’t okay, and you hadn’t been for a long time?

Would she even care?

You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced a small, tight-lipped smile.

“I’m fine.”

She hesitated, like she didn’t quite believe you. But she must’ve decided that was enough because she nodded, exhaling softly.

“It’s just that…” She trailed off, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her uniform.

You frowned. “What?”

She hesitated again, then— “Is it true that you and Gwi-nam are dating?”

You stared at her, your brain momentarily short-circuiting. You and Gwi-nam? The words didn’t make sense. They didn’t belong in the same sentence.

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. You must have heard her wrong. Maybe you were still half-asleep. Maybe your brain was malfunctioning from yesterday’s humiliation.

“You’re joking, right?” You let out a laugh—sharp, disbelieving, almost manic. As if she had just told you the world’s funniest joke.

On-jo shook her head quickly, waving her hands as if trying to emphasize her point. “No—no, I’m not. People were talking about it this morning.” She leaned in slightly, voice lowering as if she were sharing some dangerous secret. “When you left yesterday, he said something along the lines of… you two being exclusive.”

Your stomach dropped.

So that’s what he had been plotting.

It all made sense now—why he followed you home, why he lingered outside your house, why he showed up this morning like some overbearing shadow. He hadn’t done it out of guilt. He hadn’t done it out of some twisted sense of loyalty.

He had done it to mark you.

To stake some invisible claim over you.

You felt heat rush to your face—not from embarrassment, but from pure, unfiltered rage. Your fingers curled into fists on your lap, nails digging into your palms.

That bastard.

You had thought you’d seen every cruel trick he had up his sleeve. Thought you knew exactly what to expect from him. But this? This was a whole new level of messed up.

You could already picture it—whispers trailing behind you, eyes watching your every move, people making assumptions, twisting the narrative.

And worst of all?

Myeong-hwan.

If he heard about this—if he believed it—who knew what he would do?

“Hey…” On-jo’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. Her face was painted with concern, eyebrows furrowed. “Is it… not true?”

You let out a breath, your hands unclenching as you forced yourself to relax.

“Of course it’s not true,” you muttered, voice laced with irritation.

She nodded slowly, but the doubt was still there in her eyes.

And you hated that.

Hated that even she wasn’t sure whether to believe you.

Hated that, somehow, even without your consent, Gwi-nam had managed to tie you to him in the eyes of everyone else.

Hated that, no matter what you said—no matter how much you denied it—people would talk.

And there was nothing you could do to stop it.

Heavy footsteps pounded against the floor, each step laced with urgency. You moved fast, ignoring the sting in your legs as you made a beeline for the group of delinquents lounging outside, cigarettes dangling lazily between their fingers.

Your eyes locked onto your target—sitting comfortably with his back to you, laughing at something one of his mates had said.

Without hesitation, you grabbed his wrist, fingers tightening like a vice as you yanked him up. He barely had time to react before you were dragging him away, your grip unrelenting.

“The hell—?” he started, twisting slightly in your grasp, but you didn’t stop.

Behind you, jeering voices rang out.

“Oooh, lover’s spat?”

“Damn, didn’t know you liked ‘em feisty, Gwi-nam.”

His friends laughed, but Gwi-nam didn’t resist. In fact, he let you pull him, going along too easily, too willingly, his body loose with amusement.

You weren’t about to question why.

The corridors blurred as you pulled him along, ignoring the way his long strides easily kept pace with yours.

Finally, you reached the empty sports hall, shoving open the heavy doors. The scent of dust and old wood filled your lungs, the dim lighting casting long shadows across the scuffed floor.

You let go of his wrist with a sharp flick, as if touching him any longer would burn you.

Gwi-nam winced slightly, rolling his wrist with a dramatic sigh. “Damn,” he muttered, flexing his fingers. “Trying to break my arm or something?”

His voice was light, teasing—but beneath it, there was something else. Amusement.

Like he was enjoying this.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. Maybe you had hurt him.

But you didn’t care.

Not right now, at least.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. Every nerve in your body was screaming at you to lash out, to demand answers, to wipe that smug expression off his face.

But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you lose control.

Instead, you crossed your arms tightly over your chest, fixing him with a glare.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Gwi-nam raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Gonna need you to be a little more specific, sweetheart.”

Your teeth clenched. Sweetheart. The audacity.

“You told everyone we were dating.”

His smirk widened, dimples appearing as if he were proud of himself. “Oh, that?” He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Yeah. I might’ve said something like that.”

Your jaw tightened. “Why?”

He shrugged, shifting his weight onto one foot. “Seemed funny at the time.”

You scoffed. Funny? He had single-handedly turned you into the center of unwanted attention. Now people were staring, whispering, spreading rumors.

And for what? A joke?

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, turning to leave.

But he was faster.

In a blink, he pushed off the wall, stepping closer. Too close. The air shifted as the space between you disappeared, and suddenly, you could smell the faint scent of cigarettes and something undeniably him.

His smirk had faded, replaced with something unreadable. “But if I wanted to date you for real, what then?”

The words sent a jolt through your system.

You scoffed, trying to play off the heat creeping up your neck. “Then I’d say you need your head checked.”

His lips twitched. “You wound me.”

“You’ll live,” you shot back.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “You’re cute when you’re mad, you know that?”

You ignored the way your stomach twisted at the comment. Instead, you shoved his shoulder, frustration bubbling over.

“You made it worse. You humiliated me yesterday, and now you’re making people think we’re together? Do you enjoy screwing with me?”

He didn’t move, didn’t even flinch at the shove. Just stood there, watching you with that same infuriatingly calm expression.

You felt heat creep up your neck, and it only fueled your frustration.

“You made everything worse,” you snapped. “Myeong-hwan and the others are probably—”

“—Backing off,” he interrupted smoothly.

You frowned. “What?”

He lifted a brow like it was obvious. “They won’t touch you if they think you’re mine.”

Your stomach twisted at the word. Mine. The way he said it so casually, like it was a simple fact rather than a blatant lie.

You glared up at him. “I don’t belong to you.”

Something flickered in his gaze—something unreadable, something dangerous—but it was gone in an instant, masked behind an easy smirk.

“Maybe not,” he admitted, leaning in slightly, voice dropping lower. “But they don’t know that.”

Your breath caught in your throat, but you forced yourself to hold your ground.

He wasn’t lying.

You remembered the way Myeong-hwan had looked at him this morning—the hesitation, the unease. It all clicked.

Gwi-nam wasn’t just screwing with you for fun.

This was about them.

Still, that didn’t make it okay.

“Don’t do me any favors,” you muttered, stepping past him.

He let you go this time, but not without one last parting shot.

“You’re welcome, baby.”

You didn’t have to look to know he was grinning.

Chapter Text

The following weeks fell into a suffocating routine.

Everywhere you went, Gwi-nam was there.

Lingering like a shadow you couldn’t shake, like a toxic fog seeping into every corner of your life. It didn’t matter where you went—to class, to lunch, even when you tried to skip school altogether. Somehow, he was always one step ahead, waiting.

No matter what.

You didn’t understand how he did it. Did he have someone watching you? Keeping tabs on your every move? The thought made your skin crawl. What a fucking creep.

You tried ignoring him. Tried brushing past him in the halls, walking faster when you felt his presence lurking behind you. But it was exhausting. He made it impossible.

It wasn’t just his persistence—it was the way everyone around you reacted to it.

People started acting differently. Avoiding you. Giving you side glances before quickly looking away, like making eye contact might somehow drag them into the mess that had become your life.

You understood why they were wary of Gwi-nam. He was a narcissistic sociopath, after all. A bully. A sadist. Someone who had carved out a reputation built on fear.

But why avoid you?

You had spent four years in this hellhole of a school keeping your head down. Never stepping out of line, never picking fights, never giving people a reason to notice you. You had been harmless.

The only negative thing people associated with you was your harassment. It wasn’t a secret. But no one had ever really cared enough to do anything about it. So why now? Why did everything suddenly shift the moment he took an interest in you?

On-jo and I-sak had stopped eating lunch with you. They didn’t say it outright, but their excuses were flimsy, their avoidance too obvious to be anything but intentional.

Not that they were the only ones.

The entire cafeteria had made it their mission to stay as far away from you as possible. Conversations died the second you stepped through the doors. Whispers buzzed through the air like static, sharp and stinging. When you sat down, people abandoned their trays and left, making it clear they didn’t want to be anywhere near you.

You felt lonely.

Well—lonelier than usual.

You had thought you were used to solitude. Thought you had grown accustomed to the silence, to being overlooked, to the weight of isolation pressing against your ribs.

But this was different.

This was an entirely new level of alone.

There was no one you could talk to about it. No friends. No close relationships with teachers. And your parents? Too busy screaming at each other behind closed doors to even pretend to care.

You were on your own.

Like always.

But you told yourself it would be okay.

Because it had to be.

Because if you didn’t believe that—if you didn’t keep repeating it in your head like some sort of desperate mantra—then you might just fall apart completely.

Today had been one of the rare moments you had managed to slip away.

You told your parents you were sick, the lie slipping from your tongue with ease. They barely questioned it—too caught up in their own mess to notice the hollowness in your voice.

During the five-minute break between classes, you made the call from the bathroom, making sure no one was around to overhear. The moment you hung up, you bolted for the exit, heart hammering in your chest.

Somehow, Gwi-nam hadn’t found out.

It was probably more luck than skill—but you took the victory where you could get it.

Walking home alone felt… strange. The silence was louder than you remembered. Even though you and Gwi-nam rarely talked on your walks, his presence had become this constant background noise—his lazy breaths, the soft scuff of his shoes against the pavement.

You must’ve gotten too used to him. Not that you would ever admit it. His ego was already too big for his own good. The last thing he needed was another reason to feel smug.

The streets were relatively empty—no surprise, considering most people were still at school or work. You followed the familiar route, turning down the secluded street that cut through the neighbourhood. It was quieter here, the only sounds coming from birds perched on telephone wires and the distant hum of passing cars.

The weather wasn’t terrible. The sun stayed hidden behind a layer of thick clouds, but at least it wasn’t cold.

The walk should’ve been peaceful.

It should’ve been safe.

Then you saw him.

A figure at the end of the passage, half-hidden in the shadows.

Your stomach twisted.

“Gwi-nam, I’m really not in the mood today—”

You froze mid-sentence, your heart plummeting.

It wasn’t him.

“Sorry to break it to ya,” Myeong-hwan sneered, stepping out from the shadows. “But I ain’t your boyfriend.”

Your throat closed up. This was your first one-on-one interaction with him—without his group, without Gwi-nam. And something about the way he looked at you made your blood run cold.

He was smiling, but there was no humor in it.

You didn’t dare speak. Your eyes locked onto the cracked pavement beneath your feet, hoping if you stayed small, if you didn’t provoke him, he would just let you go.

The first blow came without warning.

A harsh smack to the back of your head sent you crashing into the wall, pain blooming across your skull.

“You dumb whore,” he spat, his voice low and venomous. Another strike—this time across your face, the sting radiating through your cheek. “Did you really think I’d stop just because you’re sucking my boy’s dick?”

The words cut deeper than the blows.

The strikes kept coming—harder, faster—each one heavier than the last.

You were used to the torment. The name-calling, the hair-pulling, the occasional shove in the hallways. But this—this was different.

This was violent.

Your knees buckled, and you collapsed onto the cold pavement. Tears welled up, blurring your vision as harsh sobs ripped from your throat. You couldn’t fight back—not that you ever had. Your body refused to obey the frantic commands in your mind to run.

Myeong-hwan crouched down, his face inches from yours.

“Ah, she’s crying now…” His voice was mocking, dripping with disgust. Like your pain was something pathetic. Something amusing.

You squeezed your eyes shut, wishing—praying—that he would just get bored and leave.

He leaned in closer, breath hot against your ear.

“Can’t have you thinking you can get away with this.”

Then he straightened up, brushing off his knees as if this had been nothing more than a chore. He stretched, letting out a satisfied groan.

Beating someone half to death must’ve been quite the workout.

He walked away without another glance, leaving you crumpled on the ground. His final words echoed behind him—

“Better not tell him about what just happened.”

As if you would.

You stayed there for a long time, too stunned to move. Time passed in slow, hazy fragments. The rough pavement dug into your palms. Your breath came out in short, ragged bursts. Tears splattered onto the concrete in rhythmic drops, each one ringing louder in your ears than the last.

Eventually, your mind started to work again—just enough to force your body upright.

I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.

You whispered it to yourself over and over, like a prayer.

You had to be okay.

You were used to this.

You were fine.

Your legs felt like lead as you stumbled back onto the main road, every step sending sharp jolts of pain through your knees. When you glanced down, angry red scrapes stared back at you—bloodied, raw, throbbing.

You needed to clean them up when you got home.

But not yet.

Right now, the only thing that mattered was getting there without breaking apart completely.

The walk took longer than it should have. Every few minutes, you glanced over your shoulder, half-expecting Myeong-hwan to reappear. The paranoia gnawed at you, making every shadow stretch a little too long, every distant sound feel like footsteps creeping up behind you.

By the time you reached your front door, your body was shaking.

The jingle of keys filled the empty space, followed by the soft creak of the door swinging open.

“I’m home,” you called out weakly, but the house was empty.

Your parents were still at work—probably screaming at each other in some office building, too wrapped up in their own misery to notice yours.

It was better this way. You didn’t want to explain why your knees were bloodied or why your face was streaked with tears.

Hair dishevelled. Knees bloody. Eyes puffy.

You looked like hell.

You should’ve showered. Cleaned yourself up. Washed away the evidence.

But the second your body hit the mattress, the world blurred into nothingness.

Sleep dragged you under, lulling you into a place where fists didn’t hurt and whispers didn’t linger.

At least there, you could forget.

Even if it was just for a little while.

Tack. Tack. Tack.

The sharp clatter of pebbles against glass yanked you from unconsciousness.

Your heart pounded in your chest, disoriented from the abrupt awakening. Your room was dark, the kind of suffocating blackness that made it hard to tell if you were still dreaming. But then—

Bam.

A harder hit this time.

Your breath hitched.

Turning toward your nightstand, you squinted at the glowing red numbers on your clock.

1 a.m.

Your parents hadn’t even bothered to check on you. Hadn’t noticed you came home bloody and beaten, hadn’t woken you for dinner.

Typical.

Another pebble struck the window—harder this time, more impatient. The sound clawed at your frayed nerves, setting your teeth on edge.

Your stomach twisted. You already knew who it was.

Still, you hesitated.

For once, a part of you wanted to just ignore him. Let him keep throwing his little rocks, let him fume in silence. Maybe he’d give up. Maybe he’d—

No.

You knew Gwi-nam better than that. He wouldn’t stop. He never did.

With a slow inhale, you threw back the covers, the cold air biting at your skin. Your legs ached as you stood, a sharp reminder of what had happened earlier. You barely had time to process it—barely let yourself think about it before exhaustion had pulled you under.

Now, the memory of Myeong-hwan’s blows came rushing back like a sickening wave. The sting of your scalp where he’d yanked your hair. The sharp crack of your skull against the wall. The way your body had crumpled under his fists.

Your throat felt tight.

Shoving those thoughts down, you moved toward the window, peeling back the velvet curtains.

Your heart gave a traitorous lurch.

Gwi-nam stood below, barely illuminated by the dim streetlights. His usual cocky grin was nowhere to be found, replaced by something colder. Sharper.

He looked pissed.

Even from here, you could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands were stuffed deep into his jacket pockets, his shoulders squared. He was waiting.

You pushed the window open just enough to poke your head through, the crisp night air stinging your face.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then—

“Where were you today?” His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried. There was something in it—something unreadable.

Your stomach twisted tighter.

“Sick.”

He didn’t buy it.

His frown deepened, brows drawing together as he studied you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You gritted your teeth, fingers curling around the windowsill. You could feel the worry laced beneath his irritation, but you couldn’t deal with this. Not right now.

“Leave me alone,” you muttered, voice quieter than you intended.

Gwi-nam didn’t move. He just stood there, staring up at you, the muscles in his jaw twitching.

You swallowed hard.

And before he could say anything else—before your resolve could crack—you shut the window.

And locked it.

Chapter Text

A week had passed since then.

Seven days since that brutal awakening.

Most of your time had been spent in bed—sleeping, reading, staring at the ceiling until the patterns in the paint started shifting. The only time you left your room was for the bathroom or to grab a meal when the hunger became unbearable. Even then, you barely tasted the food, swallowing more out of obligation than need.

You had spiralled.

You knew it.

Your parents knew it too.

Yet none of you dared to do anything about it.

It wasn’t the first time.

A few years ago, you had been home-schooled after losing all capacity to function around other people. You withdrew so deeply into yourself that the mere thought of stepping outside felt suffocating. The only reason you went back was because being trapped in a house with two people who despised each other had been worse. At least at school, you could exist in the background, unnoticed.

At least, that’s what you thought.

Days had passed since you last saw sunlight, since you last felt the wind bite at your skin. The world outside your window felt like another life entirely—one that had nothing to do with you anymore.

There had been moments when you considered going out. Just for a little bit. A short trip to the nearest convenience store, just to grab some snacks. Something to fill the emptiness pressing down on your ribs. Eat the feelings away. Stuff them down until there was nothing left but the sick, heavy weight of fullness.

But you never did.

You couldn’t.

Because he was still out there.

Myeong-hwan.

The memory of what he did clung to you like oil—thick, suffocating, impossible to wash off. You hated how it affected you. How every shadow in your dimly lit room felt like it was stretching toward you, how every sudden noise made your stomach drop.

You had no right to feel this scared.

You had spent years building up immunity to torment. You had trained yourself to endure, to bite your tongue, to keep walking with your head down no matter what they did to you. And yet, the moment something changed—the moment things turned violent—you broke.

You had hoped.

That was your mistake.

You had convinced yourself that Gwi-nam’s presence would change things. That somehow, being associated with him would shield you from the worst of it. No more bullying. No more seclusion. No more being treated like you were nothing.

You had dared to believe things might get better.

And look where that got you.

Your parents had both left for the weekend.

Your father was off on another business trip, and your mother—well, she just didn’t want to spend the evening with you.

Honestly, it was for the best.

No hushed arguments leaking through the walls, no passive-aggressive glances across the dinner table. Just silence. A rare moment of peace. You could roam the house without feeling like an intruder in your own home.

Stepping into the living room, you took in the emptiness around you.

The white leather couch. The marble floors. The plain, sterile walls.

Everything looked the same as always—perfectly placed, untouched, lifeless. A house, not a home.

The only colour in the room came from the faint orange glow of the setting sun, its light stretching through the tall windows and casting elongated shadows across the floor. It made the space look almost haunted. Like something was missing.

Like someone was missing.

You walked over to the garden door, hesitating only for a moment before pushing it open slightly.

Immediately, the wind rushed past you, cool and sharp against your skin. The cotton curtains billowed violently, the sudden burst of movement startling after so much stillness.

For the first time in days, you took a real breath—one that didn’t feel suffocating, one that didn’t taste of cedarwood and vanilla-scented air fresheners. The air outside was crisp, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and distant rain. It smelled like freedom.

You let yourself bask in it, just for a moment.

Then, reality crept back in.

Your stomach twisted painfully, a deep, hollow ache reminding you just how long it had been since you last ate.

With a sigh, you made your way to the kitchen, pulling open the cabinets. Empty. The fridge? Just as barren. Even the freezer held nothing but ice trays and a single forgotten bag of frozen peas.

Of course.

How typical of them—to leave without making sure there was food in the house.

You leaned against the counter, fingers tapping absentmindedly against the cool surface. The thought of going outside made your chest tighten, but what other choice did you have? Starve?

You exhaled sharply, already dreading the idea.

It meant stepping out into the world again. It meant risking running into someone.

It meant facing the fact that you weren’t as invisible as you wished you were.

Slipping on a flimsy coat and grabbing your keys, you step out into the night. The air is cool against your skin, a sharp contrast to the suffocating warmth of your house.

The convenience store isn’t far. Five minutes, maybe less.

But five minutes is still long enough for unwanted attention to find you.

So you hurry.

Your footsteps are quick, almost frantic, the streetlights casting stretched shadows beneath you as you rush forward. You keep your head low, shoulders drawn in, moving like prey trying not to be seen.

The moment you step inside the store, the artificial lighting stings your eyes. The familiar, sterile scent of instant noodles and floor cleaner fills your lungs. You move fast—faster than necessary—flying past aisles that hold no interest.

Ramen. A bottle of Coke. A few bags of chips. Just the essentials.

You pay with loose change, your hands shaking slightly as you count the coins. The weight of exhaustion clings to you, pressing down on your limbs, but it’s nothing compared to the tension settling in your chest.

And then you look up.

Your stomach drops.

Him.

Gwi-nam stands behind the counter, watching you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes—a flicker of recognition, maybe even concern.

But he doesn’t act on it.

No teasing remark. No smug smirk. No sharp-edged words meant to get under your skin.

Nothing.

You tell yourself this is what you wanted. You had pushed him away, after all. Told him to leave you alone. So why does it sting?

Why does some stupid, desperate part of you want him to care?

To chase after you like in the movies.

You tighten your grip on the plastic bag and turn on your heel, leaving without a word.

The night air greets you once more, cool and uninviting. You take a shaky breath, trying to collect yourself, trying to silence the thoughts clawing at the back of your mind.

Then the small bell above the door rings.

Someone exits behind you.

Your heart stutters.

Slowly, you turn around.

Gwi-nam stands there, his dark eyes locked onto yours. There's something different about his gaze—something almost uncertain.

"I— I thought you dropped out..." His voice is quieter than usual, his usual arrogance nowhere to be found. His hands fidget at his sides, his whole demeanour… nervous.

It almost makes you laugh. Him, nervous?

You don’t know what to say. You don’t trust yourself to speak. Because if you do, you might tell him everything—about Myeong-han, about the fear coiling in your gut, about the way you've been spiralling.

But you can't.

So you just shake your head.

It’s not enough. But it will have to do.

He takes a step closer.

As Gwi-nam steps closer, you feel your breath hitch. The weight of his presence is suffocating, not in the way it used to be—annoying, persistent—but in a way that makes your chest tighten with something dangerously close to relief.

You don’t want to feel relieved. You don’t want to feel anything.

But his brows are drawn together, his head tilting slightly as he studies you, and you can tell—he knows something is wrong.

"You look like shit," he mutters, voice gruff but lacking the usual mockery.

You roll your eyes, gripping the plastic bag tighter. "Thanks."

He exhales sharply, like he wants to say more, but doesn’t know how. His fingers twitch at his sides, restless. You wait for him to make some kind of snide comment, to poke fun at you like he always does.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, his eyes flicker down—to the way your coat hangs too loose on your frame, the bruises barely visible beneath your sleeves, the tiredness etched into your skin.

"Who did it?"

Your stomach drops.

"What?"

Gwi-nam’s gaze sharpens, his jaw tightening. "Don't play dumb. You're all fucked up. So tell me—who did it?"

You shake your head. Too fast, too obviously defensive. "No one."

His lips press into a thin line. He doesn’t believe you.

You need to get out of here. Now.

"I have to go," you mumble, stepping back. Turning.

But before you can take another step, fingers wrap around your wrist—not painfully, not like him, but firm enough to make you freeze.

Gwi-nam doesn't let go.

"Wait," he says, softer than you expected.

You don't move.

And then, in a voice so quiet you almost don't hear it—

"Was it Myeong-han?"

Your blood runs cold.

Your silence is enough of an answer.

His grip tightens for just a second before he releases you.

"You should've told me," he says, voice low, controlled—but beneath that, there’s something dangerous. Something like anger.

You shake your head again, forcing a laugh that sounds hollow. "Why would I do that?"

Gwi-nam doesn’t blink. "Because I would’ve killed him."

And the worst part?

You believe him.

Chapter Text

The library was a place where few ventured.

Aside from the staff and the occasional lost student wandering in, it was completely quiet. A sanctuary of stillness, untouched by the chaos of the school halls. The scent of aged paper and ink filled the air, mixing with the crisp chill of the air conditioning. The faint hum of it buzzed above, nearly drowned out by the occasional chirping of birds outside the stained-glass windows.

You sat in a remote corner, where the golden hues of sunlight filtered through colored glass, casting soft patterns against the wooden table. It was peaceful here. Isolated. A rare place where no one sought you out, no one whispered cruel words under their breath or sent pointed glances your way. Just you and the heavy stacks of textbooks piled before you, reminders of the weeks you had missed.

You had started going back to school a few days ago. After much insistence from your parents, you left the suffocating safety of your home and reentered the cruel world that had pushed you away in the first place. It wasn’t easy. Every step through those school gates felt like walking straight into a battlefield, though no one acknowledged your presence enough for it to feel like an attack.

It seemed as though your absence had gone unnoticed. No one had asked where you had been, no one had commented on your return.

You hadn’t expected them to.

You knew, deep down, that no one would miss you.

The only evidence that you had been gone at all was the mountain of assignments sitting in front of you, an overwhelming mess of unfamiliar topics and complicated problems. Two weeks of work, all dumped onto your desk as if expecting you to somehow catch up in a single day. The weight of it all pressed down on you, suffocating in its enormity. How were you supposed to manage this? You could barely process the words in front of you, let alone retain any of the information.

A part of you regretted skipping class. Even if you had a reason— a good reason—the consequences were proving to be unbearable.

But you wanted to change.

Instead of blaming the world around you, you were going to do something about it.

Even if you couldn’t fight off the people who made your life hell, you would make sure to live. You wouldn’t waste away in the shadows, letting them dictate your existence.

You didn’t need to pretend to be friends with people you hated just to avoid social exile. You didn’t need their acceptance.

So, you turned your focus to the only thing you could control— your studies.

Every second of free time, every moment you could spare, was spent in the library. Catching up. Trying, struggling, but pushing through anyway. It was exhausting, but you refused to give up. You refused to let this be another thing that slipped through your fingers.

You bought a bag of carrots to snack on while you worked, chewing methodically as you flipped through pages upon pages of notes and textbooks. The sound of the library clock ticking away the minutes was a distant echo in your ears. The progression of work was slow— agonizingly so. Each time you managed to grasp an old topic, a new one would pile onto the workload. It felt endless, like you were swimming against a relentless current.

But you didn’t let it discourage you.

This was the one thing in your life that you had control over, and you weren’t about to let it slip away. No way.

You put in an earbud, letting soft melodies play in the background. It helped drown out the pressure, the weight of everything, allowing you to lose yourself in the rhythm of work. Minutes blurred into hours, time slipping away unnoticed. The world beyond your table ceased to exist, reduced to nothing more than ink and paper.

Until a sound broke through your focus.

A chair screeching against the polished floor.

You blinked, momentarily disoriented, before looking up. A boy stood across from you, an apologetic smile tugging at his lips as he pulled out the chair opposite you.

"Mind if I sit here?"

You hesitated. You did mind. The library was practically empty. He could have chosen any other seat, yet he picked the one directly in front of you.

But instead of voicing your annoyance, you forced a small smile, a silent indication that you didn’t mind.

You had bigger things to worry about.

Lowering your head, you reached to adjust your music, hoping to ignore him. But he didn’t take the hint.

"Sure is nice weather, right?"

You resisted the urge to sigh. Was he serious?

You were in a library. If he wanted small talk, he should’ve gone to the cafeteria or something.

You gave a half-hearted nod, praying that would be enough to shut him up.

It wasn’t.

He kept talking. Rambling about the weather, school gossip, teachers. Things you had no interest in. Things you couldn’t care less about.

You wished he would stop. You weren’t in the mood for this. You didn’t have the patience.

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up—

"I love that song."

You froze.

Wait. What?

You looked up at him, puzzled. He nodded toward your earbud. "I can hear it from here."

Your face burned with embarrassment. "Oh my god, I’m so sorry," you stammered, fumbling to turn down the volume.

He laughed. "No need. I don’t mind. You have good taste."

You weren’t sure what to say to that, so you muttered a quiet, "Thanks."

His smile softened. "It looks like you’re struggling with the work. If you need help, I can give you a hand."

You blinked, caught off guard by the offer. "Oh… that’s really kind of you."

"Cheong-san," he introduced himself. "My name’s Cheong-san."

"Nice to meet you, Cheong-san."

The two of you fell into a steady rhythm. He worked on his assignments, occasionally peeking over to see if you needed help. You found yourself easing into the presence of another person, the atmosphere far less suffocating than you had anticipated. It was… nice.

Quiet, but not lonely.

But this exchange did not go unnoticed by someone lurking in the shadows.

When it was finally time to leave, you grabbed your belongings, stuffing your books and papers haphazardly into your bag. The weight of exhaustion settled into your bones as you slung it over your shoulder, stretching out your stiff limbs before heading toward the exit.

The school hallways were eerily silent, the usual buzz of students long gone, leaving behind nothing but the faint hum of fluorescent lights. Your footsteps echoed against the polished tile floors, each step seeming louder in the vast emptiness. The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the halls in a dim, bluish hue, the flickering lights above doing little to chase away the growing shadows.

As you made your way toward the gates, an unsettling sensation crept up your spine, prickling at the nape of your neck. It felt like someone was watching you.

You shook your head. It’s nothing. Just your imagination.

But the feeling persisted, lingering like a shadow just out of reach. Your pace quickened. Maybe it was the paranoia left over from what happened with Myeong-han. Ever since that day, you kept feeling like something—or someone—was always lurking just beyond your line of sight, waiting. You hated how much control he still had over your thoughts, how much his mere existence made you feel unsafe, even in your own skin.

With a deep breath, you pushed the thoughts away. It’s fine. You’re fine. You’re almost home.

Just as you reached the school’s front steps, everything went black.

A gasp barely had time to escape your lips before something—no, someone—had covered your eyes with warm hands, plunging you into darkness. Your body tensed, a sharp shiver running down your spine. Panic clawed at your chest, your breath hitching as your mind raced with worst-case scenarios.

Then, soft laughter. A familiar, teasing voice whispering close to your ear, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

"Guess who."

Your shoulders instantly relaxed. A mixture of relief and irritation flooded through you, your heart still pounding from the initial scare.

"Gwi-nam," you sighed, prying his hands away from your face. "Don’t scare me like that."

The second you were free, he stepped in front of you, grinning wide like a cat that had caught a particularly amusing mouse. His dark eyes gleamed under the dim glow of the streetlights, filled with mischief as his laughter echoed through the empty courtyard.

"Ah, c’mon," he drawled, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I couldn’t help myself. Your reaction was priceless."

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real bite to it.

This kind of behavior wasn’t unusual for him.

Things had shifted between the two of you after that night—the night you had finally let your walls crack just enough for him to slip through. You weren’t sure what had changed, only that something had. He wasn’t just the obnoxious, troublemaking presence at your window anymore. He had become… something else.

A constant. A presence that didn’t feel quite as suffocating as the rest of the world.

He had started waiting for you after school. Walking you home. Making conversation that, for once, you didn’t mind engaging in. It was strange, but not unwelcome. He made it easy. Talking about random things, cracking jokes, teasing you in ways that felt lighthearted rather than cruel.

For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel completely alone.

"Shall we go?" he asked, tilting his head toward the road.

You gave a small nod, and the two of you fell into step beside each other. The walk home was short, the journey quiet but not uncomfortable. Occasionally, he would nudge your shoulder, saying something snarky or pointing out something random in the distance.

As your house finally came into view, you felt the usual pang of reluctance settle in your chest. The evening air was cool against your skin, the kind of night that made you want to linger just a little longer before returning to solitude.

Stopping in front of your doorstep, you turned to face him.

He smirked, leaning lazily against the gate. "See ya tomorrow, babe."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "Don’t call me that."

Gwi-nam only laughed, clearly unfazed, before pushing off the gate and taking a step back. He gave you a lazy salute before turning on his heel and walking off into the night.

As you slipped inside your house, the warmth from the heater washed over you, chasing away the night’s chill. You leaned against the door for a moment, pressing a hand against your chest, where a strange, unfamiliar warmth had started to bloom.

You weren’t sure what it meant.

But for now, you didn’t mind it.

Gwi-nam liked walking you home.

It made him feel connected to you in a way that nothing else did. It wasn’t just about the routine; it was about the moments in between—the quiet laughter, the soft sighs, the way you would ramble on about the smallest things. You didn’t even realize how much you had opened up to him, how different you were from the person who once told him to leave you alone.

To him, it was an upgrade. A massive improvement from the cold shoulder and empty stares you had given him just weeks ago.

So, after dropping you off, he made his way back home, hands stuffed deep into his pockets. His phone had died hours ago, leaving him with nothing to distract himself during the long walk.

He didn’t need it.

Your voice was enough to fill the silence, replaying over and over in his mind. Every little laugh, every frustrated sigh as you complained about school, every time you said his name—soft, distant, but still directed at him. It was enough to keep his steps light and his mood high.

At least, until a voice cut through his thoughts.

“Gwi-nam.”

His entire body stiffened.

Ugh. What does that asshole want?

Turning around slowly, he was met with a smirk he’d rather wipe off someone’s face.

“What’s up, Myeong-han?” Gwi-nam forced his voice to sound neutral, uninterested. No need to start anything.

Not yet, anyway.

Myeong-han was the last person he wanted to see tonight. He hadn’t forgotten what the bastard had done to you, and even now, the mere thought made his hands clench into fists. He could break his nose in a second if he wanted to. But he couldn’t.

Because Myeong-han wasn’t like the other guys he fought with.

Myeong-han was different.

Darker.

There was something wrong with him, something that made even Gwi-nam’s usual recklessness falter. He knew picking a fight wasn’t worth it—not if it meant you’d be the one to suffer the repercussions.

So he swallowed his rage, shoving it down as far as it could go.

He just had to get this over with.

“How ya been?” Myeong-han asked casually, like they were old friends catching up. “Haven’t seen ya in forever.”

“Been busy,” Gwi-nam muttered. He wasn’t in the mood for this.

Myeong-han hummed, tilting his head. “Yeah? You and the girl break up or somethin’?”

The question threw him off guard. His entire body went rigid, and for a second, his brain couldn’t even process the words.

Break up?

Where the hell did that come from?

His eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”

Myeong-han shrugged, grinning like he had just told a joke. “Saw her today. With a guy. Looked pretty close.”

Gwi-nam’s stomach twisted, but he didn’t let it show.

“It’s none of your business.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Myeong-han lifted his hands in mock surrender, taking a step back. “Just thought I’d warn my best mate.”

And with that, he walked away, disappearing into the dark street like a shadow.

But he left something behind—something far worse than any punch to the gut.

Doubt.

Gwi-nam stood there, fists clenched, breathing uneven. He hated himself for even entertaining the idea. You wouldn’t. You couldn’t.

Things had been going so well between you two.

No way.

No way you were seeing someone else.

No way you were replacing him.

No way.

Chapter Text

“What are you doing here?”

you whisper, your voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and fear, urgency evident in every syllable. The sound of your heartbeat rushes in your ears, drowning out everything else.

You had only stepped into the kitchen for a glass of water, just a quick break from the night’s silence. But when you returned, there he was—standing in the shadows, as if he had always belonged there. His presence alone felt suffocating, like the air had suddenly grown thicker, more oppressive.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he took slow, deliberate steps toward you, closing the distance between you two. Each movement was calculated, unnerving. The tension in the room grew thicker with every inch he took, and your breath hitched as he stood mere inches away.

“Gwi-nam, this isn’t funny. How did you even get in here?”

The words came out before you could stop them, your voice tinged with both confusion and fear.

He didn’t reply, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that felt as if they could pierce right through you. Then, without another word, he reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek before gently cupping your face. His breath fanned across your skin, warm and close, sending a shiver down your spine.

He stepped forward again, and in a single fluid motion, he reached behind you and grabbed the door knob, twisting it sharply. The soft click of the lock echoed in the room, sending a fresh wave of panic surging through you.

“W-what are you doing?” you manage to whisper, your voice faltering as your mind races to process what was happening.

He looked at you, his gaze dark, almost predatory, before his lips parted.

“I’m doing what I’ve always wanted to,” he murmured, his voice low and husky.

And then, before you could fully comprehend what was happening, his lips were on yours. A kiss so intense, so filled with desperation, it felt as though the world around you had fallen away.

A rush of heat exploded within you, the sensation starting deep in your stomach, spreading outward like wildfire. Your body responded instinctively, betraying your initial shock and fear. The kiss deepened, and all you could focus on was the burning need that now coursed through your veins.

You wouldn’t dare admit it to him, not in a million years, but you had been waiting for this.

You had been waiting for him, for the way his presence seemed to consume you, for this forbidden moment to finally unfold.

His hands slid to your back, pulling you closer, urging you to follow him toward your bed.

The lightest nudge, and you were guiding him, both of you moving in perfect synchrony.

Your hearts raced as you reached the edge of the bed, and without hesitation, he sat down, his eyes never leaving yours.

You climbed over him, your hands trembling, your heart pounding harder with each movement.

The space between you had all but disappeared, leaving only the overwhelming sense of need.

His voice broke through the haze of desire, a whisper so soft yet full of intent. “I need you.”

His words were like a spark, igniting something deep inside you. You leaned in, the distance between you both closing again, lips almost touching when—

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Your eyes snapped open. The warmth, the rush, the desire—all of it vanished in an instant. You blinked into the darkness of your room, the cold reality of your surroundings crashing back down on you.

Fuck. It was a dream.

The morning unfolded as it usually did, with an almost monotonous routine, but today there was a lingering sense of unease hanging in the air.

You had been dreading leaving the house, knowing that he would be waiting for you like he always did, but now… after last night… how could you face him? How could you look him in the eye after that dream—after having fantasized about him like that?

You wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die. It felt like the kind of thing you could never live down, especially with him, the way he always seemed to see right through you.

But you couldn’t stay cooped up forever. You had to suck it up.

After bidding your father goodbye, you made your way to the front door. Your heart skipped a beat when you noticed something odd—he wasn’t there.

Weird.

It wasn’t like you needed him there. In fact, the absence of his presence was oddly comforting, a brief reprieve from the weight of what you had been feeling. But still, it was strange. He always told you when he wouldn’t pick you up. If his mom needed him home or if he had gotten into trouble with the teachers—he’d always make sure you knew.

It was never required, but it was always expected.

So why hadn’t he said anything this time?

Shrugging off the unease, you made your way to school, the day dragging on in dull, muted colors. You moved through classes as if on autopilot, and yet, still no sign of him. No messages, no calls, nothing.

It wasn’t unusual for him to skip class, not for someone like him—he was a delinquent after all. Skipping classes, causing trouble, being a nuisance to everyone—this was basically his full-time job.

But still, a small part of you couldn’t help but worry. You pushed the feeling aside. He was a big boy, he could handle himself.

By the time you reached the library, you had almost forgotten about him entirely. You made your way to your usual spot, settling in with your leather school bag, the familiar weight of your lecture books pulling you back to reality.

“Heya!”

You looked up to see Cheong-san, his usual enthusiastic self, waving at you with that confident grin. He pulled up a chair, settling next to you like he had the day before.

“Oh, hey Cheong-san!” you smiled, your tension lifting a little at his presence. “What are we studying today?”

He leaned back in his chair, clearly ready to dive into whatever you had to offer. “What’s on the agenda, boss?”

You giggled at his excitement, shaking your head. “Well… I have a lot to catch up on for calculus, so let's get started.”

And just like that, the hours seemed to melt away as the two of you worked in tandem, tackling each problem one after the other. His infectious energy kept you going, and he was there whenever you hit a wall, offering just the right hint or explanation to get you unstuck.

It was so easy, so natural. You were enjoying yourself, probably more than you ever expected to while studying.

Could you believe it? Having fun while studying?

As the sun began to set, you realized you had lost track of time. Cheong-san was right though; you probably should pack up and head home.

“You should probably go home now,” he said, his voice gentle but insistent.

You shook your head, not quite ready to leave. “I can stay a little longer. If you want to go, don’t worry about me.”

“No way. I’m staying with ya,” he replied, and just as he spoke, the sound of the library door screeching open interrupted the moment.

You both paused, glancing toward the entrance. It was late—most students had already left for the day, and classes had ended hours ago. So who would be here at this hour?

A familiar figure stepped into the room.

Gwi-nam.

A sense of déjà vu hit you like a ton of bricks.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice betraying the nervousness you felt deep inside.

He didn’t seem fazed by your tone, his gaze cold but oddly… intent. “You weren’t outside. I was waiting for you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, a wave of guilt and confusion rising within you. “Oh… sorry. I thought you were sick today.” Without thinking, you grabbed your stuff, standing up to leave with him.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Cheong-san said, flashing you a smile. You waved back, your mind still a little preoccupied with the sudden appearance of Gwi-nam.

The two of you walked down the hall together, the silence between you filled with an awkward tension that you couldn’t shake.

“Who was that?” he asked casually, not even sparing you a glance.

“You mean Cheong-san?” you replied, your voice lifting slightly in a way that suggested you were proud of the new friendship you had made. “He’s my new study buddy.”

He didn’t seem to share in your enthusiasm.

The air between you and Gwi-nam thickened with tension, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to snap.

“Other people don’t seem to think that,” he said again, his voice low, almost like a threat.

Your heart raced, but you refused to let him see your nerves. “So you’ve been stalking us or what?” you shot back, your words coming out sharper than you intended.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at you with a strange expression—a mix of amusement and something darker that sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel his eyes on you, drilling into your every move, as if waiting for you to say something wrong, just so he could pounce.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he finally muttered, taking a step closer. “I don’t need to stalk you. It’s obvious you’re a little too friendly with him.”

His words hit you like a slap in the face. Your temper flared immediately, but you forced yourself to hold back. “I’m not answering to you. I can be friends with whoever I want.” You took a step toward him, meeting his glare head-on. “So, what’s your problem, huh?”

Gwi-nam’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. You could see the anger simmering just beneath the surface. “My problem? You’re my problem. You think you can just walk around, making new friends, laughing and acting all innocent, but you don’t even know what you’re getting into.”

“Don’t talk down to me!” you snapped, feeling a burst of frustration build up. “What’s it to you who I talk to or hang out with? You’re not my keeper, and you sure as hell don’t get to tell me what to do.”

His face twisted with something dangerous, his eyes narrowing as he took another step forward. “Maybe I should be your keeper,” he growled, voice rough. “You don’t know the first thing about the people you’re getting involved with.”

You couldn’t believe it. “Are you seriously threatening me right now?”

Without thinking, you pushed past him, trying to put some space between the two of you, but he grabbed your arm, yanking you back toward him with surprising strength.

“Let go of me!” you shouted, fury bubbling over as you yanked your arm out of his grasp. You stood there, chest heaving, staring him down.

“Make me,” he sneered, his voice cold and biting.

That was it.

Without warning, you shoved him hard, a desperate surge of adrenaline taking over. His body staggered back, and for a moment, you thought you might have caught him off guard, but then his expression darkened, his eyes burning with an intensity that made you freeze in place.

“You wanna fight?” he spat, stepping forward again, closing the space between you with dangerous speed. He wasn’t backing down.

You squared your shoulders, your anger now fully unleashed. “I don’t want to fight you, Gwi-nam,” you said through gritted teeth. “But I’m not going to let you talk to me like that. I’m not your toy.”

He smirked, taking another step forward, and before you could react, he pushed you, not as hard as you had pushed him, but enough to knock you back a few steps. “Get used to it, because it’s happening whether you like it or not.”

Your heart hammered in your chest as you tried to steady yourself, only to feel the sting of his words echoing in your mind.

“You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you?” he continued, his voice low, venom dripping from every syllable. “You think you can just walk around like the world owes you something. You don’t know anything, but I’m about to show you how wrong you are.”

You took a step forward, fists clenched, but he was faster. He grabbed your wrist, pulling you in close, his face inches from yours. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, the intensity of the moment threatening to consume you both.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you spat, voice trembling with the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “You should be.”

Without another word, he shoved you back again, this time with more force. You stumbled but caught yourself, eyes burning with unrelenting defiance.

“I’m done letting you push me around, Gwi-nam,” you said, your voice steady despite the chaos in your chest. “I’m not scared of you. You’re just another asshole.”

That did it.

With a growl, he lunged toward you, his hand shooting out to grab your collar. But just as his fingers neared, something stopped him. For a brief, agonizing moment, his eyes flickered down to yours—something in them faltered. Maybe it was the fear that was visible in your gaze, or the way your hands trembled ever so slightly. Whatever it was, it made him hesitate, just long enough for you to slip free.

He let go, his chest rising and falling sharply as he stared at you, still seething with rage, but now a flicker of something else in his eyes—confusion? Regret?

"You think you can just walk away from this?" His voice was gruff, raw with anger, the words clipped and harsh. "You think you can just toss me aside like I don’t matter?"

You met his glare head-on, not flinching. "I never said you didn’t matter," you snapped, your voice tight with defiance. "But you’re crossing a line, Gwi-nam. You’ve crossed it, and I’m done."

There was a heavy silence that followed, the air thick with tension. It felt like time had stopped, the world holding its breath as you both stood there, locked in the heat of your confrontation. The moment was raw—too raw—and neither of you knew how to end it, but neither of you was willing to back down.

You could feel the adrenaline rushing through your veins, your heart pounding in your chest, and yet, you stood firm. You weren’t going to let him control this moment any longer.

With every ounce of strength you had, you stepped forward, your voice a quiet but unwavering command. "Whatever this was between us..." You motioned vaguely between the two of you, a bitter finality in your gesture. "It’s over."

And you meant it. For once, you were sure of something—this twisted, complicated mess was done. It was over. And with those words, you felt something inside you click into place, an unfamiliar sense of closure washing over you.

And it really was over.

Chapter Text

“You don’t understand. She’s just that pretty.”

There he went again. Rambling about On-jo like she was the only light in his life.

You sat across from Cheong-san in the library, like you always did. He was practically buzzing with excitement, his hands tapping the table as he told you how he was finally going to confess to her. His enthusiasm was contagious, but you couldn't bring yourself to share it. Instead, you offered a small smile, trying your best to seem supportive.

Sure, On-jo was pretty. No one could deny that. But something about her just rubbed you the wrong way. Maybe it was how effortlessly she fit into every social circle, how she never seemed to struggle the way you did. Or maybe it was because every conversation with Cheong-san always seemed to lead back to her. You never tried to hide your disdain, and he never called you out on it.

“I mean, she is, but are you sure she’s interested in you?” You asked, keeping your tone neutral.

He let out a short laugh. “Probably not. But that doesn’t matter. At least I’ll finally get it off my chest.”

You admired that about him. The courage to be vulnerable, to lay his feelings bare despite the risk of rejection. You weren’t sure if you could ever do the same. The thought of standing in front of someone, confessing, only to see them recoil, to hear them laugh—

No. You would never put yourself in that position.

Cheong-san checked his watch and stood up. “Well, it’s time. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck.” You forced a smile as he gathered his things and walked away.

You had no plans to go to the canteen today. You weren’t in the mood to be around people. Instead, you stayed in the library, alone in the quiet space. But being alone meant thinking. And thinking meant spiralling.

You were upset. And had been for weeks.

Because of him.

Gwi-nam.

That day, what he did—it hurt more than you wanted to admit. You always knew he was a bully, a terrible person. But somewhere, deep down, you had foolishly believed he was different with you. That when he spoke to you in quiet moments, when he walked you home, when he made you laugh—it had meant something. That he wasn’t the monster everyone saw him as.

But he was. And he proved it to you.

Launching at you. Threatening you. Destroying whatever fragile connection you thought you had.

You hadn’t seen him since. No more waiting in front of your house. No more lingering by the school gates. It was like he had disappeared. If it weren’t for the occasional whispers about his gang, you might have thought he had vanished completely.

You should have been relieved.

People had stopped pestering you about him. They no longer avoided you like before. This was your chance to move on, to reconnect with others, to rebuild yourself.

But you didn’t take it. Instead, you stuck to your routine, isolating yourself in the library, the only person you still spoke to being Cheong-san. The silence was safer.

Until today.

Something felt off.

The library was quiet, but the hallways beyond it—

You heard something faint. Screams.

At first, you thought you were imagining it, but then came the pounding footsteps. Not walking. Running.

Your stomach twisted.

Slowly, carefully, you rose from your chair and stepped toward the door. Holding your breath, you peered through the small window.

What you saw made your blood run cold.

Students, dozens of them, sprinting down the hallway in a panicked frenzy. Their uniforms were stained with red. Some were screaming, others were too focused on escaping to make a sound. A girl tripped, falling to the ground. Someone grabbed her arm to help—only to be yanked back violently by another figure. No, not just a figure.

A person. But something was wrong with them.

Their eyes were empty, their body twitching unnaturally. And their mouth—their mouth was soaked in blood.

You stumbled back from the door, heart hammering against your ribs.

You had to get out. Now.

Going through the hallway was suicide. The only option was the window. It was high up, but you had no choice.

Your hands trembled as you turned the lock on the door, securing it to buy yourself time. Then, rushing to the nearest chair, you climbed onto it. It wobbled under your weight, but you steadied yourself, reaching for the window latch.

It was stuck.

Gritting your teeth, you pushed harder.

SCREEEEEECH.

The sound echoed through the library, too loud. Way too loud.

Your breath hitched.

And then—a sudden bang against the door.

Followed by another.

And another.

They knew you were in here.

And they were coming for you.

The classroom was quiet.

No one dared to speak a word.

You were exhausted. Pain throbbed in every inch of your body, a dull ache settling in as the adrenaline slowly faded. The weight of fear pressed down on your chest like a vice. Everyone felt it—an unspoken dread that filled the room like a suffocating fog.

It had been maybe five hours since the outbreak, but it felt like a lifetime.

You had barely managed to escape the library, stumbling into Cheong-san and his friends after a frantic run from a herd of the infected. The fall you had taken still left a stinging reminder on your knees, but you were alive. That should have been enough.

But it wasn’t.

Because not all of you had made it out.

Gyeong-su.

Gone.

Turned.

Cruelly taken from this world because of a petty, heartless act. Because of Na-yeon.

You sat in a circle with the others, the air thick with grief. No one had the energy to speak, to reassure one another. Hope slipped further from your grasp with every second that passed. The walls felt smaller, the silence louder.

You were fucked.

There was no escape. Every hallway, every exit was crawling with them. No one had come to rescue you. No one would.

Your mind drifted to your father.

He had gone to work this morning, like any other day. You hadn’t even said goodbye. You hadn’t even seen him one last time. Was he safe? Had the infection spread beyond the school? Your stomach twisted at the thought of him alone, or worse—

You pulled your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself. The first sob wracked through you before you could hold it back, the pressure in your chest spilling out in quiet gasps.

A hand on your shoulder. Gentle. Reassuring.

“We’ll make it out,” someone whispered.

You swallowed down the tears, biting your lip. Everyone else was struggling too. You had to be strong—for the group.

The others sat in a huddle, whispering about their next move. You weren’t listening. The words blurred together into meaningless noise. It wasn’t like you could contribute anything useful. What could you possibly say? You had nothing left to give. No will to fight. No reason to keep moving forward.

You just wanted to sleep. To wake up and realize this was all a horrible nightmare.

But it wasn’t.

And it never would be.

“...I don’t feel safe having Y/N here.”

The words sliced through the air like a knife. Your blood ran cold.

How had the conversation shifted to you? You had been silent, keeping to yourself. You hadn’t done anything wrong.

“She’s Gwi-nam’s girlfriend. Who knows what awful things she’s done?”

It wasn’t the first time people had thrown accusations at you, but it still stung. You thought this was behind you. You thought, in a crisis like this, petty grudges wouldn’t matter anymore.

Apparently, you were wrong.

“How could you say something like that?” Cheong-san’s voice cut through the tension, firm with disbelief. “This isn’t the time for that. We need to focus on getting out of here.”

He was right. But they weren’t listening.

“I’m not moving until she leaves.” The voice was stubborn, accusing. “She might do something like Na-yeon did. Or worse.”

A sharp inhale.

“What could possibly be worse than that?” Cheong-san’s voice cracked at the end. The loss of his friend was still raw, still too painful to bring up so carelessly.

You appreciated him standing up for you, but it wasn’t worth the fight. Not anymore. If they didn’t want you here, you wouldn’t stay.

You had nothing to live for anyway.

You reached out, gently gripping Cheong-san’s wrist. Your voice was soft, almost too quiet to hear.

“I’ll leave.”

He turned to you, eyes wide with protest, but you weren’t looking at him anymore.

It didn’t matter.

Nothing did.

The bleak stall had become an all-too-familiar view.

The last time you had been here, it was to hide your shame from the world. This time, you were simply hiding yourself from it.

Ironic, really.

You had lost track of how long you'd been here. Your phone had died a long time ago, and the dim light filtering through the cracks wasn’t enough to indicate the time.

You couldn’t stay here forever. At some point, you’d have to leave—find food, water, something to keep you going.

But you really didn’t want to.

It was terrifying out there. And you were alone.

You didn’t want to leave. No—you couldn’t. You would never leave.

There was no escape, anyway. Might as well accept your fate here and now. You would die of starvation or dehydration. Probably the latter.

You should have stayed with the group. You would have had a better chance of survival with them. It didn’t matter if they didn’t feel safe around you—nowhere was safe anymore, so what did it matter?

But instead, you had caved.

You had walked away, without food, without a weapon, without a real plan. It was a miracle you’d even made it here in one piece.

But miracles only lasted so long.

Then—footsteps.

Just one pair.

A noise. Distant but deliberate. A slow, measured sound—footsteps. Just one pair. Not frantic. Not mindless. Someone else was here.

A survivor.

Maybe it was someone from your group. Maybe they’d come looking for you. Maybe they felt bad.

The thought alone made your throat tighten, tears prickling at the edges of your vision.

So when the door slowly creaked open, you jumped to your feet, ready to thank your savior.

Only to realize that, as always, luck wasn’t on your side.

“…Y/N.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Gwi-nam.

He was standing in front of you, his expression unreadable, eyes scanning your form as if making sure you were real.

“You’re… alive.”

He took a slow step forward.

You stepped back.

Relief and wariness warred inside you. What did it matter to him whether you had survived? He had only ever looked out for himself.

And yet—seeing his face filled you with the tiniest sliver of comfort.

“We should get out of here.” His voice was urgent now, snapping out of whatever daze he had been in. “I have a plan.”

He reached for your hand.

You pulled away.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Something flickered in his expression.

Then he rolled his eyes. “We don’t have time for this. C’mon.”

But you stood your ground.

That’s when something in him shifted.

His usual smugness twisted into something darker. His brows furrowed, his lips curled into a snarl, and his pupils swallowed what little white was left of his eyes.

“You bratty bitch.” His voice was low and venomous. “You think you’re better than me? Even when the whole world is going to shit, you’d rather die than let me help you?”

He stepped forward.

You shrank back.

His movements were erratic, his breath shallow, his fingers twitching as he took another step forward. Your heart slammed against your ribs—too fast, too loud.

Not in the way the others did—not the monsters lurking outside.

This was different.

His movements became more erratic, his breathing heavier, his tone more biting with each word.

“Do I scare you?”

A twisted grin pulled at his lips.

“Yeah. You should be scared.”

Another step.

“You walk around acting like you’re all high and mighty—”

Another.

“You don’t get to look down on me.”

He was close now. Too close.

And despite every instinct telling you to run, your feet wouldn’t move.

"Please, stop!" you begs, but Gwi-nam pays no heed.

He spins you around to face the mirror, pressing his hardness against your ass. She trembles, looking at his reflection with fear in your eyes. The room closes in on you as he pulls down your skirt and undergarments, leaving you almost naked.

He grinds against you, hot breath on your neck as he unbuckles his belt. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this," he growls, positioning himself at your entrance.

Squeezes your eyes shut, trying to block out the horrible scene. But there's no escape from the sharp pain as he thrusts inside, a scream tearing from your throat.

He clamps a hand over your mouth, muffling her cries. "Shush, they'll hear us," he whispers, referring to the zombies lurking outside.

He begins moving, his skin slapping against hers as he takes her roughly from behind. The sounds of their coupling fill the room.

"Look at you, so wet for me," he taunts, and you whimpers in shame. your body betrays you, responding to his touch despite the terror. You watches herself in the mirror, tits bouncing in your bra as he pounds into you, his eyes locked with your own in the reflection. He looks crazed with lust, pride shining in his gaze.

Moans escape despite yourself as he hits a sensitive spot deep inside. You can't look away from their reflection, from the depraved look on his face as he claims you. He fucks you harder, chasing his pleasure, grunting with exertion. You feels his sweat-slicked skin against your back as he grips tightly.

Your own body begins to respond, a sickening ache building low in your belly.

You hates yourself for it, for craving more of this horrible act. Tears pour down your cheeks as you watch yourself come undone, surrendering to the enemy in the face of unimaginable horror.

He drives in harder, his fingers digging into your hips as he holds you in place. Bites your lip, tasting blood, trying to hold back the screams that threaten to escape with every brutal thrust. The room blurs before your eyes, tears clouding said vision.

Gwi-nam leans over you, his chest pressing against your back, his lips brushing your ear.

"You're mine now," he growls, punctuating his words with a particularly vicious thrust. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk straight."

You shakes her head, denying his claim, body betrays your words.

You can feel the shameful heat building in your core, the sickening pleasure that threatens to consume you. Clenching your teeth, fighting it with every ounce of willpower left over.

But Gwi-nam is relentless. He grinds against you, hitting that sweet spot inside that makes you see stars. Legs threaten to give out as the pressure builds to an unbearable peak. You’re so close, teetering on the edge of ruin.

"Come on, baby," he coaxes, his voice a dark seduction in your ear. "Let me feel you come apart on my cock." His filthy words push you over the edge, and you comes with a strangled cry, walls clenching around him as wave after wave of shameful pleasure crashes over you.

He follows soon after, his grip on your hips bruising as he slams into you one last time, spilling his seed deep inside. You slumps against the sink, boneless and spent, as he pulls out and tucks himself away.

Gwi-nam chuckles darkly, smoothing down his dishevelled hair.

"That was just a taste, sweetheart. We've got a long night ahead of us, and I plan to enjoy every minute of it."

Chapter Text

Light broke through the small window of the bathroom, casting pale beams onto the cold tile floor.

The air was still, thick with the scent of sweat and something else—something tainted.

Morning had come. With it, a sense of agony and dread settled over you like a suffocating weight. Last night’s horrors refused to fade, instead creeping back into your mind, replaying in gruesome detail.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to ignore the waking world. Tried to lose yourself in sleep once again. But even there, you found no escape. The memories followed, poisoning your dreams, warping them into an endless nightmare.

You hadn’t forgotten.

The way Gwi-nam had forced himself on you. The way he had cornered you, overpowered you, taken everything from you. He hadn’t stopped after the first time. He had continued, ravaging your body until the late hours of the night, pumping into you over and over again, as if you were nothing more than an object for his own twisted pleasure.

First, against the sink. Then, he had forced you down onto the icy floor tiles, moving you however he pleased—like a lifeless doll.

A deep sense of shame washed over you, burrowing into your very bones.

You should have stopped him.

You should have fought harder.

Your pleas and cries had fallen on deaf ears, but maybe if you had screamed louder, struggled more, he would have stopped. Maybe if you had clawed at his face, bitten down harder when he covered your mouth, maybe…

But no.

You had been weak.

Instead of fighting, you had let it happen, watching it unfold before your very eyes as if you were nothing more than a spectator in your own body.

Now, you felt the aftermath of it all. Your entire body ached, a dull, persistent soreness settling in every muscle, every bone. Your lower half throbbed with a deep, burning pain that made you wince at the slightest movement.

To make it worse, your body still hadn’t recovered from yesterday’s disasters.

Your legs were covered in dried blood and scabbed-over wounds. Bruises—some fresh, others deepening into ugly purples and blues—blossomed across your arms, your thighs, your ribs. Even breathing felt like a chore, as if your very body was rebelling against you, reminding you of everything you had endured.

Slowly, carefully, you rolled onto your left side, hissing as pain lanced through you.

And that’s when you saw him.

Gwi-nam.

He lay there, sleeping soundly, his expression peaceful—as if nothing had happened. As if he had not shattered you the night before.

How could he?

How could he sleep so easily, so guiltlessly, after what he had done?

He had taken everything from you.

The little dignity you possessed. The little control you had over your own body. He had stripped you bare—leaving you an empty shell, hollow and lifeless. And now, you were trapped with him.

There was no one to save you. No one to run to.

You were alone.

And you feared what he would do when he woke.

Would he do it again? Would he decide that last night hadn’t been enough? Or maybe, he had already had his fill. Maybe he would be done with you now.

Maybe he would toss you aside, leave you here, or worse—feed you to the monsters lurking in the hallways outside.

Either way, it didn’t matter.

There was no escape.

One nightmare would only be replaced by another.

You couldn’t live like this.

Your thoughts drifted to Cheong-san.

You should have stayed with him. Even if his friends didn’t trust you. Even if they saw you as a threat. Even if they had looked at you with suspicion in their eyes.

They had sent you away, cast you out, knowing full well that it meant your death. And they hadn’t cared.

Only Cheong-san had.

He had tried to stop it, tried to fight for you, but in the end, it hadn’t mattered.

You missed him.

You needed him.

But he was gone. And you were alone.

The fear gripping your chest twisted into something else—something darker.

Anger.

You hated them.

You hated the people who had thrown you away. The ones who had sentenced you to this fate.

Those selfish, narcissistic bastards.

They claimed to be better than Gwi-nam, but they weren’t. They were just like him. Only looking out for themselves, their own survival. And if sacrificing you meant making their lives easier, then so be it.

You hated them.

You hated him.

But worst of all…

You hated yourself.

Because despite it all, despite everything he had done to you, some twisted part of you still cared about Gwi-nam.

Some sick, broken part of you wanted him to need you.

Wanted him to want you.

You had once fantasized about this—about him taking you, claiming you, showing you that he wanted you as much as you had secretly wanted him.

But this wasn’t what you had dreamed of.

You had imagined it being tender, passionate—filled with longing and unspoken words. Instead, it had been violent. Cold. Heartless.

This wasn’t what you had wanted.

You hated it.

You hated him.

And yet…

A rustling noise pulled you from your thoughts.

"Morning."

Gwi-nam’s raspy voice echoed through the quiet bathroom as he stretched, his muscles tensing before relaxing. You hadn’t even noticed he had woken up.

Your breath hitched as his gaze landed on you, trailing down your body.

"I had fun last night..."

His words sent a violent shudder through you.

You instinctively wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly aware of how exposed you were.

Your blouse was ruined, the fabric hanging loosely around you, buttons ripped away. Your skirt lay discarded on the other side of the bathroom. Your underwear was gone—ripped, shredded, useless.

You were completely bare beneath the thin fabric of your ruined clothes.

“No need to hide yourself. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

His words made your stomach twist.

You felt dirty.

Like you were nothing more than a body for his amusement.

Tears burned in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks before you could stop them.

He stilled, watching you.

You expected him to get angry. To hit you. To punish you for crying.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he took a step forward, reaching into his pocket before extending something toward you. A white cloth.

"Here. Wear this. I broke yours, so you can have mine."

You hesitated.

Nothing came for free with him.

But you had no other choice.

You took it, slipping it on as quickly as you could, pulling it tightly around yourself, as if it could somehow shield you from him. Then, you retrieved your skirt, dressing as fast as your sore body allowed.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Once dressed, you turned to find him watching you, his expression unreadable.

"We should get out of here," he said. "I'll go out first, make sure the coast is clear. Then I’ll come back for you."

He didn’t wait for your response. He just left.

You stood frozen in place, listening to the silence that followed.

There was no point in running.

Not yet.

For now, you would follow.

Until the moment you finally found a way to escape.

The door creaked open, revealing the dimly lit hallway beyond.

"C'mon, let’s go," Gwi-nam called.

You stepped forward hesitantly, avoiding the rotting corpses that littered the floor, the sickly stench of death making bile rise in your throat.

But you swallowed it down.

You didn’t have time to be sick.

You had to stay strong.

With every step you took, an unsettling sense of impending doom loomed over you, crawling up your spine like a cold hand. You didn’t know where Gwi-nam was leading you—only that you had no choice but to follow.

His pace was steady, calculated, his movements eerily fluid as he maneuvered through the darkened hallways. You tried to guess where he was headed with every turn, every corridor you passed, but it was useless. He was the only one who knew the way.

You wanted to ask him.

Wanted to demand answers.

But the words died in your throat.

Silence was your only ally now.

The last thing you needed was a horde of the undead tearing through the walls, hunting you down like wounded prey.

Then—

A sound.

A low, guttural moan echoed from somewhere up ahead, sending a sharp jolt through your already frayed nerves.

Both of you froze.

You peeked over Gwi-nam’s tall, broad-shouldered frame, barely catching a glimpse of the creature.

Just one.

A single zombie stood in the dim light, swaying slightly, its bloodshot eyes vacant yet somehow locked onto something unseen. Its skin, sickly pale and peeling, stretched thin over sharp bones, its jaw slack as if it had long forgotten how to close its mouth.

One.

But where there was one, there were always more.

Your heart pounded against your ribcage as Gwi-nam reacted instantly.

Without hesitation, he yanked your wrist, pulling you into a side hallway. His grip was firm, almost bruising, and the sudden force nearly made you stumble. You barely caught your footing as he dragged you into the shadows.

A nearby chair screeched against the floor as he shoved it under the door handle, barricading the entrance.

You exhaled a shaky breath. Maybe, just maybe, you had avoided—

A blood-curdling screech ripped through the air.

Your stomach dropped.

The sound didn’t come from behind you.

It came from ahead.

Another zombie.

It stood just feet away, blocking your path, its glassy, dead eyes fixated on the two of you.

Then, in a blur of motion, it lunged.

Gwi-nam reacted first.

With brutal efficiency, he shoved you behind him, his body tensing like a coiled spring. His hand reached for something—anything—to use as a weapon, but there was nothing but the cold, empty hallway.

The zombie was fast. Faster than it should have been.

And it was coming straight for you.

Your breath hitched as its decayed fingers clawed through the air, reaching, grasping.

You were out of time.

You barely had time to react before Gwi-nam lunged forward.

His foot shot out, slamming into the creature’s chest with brutal force. The impact sent it stumbling backward, crashing into the wall with a sickening thud. But it didn’t stay down.

A sharp snarl tore from its throat as it regained its footing, its head snapping up in your direction. Its milky-white eyes locked onto yours, lips peeling back to reveal jagged, bloodstained teeth.

Your breath hitched.

It was still coming.

“Fucking hell,” Gwi-nam muttered under his breath, his fingers curling into fists.

Then, before you could process what was happening, he surged forward.

His movements were swift, merciless. He grabbed the zombie by the collar and drove it backward, slamming its head into the rusted metal lockers lining the wall. The creature flailed wildly, arms swinging, nails scraping against Gwi-nam’s jacket as it let out an unearthly shriek.

“Stay down, you ugly piece of shit,” he growled through clenched teeth.

The struggle was violent, messy. The zombie thrashed, its jaws snapping inches from his throat. For a brief second, panic flickered in your chest—what if it bit him? What if he got infected?

But Gwi-nam was stronger.

Brutally so.

With a final, guttural yell, he wrenched the zombie’s head forward—then slammed it back against the lockers with a sickening crack.

The body went limp.

Silence swallowed the hallway, broken only by the rapid pounding of your heart. Your ears still rang from the fight, the overwhelming stench of rotting flesh and rust suffocating your senses.

Gwi-nam exhaled sharply, shaking off the adrenaline before slowly turning to you.

His dark eyes dragged over your trembling form, assessing you, reading you.

Your knees buckled.

The weight of everything crashed down at once—the terror, the exhaustion, the unrelenting nightmare of it all. You sank to the floor, your hands shaking as you struggled to breathe. The world around you seemed to shrink, the walls closing in, the air growing thinner.

Gwi-nam was by your side in an instant.

“Hey—what the hell? Are you okay?! Did it get you?!” His voice was urgent, rough with something that almost sounded like concern.

But you couldn’t answer.

Your lungs refused to cooperate, rising and falling in frantic, shallow bursts. Your chest felt like it was caving in, your vision blurring at the edges from the lack of oxygen. It was too much—the fight, the fear, the corpse lying just inches away. You couldn’t escape it. You couldn’t breathe.

Then—two firm hands grabbed your face.

Before you could react, Gwi-nam’s lips crashed onto yours.

You thrashed instinctively, your body stiffening, hands shoving against his chest. But his grip held firm, keeping you locked in place against him. His warmth pressed into you, steady and unyielding.

And slowly, bit by bit, you gave in.

Your desperate gasps softened, your body melting into his. Your grip loosened, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt instead of pushing him away. His lips moved against yours, coaxing you out of your spiral, grounding you in something solid—something that, for better or worse, tethered you to reality.

When he deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping past your parted lips, a heat spread through your chest—burning away the numbness, the terror, the overwhelming coldness of the world around you.

It helped.

Gwi-nam’s presence loomed over you, a shadow stitched to your side as the chaos of the world faded into a dull hum.

His sharp eyes darted over your face, tracing the flush that crept up your cheeks, the way your lips trembled from the aftermath of his touch. The air around him crackled with a restless energy, his broad shoulders tense beneath the frayed fabric of his shirt—black cotton stretched tight over muscle, ripped at the collar from some forgotten scuffle. His dark hair hung messily over his forehead, sweat-damp strands clinging to his skin, giving him a wild, untamed look.

He smelled faintly of smoke and metal, a gritty scent that clung to him like a second skin, mixing with the sharp tang of his breath as it ghosted over your face.

“Hey—don’t flake out on me now,” he said, his voice a low growl, rough-edged but laced with something softer, something that didn’t quite fit his jagged exterior. His hands, still cold from the chill outside, lingered at your waist, fingers brushing the hem of your skirt with a deliberate slowness. The fabric—a short, pleated thing, navy blue and barely reaching mid-thigh—shifted under his touch, exposing the soft curve of your legs to the damp air. He didn’t pull away, didn’t flinch at the heat radiating from you. Instead, his lips quirked into a crooked smirk, the kind that promised trouble and delivered it in spades.

The corpse nearby—a crumpled heap of torn flesh and blood-soaked clothes—seemed to dissolve into the background as Gwi-nam’s focus locked onto you. His left hand slid lower, fingertips grazing the bare skin of your inner thigh, the contrast of his calloused touch against your warmth sending a jolt through your spine.

He didn’t rush, didn’t fumble. His movements were precise, almost methodical, as if he were testing how far you’d let him go. “You’re still shaking,” he muttered, his tone half-mocking, half-curious, as his thumb brushed over the sensitive skin just below your panties. The thin cotton clung to you, damp from sweat and something else, and his smirk widened as he felt it.

Around you, the setting sharpened into focus. The room was a wreck—overturned desks, shattered glass crunching underfoot, the faint drip of water echoing from a busted pipe somewhere in the shadows. The air was thick with the sour stench of decay and the metallic bite of blood, but Gwi-nam’s proximity drowned it out.

His body pressed closer, his chest brushing yours, the heat of him seeping through his shirt and into your skin.

His right hand slid up, cupping the back of your neck, thumb resting against your pulse point where it hammered wildly. “Breathe,” he said, quieter now, his lips hovering inches from yours.

“Or I’ll make you.”

Before you could process the words, his mouth was on yours again—harder this time, insistent. His tongue pushed past your lips, tasting of salt and something faintly sweet, coaxing a response from you whether you wanted to give it or not.

His fingers tightened at your neck, anchoring you as his other hand slipped fully beneath your skirt. Cold digits brushed your velvety folds, teasing the slick heat that had already gathered there. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he pulled back just enough to speak, his breath hot against your swollen lips. “Fuck, you’re soaked. Didn’t think you’d give in this easy.”

His fingers didn’t hesitate now. Two of them slid inside you, thick and unyielding, curling deep until they hit a spot that made your knees buckle. Your hands clutched his shoulders, nails digging into the firm muscle beneath his shirt as he worked you with a ruthless rhythm. The wet sound of it filled the air, obscene and loud against the distant groans of the undead outside.

His other hand abandoned your neck, dropping to your clit with a precision that made you gasp. He rubbed tight, relentless circles, his eyes never leaving your face, drinking in every twitch, every shudder.

“Gwi-nam—fuck—right there,” you choked out, the words spilling unbidden as the pressure built, coiling tight in your core. His fingers clawed deeper, stretching you, scrambling your insides until your vision blurred. His thumb pressed harder against your clit, slick with your arousal, and the dual assault sent a wave crashing over you. Your body seized, a broken moan tearing from your throat as you came, pussy clenching around his fingers in desperate, pulsing waves. Thick, creamy slick coated his hand, dripping down his wrist in viscous strands, pooling on the cracked tile beneath your feet.

He didn’t stop. Not yet. His pace slowed, but his fingers stayed buried inside you, coaxing every last tremor from your oversensitive nerves. His lips brushed your ear, voice a gravelly whisper. “Let me help you forget… all of it.” His free hand slid up your thigh, hiking your skirt higher until it bunched around your waist, exposing the mess he’d made of you—your panties shoved aside, your thighs glistening with sweat and cum.

For what felt like the hundredth time in just two days, Gwi-nam had broken you down,

piece by piece.

Chapter Text

You were tired.

exhausted.

The lewd act you had commited a few hours prior haunting your being. You couldn't understand why you had let it happen. 

It was wrong. So wrong. And yet some sick part of you enjoyed it. Just like last time.

After everything, Gwi-nam didn’t even take a moment to rest. Without hesitation, he went ahead and took care of the remaining zombies lurking nearby. You’d always known he was strong—fit beyond the average guy in your grade—but still, the way he handled them with such terrifying ease left you stunned. He grabbed a nearby chair and slammed it down with all his might against one of their skulls. The sickening, wet crack echoed through the corridor, lodging itself in your memory like a splinter you’d never be able to remove. Bits of bone and brain matter splattered across the floor, landing just a few feet from where you stood, frozen.

You couldn't stop staring at it—the way the body crumpled like a marionette with its strings cut, how the wood of the chair split slightly from the sheer force. That sound would haunt you. You were sure of it.

“Let’s get out of here,” Gwi-nam muttered, not even sparing you a glance. He didn’t wait. He never did.

You tiptoed after him, careful to avoid the slick pools of blood coating the floor like oil. Your breath was shallow, and your legs ached with every step, but you followed him as quickly as your battered body would allow.

You had no idea what his plan was, or if he even had one. Whatever nightmare had taken hold of your school had no doubt spread beyond its walls. You’d seen enough horror films to know that there was little hope once the infection reached the outside world.

Still, you trailed behind him without a word of protest. Maybe it was survival instinct. Maybe it was fear. Or maybe, deep down, some irrational part of you still believed he wouldn’t let you die.

His steps were loud and heavy, each one reverberating through the long, desolate corridor. It was a miracle none of the undead had heard and come running. Part of you wondered if he wanted to get caught. To let those monsters find you. Tear you apart. Turn you into one of them.

You were nearing the edge of collapse when you recognized a familiar set of doors.

The principal’s office.

And then it clicked.

You remembered Cheong-han laughing with you in the library, telling you how Gwi-nam had gotten his scooter keys confiscated just a few days ago for speeding in the school parking lot like a maniac. You’d spent nearly an hour mocking him, both of you doubled over with laughter.

Now, standing in front of the same door, all you could feel was grief.

You missed Cheong-han. Missed his voice, his presence, his unwavering support. You missed your dad too, or just anyone who could’ve made you feel something other than this hollow sense of dread. Gwi-nam wasn’t comfort—he was chaos. A storm you were caught in.

When Gwi-nam finally shoved open the door, the loud creak snapped you out of your thoughts.

You’d never been inside the principal’s office before. It was the kind of place reserved for concerned parents or serial rule-breakers. You had always kept your head down, stayed out of trouble. Maybe that’s why the sight of the room took you by surprise.

Massive windows lined one wall, letting in pale gray light. Framed portraits of past headmasters loomed from the walls, their painted eyes watching your every move. There was a plush leather couch tucked into the corner, a mini bar beside it, and a polished oak desk that looked like it cost more than your family’s monthly rent. You remembered asking for new textbooks not long ago—only to be told the school didn’t have enough funding.

Yeah. Right.

Gwi-nam didn’t stop to admire the room. He moved with purpose, heading straight for the large bureau in the corner.

You quietly shut the door behind you, but a soft shuffling sound made the hair on your arms stand up. The sound didn’t come from Gwi-nam.

It came from the desk.

Or more precisely—from beneath it.

A smooth, shiny bald head slowly peeked out from under the desk until it made direct eye contact with you.

“Ah! Thank god you’re here!” the man gasped, scrambling to his feet like a desperate child.

You blinked. Why was he the one relieved? You were just a high school girl, barely surviving by luck. He was supposed to be the adult, the one with a plan. The roles weren’t just reversed—they were upside down.

Gwi-nam didn’t even acknowledge him. He marched toward the drawers that held confiscated items.

“W-what are you doing?” the principal stammered, running to block his path.

“You have to help me get out of here—I’ll give you money!” he pleaded, desperation leaking into his voice like water through a crack.

That made Gwi-nam pause.

Of course it did.

Even when the world was collapsing, even when everything had gone straight to hell, Gwi-nam still cared more about money than anything else.

Some things, you realized, never change.

The principal’s trembling hand reached into his blazer pocket, pulling out a thick leather wallet. His fingers fumbled with it, pulling out bills like they were bandages that could stop the bleeding world around him.

“I have cash,” the principal blurted, his voice cracking under the weight of desperation. “A couple hundred thousand won. And I know where the school's emergency supplies are—food, fuel, even a radio.”

Gwi-nam didn’t move at first. His expression didn’t change, either. But the air around him shifted—stilled. A dangerous sort of calm blanketed his features, like the quiet before a storm.

His lips twitched upward—not quite a smile, more like a sneer. “You think I care about your dirty money?” he said quietly, the edge in his voice like a blade dragged across ice.

The principal took a shaky step back. “Please… I’m not like the others. I’ve been hiding, staying quiet, trying to survive. We can work together—”

He didn’t get to finish.

Gwi-nam moved like lightning. One second he was standing still, the next he had the man by the collar, slamming him against the desk with a deafening bang. Papers erupted into the air and fluttered down like panicked birds. The principal gasped, choked, clawing weakly at the grip around his neck.

“You hid,” Gwi-nam snarled. “While the rest of us bled out in these goddamn halls.”

“I—I had no choice,” the man wheezed. “I couldn’t fight them. I’m not like you—”

“Exactly.” Gwi-nam’s tone dropped to a cold whisper. “You’re weak.”

You stood frozen. You wanted to look away, but couldn’t. Part of you agreed with Gwi-nam, though you hated admitting it. You thought of all the screaming, all the blood and chaos. Of the people who had died—people you knew. People you loved.

Cheong-han.

You blinked hard, trying to chase the images away. But they clung to you, like smoke in your lungs.

The principal’s voice came again, hoarse and pleading. “You can’t just leave me here… You’re just kids. You shouldn’t even be alive.”

Gwi-nam let go suddenly, and the principal crumpled to the floor like a broken puppet. He didn’t spare him another glance as he stepped over him, heading to the drawers behind the desk.

You took a shaky breath, watching him rifle through the mess of confiscated items. Phones. Headphones. A vape pen. Keys. His hand hovered over a familiar keychain—one you remembered from before everything went to hell. But he didn’t take it. Instead, his fingers wrapped around a larger object.

A knife.

Your stomach dropped.

“No,” you whispered.

But it was already too late.

Without hesitation, he turned and drove the blade downward. The knife sank into soft flesh with a sickening thunk. The principal gasped—a sharp, short sound—before the pain took over. Gwi-nam didn’t stop. He pulled the blade out, then stabbed again. And again.

Blood soaked the man’s shirt, pooling across the floor like ink from a shattered bottle. The sound was nauseating—each stab louder than the last, a wet percussion of rage and cruelty.

“Gwi-nam, stop!” you screamed, but your voice felt distant. Powerless. Like you weren’t even in your own body anymore.

His face twisted into something monstrous. Not angry. Not unhinged.

Enjoying it.

You stumbled back, your legs trembling, bile rising in your throat. This wasn’t just survival. This was something darker. Something grotesque.

And then… silence.

Except it wasn’t silence. There was something else. Something behind you.

You didn’t notice the change at first. Not until Gwi-nam froze—completely still, knife still in hand, dripping crimson.

“What are you doing?” he asked suddenly. But his voice wasn’t directed at you.

You turned slowly.

And there he was.

Cheong-han.

He stood at the doorway, breathless, eyes locked not on you, but on Gwi-nam. A phone was raised in his hand, its camera aimed at the scene that had just played out. At the corpse on the floor. At the blood-slick blade still in Gwi-nam’s grasp.

“I’m going to release this,” Cheong-han said, his voice trembling but clear. “Everyone’s going to see what you did. You’re done for.”

For the first time since you’d met him, you saw something close to fear on Gwi-nam’s face.

Then it changed. His eyes darkened. Rage flared like wildfire behind them.

Everything happened in a blur.

Gwi-nam lunged. Cheong-han turned on his heel and ran.

They tore out of the office in a chaos of footfalls and slamming doors, leaving you standing in the bloodstained wreckage, the silence deafening around you.

You ran after them, heart hammering in your chest. “Wait! Cheong-han! Gwi-nam!” you shouted, but your voice might as well have been swallowed by the wind.

They didn’t look back. Whatever was on that phone had become more important than anything else—even you.

That feeling came again. That cold, ominous shiver crawling up your spine.

Something horrible was going to happen.

You didn’t know what. But you knew you couldn’t stop it.

They burst into the library ahead of you and somehow managed to bolt the doors shut behind them. You clawed at the handles, desperate to pry them open, but they were sealed tight.

So you were left to watch—helpless—through the long glass panel on the side of the doors.

Inside, chaos erupted.

Bookcases toppled like dominos. A herd of undead swarmed below the crumbling balcony floor. Cheong-han and Gwi-nam collided, fists flying, bodies slamming against walls and shelves.

Gwi-nam grabbed him. They grappled, limbs flailing, rage boiling over.

Then—Cheong-han shoved him.

It was like the world slowed down.

Gwi-nam’s feet left the ground. His eyes went wide as his body tilted backward—weightless for a single, horrifying second.

And then he fell.

Down into the pit of flesh-hungry monsters.

Their arms reached up to greet him.

You didn’t even scream.

Your eyes met his one last time. There was no hatred in his gaze. No fear. Just a strange sort of resignation. He looked at you like he was trying to memorize your face.

Then he closed his eyes.

And the horde devoured him.

You turned away before you saw what was left.

Because you weren’t sure you’d be able to keep going if you did.

And just like that…

Gwi-nam was gone.

Chapter Text

The reality of it all hadn’t sunk in yet.

You and Cheong-han sat in an abandoned classroom, swallowed by silence. The only sound was the soft hum of fluorescent lights flickering overhead, and even that felt far away—like it belonged to another world entirely. You were both slouched against the wall, backs pressed to the chipped paint, legs sprawled across cold tile. Everything felt numb. Your arms. Your face. Your heart.

Blank expression, blank mind. No thoughts, no words. Just an echo of everything that had just happened, bouncing around inside your skull like broken glass.

Gwi-nam was dead.

Cheong-han had killed Gwi-nam.

Sure, it had been in self-defense—Gwi-nam had snapped, lost control, pushed too far—but that didn’t change the finality of it. He was gone. Erased from existence in a matter of seconds, like his life meant nothing. You should’ve felt happy. A few hours ago, you would’ve begged for this moment. Prayed for someone to stop him, to end him before he could do more damage.

And yet now, sitting in the quiet aftermath, you felt hollow. Shaky. Conflicted.

No one deserved to die like that.

Not even him.

Because despite everything—the cruelty, the twisted games, the way he played with your head—there had been moments. Glimpses. Instances where he touched you like you were fragile, kissed you like you mattered, held you like he might actually lose something if you slipped away.

It hadn’t been love. You weren’t delusional enough to think that. But it had been something. Something raw and unspoken, tangled up in violence and vulnerability.

Now he was gone. Torn apart by a pack of the undead, reduced to pulp and bones. You hadn’t seen the aftermath—Cheong-han hadn’t let you. The second Gwi-nam went over the edge, he’d grabbed your wrist and dragged you away, never looking back. You ended up here, in this dusty, forgotten classroom with overturned desks and broken glass on the floor.

Cheong-han was still trying to catch his breath. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving him pale and shaky. He ran a hand through his hair, then shook his head like he was trying to dislodge the memory.

“I’m glad I found you,” he said finally, offering a faint smile.

That smile. It helped. Even for just a second, it softened the world. He’d always had that power—this uncanny ability to make things feel less heavy just by being in the room.

You smiled back. “Yeah… me too.”

And it was true. No matter how bad everything had gotten, you were genuinely relieved to see him. To not be alone anymore. Even if the situation was far from perfect, you had your one and only friend back.

“I was so worried about you,” you added quietly. “I thought you might’ve…”

You didn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t need to.

“I was worried about you too,” he said, eyes downcast. “I shouldn’t have let them kick you out. I should’ve said something. Done something. I’m sorry.”

The guilt on his face was crushing. He looked like he was about to shatter from the weight of it.

But you didn’t blame him. Not really. He’d been trapped between the group and his own morality, trying to keep everyone safe. At least he’d come to find you. That had to count for something, right?

Still, a small, bitter part of you couldn’t let go of how easily the others had turned their backs on you. Especially On-jo. That manipulative girl who always knew how to play victim and win sympathy. If you ever saw her again—

No. Breathe. Now wasn’t the time for that kind of rage. You closed your eyes, forced yourself to inhale, exhale. There were bigger things to worry about than old grudges.

“It’s fine,” you said at last. “I never blamed you. You came to get me. That’s what matters.”

You let out a soft, nervous laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

But something shifted.

Cheong-han didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile. Instead, he turned his body slightly away from you, his posture stiff and uneasy.

“I didn’t…” he started, voice hesitant. “I didn’t come here to save you.”

You blinked.

“What?”

“I… came to get a phone. I needed it. That’s the only reason I came out here.” He paused. “We all thought you were already dead. No one thought you’d make it. We couldn’t take the risk. You get that, right?”

You stared at him.

You didn’t move. You didn’t breathe. You just sat there as the words echoed in your head, louder and louder until they drowned out everything else.

He wasn’t here for you.

He didn’t care if you lived or died.

No one did.

And that truth—harsh and ice-cold—hit you like a blade to the chest. You felt something twist deep in your gut, an ache that bloomed like poison. You had spent so much time thinking about him, hoping he’d come back, holding on to the idea that someone out there still gave a damn about you.

But it had all been in your head.

You forced yourself to laugh. A sharp, forced sound. “Right. Of course. Makes sense. I’m just… lucky, I guess.”

He opened his mouth to say something more, but you cut him off before he could speak. You didn’t want to hear it. You didn’t want his pity.

You got to your feet quickly, brushing dust from your pants. “We should head back to the group.”

Cheong-han looked at you for a moment, eyes unreadable. Then he nodded and stood.

The walk back would be a quiet one.

You weren’t sure if rejoining the group was the right decision. They’d turned on you once. Branded you a threat. Kicked you out like you were nothing. If it happened again… if they rejected you again…

You weren’t sure you’d survive it.

Even if they welcomed you, what then? Would you be the expendable one? The pawn sent into danger while they stayed safe? Would they leave you behind the next time you became inconvenient?

You didn’t have the answers.

All you had was a broken heart and a friend who wasn’t really a friend at all.

But you kept walking.

Because in a world this cruel, sometimes moving forward was all you could do.

The halls were quiet.

Not silent—never truly silent in a place like this—but quiet enough that every footstep echoed too loudly, every breath felt like it might give you away. Somewhere in the distance, a soft groan sounded, low and mournful. Not human.

You clutched your arms around yourself as you walked beside Cheong-han, neither of you saying a word. He kept a slight distance now, as if the confession had put something invisible between you. Like a line neither of you could cross anymore.

You didn’t try to close the gap.

You told yourself you were fine. That it didn’t matter. But the truth scraped against the inside of your chest like rusted nails.

When you reached the stairwell leading to the upper floors, Cheong-han hesitated. “They’re still holed up in the music room,” he said quietly, voice flat. “We’ll go slow. They might not react well at first.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. Might not react well. That was generous.

You both moved cautiously, your feet dragging as if they knew better than to go forward. Each step made your heart beat faster. Louder. You weren’t sure if it was anxiety or anticipation or some blend of both, but it made your throat tight.

When you finally reached the classroom, Cheong-han knocked gently before slowly pushing the door open.

It was dim inside. Light filtered through broken blinds in stripes, cutting across the faces that turned to look at you. On-jo. Su-hyeok. Dae-su. A few others whose names barely registered.

All of them froze when they saw you.

You didn’t speak. Just stood there, hoping your presence would be enough. Hoping that maybe your survival might mean something.

But the silence stretched.

Too long.

“What the hell is she doing here?” On-jo’s voice was the first to pierce the quiet. Her tone wasn’t angry—it was worse. It was cold. Dismissive.

“She’s with me,” Cheong-han said quickly, placing himself just slightly in front of you.

That should’ve helped. It didn’t.

“Didn’t we agree not to risk anyone else for her?” Su-hyeok said, frowning. “You could’ve been killed.”

“She saved me,” Cheong-han lied. “We ran into trouble. She helped me escape.”

A lie, but one he told smoothly. One you didn’t call out.

“Great,” Dae-su muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “So now we’re risking the rest of us for someone who already got us into this mess once.”

You wanted to yell at them. I didn’t ask to be thrown out. I didn’t ask to be left to die.

But your voice stayed trapped in your throat. Instead, you just nodded slowly. Like you were apologizing for surviving.

“I’ll sleep near the door,” you said quietly. “If that makes you feel better. You don’t have to trust me.”

On-jo scoffed. “Don’t worry. We won’t.”

Cheong-han looked at you, guilt thick in his eyes again. But he didn’t say anything this time. He didn’t defend you. Didn’t take your side.

And that silence cut deeper than anything the others could’ve said.

You sat in the far corner of the room, away from the others, curling up into yourself as best as you could. You pretended not to notice the way they kept glancing your way. The way On-jo whispered something to Su-hyeok, who frowned but didn’t disagree.

You felt like a shadow in the room. Something they tolerated, not something they welcomed.

You stared at your hands, trying to will yourself to disappear.

In your mind, you kept hearing the sound of Gwi-nam’s body hitting the floor. The wet, awful noise of him being devoured. The look in his eyes right before it happened. You didn’t know what it meant, that look. Maybe nothing.

But it haunted you all the same.

Hours passed. Or maybe it was minutes. Time didn’t mean much anymore.

You were drifting somewhere between sleep and waking when a soft shuffle of movement drew your attention. Cheong-han was beside you now, sitting on the floor, knees pulled to his chest.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just sat there, staring at the far wall.

Then he whispered, “I didn’t know what else to do.”

You blinked. Turned your head toward him.

“I thought getting the phone meant saving all of us,” he continued. “And I didn’t think you were still out there. I swear.”

You didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I really am.”

And maybe he meant it. Maybe he didn’t. But apologies couldn’t fix the way his absence had carved something out of you. Couldn’t undo the way you'd screamed into the void and no one came.

Still, you nodded.

Not because you forgave him.

But because you were too tired to hold the weight of anger anymore.

He looked at you then, like he wanted to say something more. Something real. But whatever it was, it died on his lips.

So you just sat there together, in the corner of a room full of people who didn’t want you, wrapped in a silence that said more than words ever could.

And for the first time since Gwi-nam died, you wondered if maybe you had died, too.

Just in a quieter, lonelier way.

Air tore into his lungs like fire, and his eyes snapped open.

For a moment, everything was still.

Then the pain hit.

Not sharp, not localized—no, this was something deeper. Something ancient. Every nerve screamed as if it had just been reconnected to a body long dead. His muscles ached, tendons stiff like rusted wires. His skull pounded, something between a hangover and blunt trauma, as if the world had caved in and tried to take him with it.

He groaned, rolling onto his side with great effort. The floor was cold, cracked tiles pressing into his cheek, and the air stank of mildew and old blood. He pushed himself up onto shaky arms and scanned the room.

It was empty.

Empty, but familiar. The cracked walls, overturned desks, splatters of rot and gore. A classroom—one he'd fought in before. Bled in before.

But... not died in.

Had he died?

The thought made his stomach churn.

He looked down. His clothes were shredded—shirt torn, pants crusted in dark, dried blood. So much blood. His hands were caked in it, under his nails, on his forearms, down his chest. He expected pain. Open wounds. Something. But—

Nothing.

No bruises. No gashes. No bite marks. His skin, underneath the filth, was flawless.

The blood wasn’t his.

His pulse spiked. Y/N.

Fuck. Where were you?

Panic sliced through the haze of confusion, dragging him fully back into his body. He scrambled to his feet, the room spinning violently around him. He staggered toward the door, nearly tripping over a broken chair leg.

You had to be nearby. There was no way you’d have left him like this—not unless something had happened. He racked his brain for a memory, any memory, but the most he could summon was fragments. Blurred shouting. The principal’s screams. Blood on a knife.

And then… nothing. Just a wall of black.

He gritted his teeth. No. You wouldn’t have abandoned him. You didn’t have it in you. You were too soft. Too loyal. Too stupid. If you weren’t by his side now, something—or someone—had ripped you away.

Cheong-han.

His stomach curled into a knot.

That manipulative little shit. Always hanging around you. Always looking at you like you were something pure. Like you were something he could save.

Gwi-nam’s lip curled as he stormed out of the classroom. The hallway greeted him with the low, guttural moans of the dead. Shadows twitched in the corners. Figures dragged their rotting limbs across broken linoleum.

He ducked back, pressing himself against the wall. As much as his blood boiled, he wasn’t stupid.

Not anymore.

He moved slowly through the corridor, keeping to the edges. Every sound was a threat. Every creak of wood or distant snarl forced his heart to beat faster, faster, until it felt like it would punch through his ribs.

Then—he stopped.

Ahead of him was a wall of bodies.

Ten, maybe fifteen zombies filled the narrow corridor, shoulder to shoulder, back to back. Moving in that jerky, mindless rhythm, their faces slack and bloody, arms twitching at their sides.

He gripped the nearest object—an old plank of wood, jagged at the edge—and braced himself.

He wasn’t ready. God, he wasn’t ready. But he had to get to you.

Two deep breaths.

Then he lunged forward with a guttural scream and slammed the plank down onto the nearest skull. Bone crunched. A wet splatter hit his face. He flinched—waited.

Waited for the retaliation. For the swarm to descend on him, teeth gnashing, claws tearing.

But nothing happened.

Nothing at all.

The others didn’t even turn toward him.

He blinked, breath caught in his throat. He waved a hand in front of one’s face.

“Hello?”

Still nothing.

They didn’t see him.

Didn’t smell him.

Didn’t know he was there.

It hit him like a freight train.

I’m dead.

The thought almost knocked him off his feet. Cold shot through his spine as he staggered back, hands trembling.

He remembered now. The edge of the bookshelf. The push. That bastard’s face, twisted with fury. The betrayal. The fall. The screams.

Cheong-han.

He pushed me.

He looked down at his bloodstained hands again, but this time… he smiled.

If this was death, then death had blessed him.

He hadn’t risen as some mindless thing. No, he was awake. Alert. Strong. Untouched by the hunger that cursed the others.

I’m better.

That smug little fuck had thought he’d won. Thought he could take you, claim you like you were something he could own. But he didn’t know the truth. That you were his. Gwi-nam’s. Forever.

His grin stretched into something cruel, unnatural. Almost inhuman.

You must’ve seen it all. His death. His fall. His blood. Maybe you’d even cried. He liked that thought.

But that little traitor must’ve taken you while you were weak—while you were broken. Manipulated you. Lied to you.

That was the only explanation. Because you’d never leave on your own.

Not willingly.

His breath slowed. Something ugly had taken root inside him now. Not fear. Not even rage.

Obsession.

He would find you.

He would rip that bastard to pieces with his bare hands. Tear open his gut and make you watch while he bled out for what he’d done.

And then?

Then he’d take you back.

You’d cry and scream and curse his name, but eventually… you’d see the truth. He was the only one who had ever really seen you. Protected you. Fought for you.

Owned you.

He turned back down the hallway, walking with new purpose. The undead didn’t flinch as he passed. They parted for him like he was one of them—but he knew better.

He wasn’t like them.

He wasn’t like anyone.

He was chosen.

He was reborn.

And he was coming for you.

Chapter Text

Gwi-nam was restless.

No—restless didn’t cover it. It was too soft, too mild, too fucking inadequate. Restlessness was what you felt when you couldn’t sleep. What he felt was rage—hot and howling, flooding every inch of his blood with poison.

It had been too long. Too many hours without your voice. Too many minutes since he last laid eyes on your face. Each second stretched thin like a nerve about to snap. He stalked the school like a starving wolf, breath shallow, gaze feral, jaw locked so tight it ached. He was a bomb with no timer, ticking down to something catastrophic.

He tore through the classrooms like a hurricane, wreckage following him wherever he stepped. Chairs flipped. Lockers dented. Blood smeared across walls from where his fists had connected with steel and glass and anything not you.

The absence of you gnawed at him like rot. Every bloodied silhouette made him freeze—girls with long hair, hunched figures, someone curled in the fetal position. Each time, his heart would jolt, raw and hopeful. Each time, he was wrong.

Not you. Never you.

No trace of your scent, no crumpled sweater, no damn notebook filled with your scrawl. Nothing.

It was like you’d been erased.

But he knew better. You were still breathing. He could feel it in his bones. You were smart. Careful. You wouldn’t die—not without a fight. He imagined you somewhere in the shadows, trembling, whispering his name in the dark, hoping he'd come for you.

You were probably with him.

That useless, bleeding-heart bastard—Cheong-han.

The thought made bile rise in his throat.

He pictured Cheong-han’s hands brushing yours. Offering you food. Putting himself between you and danger like he had the right.

He doesn’t get to protect you.

He doesn’t get to touch you.

Gwi-nam slammed his fist into a wall, cracking the plaster. Blood smeared across his knuckles, but he didn’t stop. He barely felt it. The rage had consumed him, filled him until it was the only thing left.

You were his.

And anyone who tried to take you away would die screaming.

You were trying. God, you were trying.

Trying not to cry. Trying not to scream. Trying not to curl into a corner and disappear.

Every effort to fit back in only seemed to make things worse. When you offered help, you were “overstepping.” When you cleaned, they hissed about “tampering with traps.” And when you sat quietly, hoping to be invisible, someone would always mutter that you were “dead weight.”

There was no winning. No room to breathe. The air in the safehouse felt thinner with every passing hour. The walls pressed in closer. You counted your breaths in intervals, trying to stay grounded, but it never felt like enough oxygen reached your lungs.

Once, not long ago, you belonged here.

You used to laugh with these people. Eat lunch shoulder-to-shoulder in classrooms that now stood abandoned and bloodstained. You passed notes about homework and weekend crushes. You were one of them.

Now?

Now they looked at you like you were a ticking bomb. No—like you were the outbreak.

On-jo couldn’t hide it. She didn’t even try. You’d stopped making eye contact after the third time she physically recoiled, like your gaze alone could infect her. Cheong-han tried. God, he tried to defend you. But his voice didn’t carry weight anymore. Not the kind that changed anyone’s mind.

You were the problem.

So was Nam-ra.

No one said it out loud, but it lived in their eyes. Quiet suspicion, like they were waiting for her to snap. On-jo never looked at her if she could help it. The others avoided her shadow like it might swallow them whole.

There was something unspoken between them all. A secret Nam-ra kept locked behind her eerily calm expression, and you weren’t sure if it was fear or guilt that made the others steer clear.

You weren’t sure it mattered.

What mattered was this: you were alone.

So you made a decision.

If you couldn’t belong to the group, then you needed an ally outside of it. And Nam-ra, cold and quiet as she was, hadn’t shunned you. She hadn’t recoiled. She hadn’t blamed.

Not yet.

It wasn’t friendship you wanted. Not trust. Just survival. Just someone who wouldn’t turn their back on you when it counted.

And now—now—you had her alone.

The others were on perimeter check. No one had even glanced your way when they left. They didn’t ask you to come. Didn’t tell you to stay. You were just… unacknowledged.

Nam-ra stayed behind.

The two of you sat in silence, the kind that pressed against your ears like static. You fumbled for words, for anything to pierce the tension.

“Sure is stuffy in this room,” you muttered, and instantly regretted it.

She didn’t laugh. Didn’t even blink. “I suppose.”

Jesus. Cold as ice.

She hadn’t changed much. Same closed-off demeanor. Same unreadable face. You’d always wondered if she felt anything at all under that mask. Now, watching her sit perfectly still, eyes vacant, you wondered if she was even here.

You rubbed your hands along your thighs, trying to ground yourself. Trying not to flinch under the weight of your own uselessness.

Still, you edged a little closer. Not enough to make her flinch. Just enough to show you weren’t scared. That you were trying.

“I don’t think they’ll ever stop hating me,” you said quietly. Honest. Raw. “No matter what I do.”

Nam-ra’s eyes twitched toward you. Barely.

“They’re scared,” she said.

It surprised you that she responded at all.

“They don’t know how to handle it,” she added. “So they pick someone to blame.”

You let out a brittle laugh. “And I’m the easy target.”

A pause. Not heavy—just real.

“I know what that’s like.”

You glanced down at her hands. Her fingers twitched again, like she was holding something invisible. Maybe control. Maybe herself.

“They used to trust you,” you whispered. “Used to look up to you.”

“They still do,” she said. But her voice sounded distant. “They just don’t want to admit it.”

You hesitated. “You want to know why they don’t trust me?”

She didn’t look at you, but the weight in her voice turned direct. “It’s because of Gwi-nam.”

You froze.

“He’s hurt people. Bullied. Beaten. Stolen. Blackmailed. Everyone here has a scar because of him.”

Your chest clenched. “That’s not fair. I didn’t— I was a victim, too. He stopped it. He protected me.”

“He was also the reason you needed protecting.”

The words gutted you.

You looked away.

“I didn’t choose him,” you said finally. “There was no one else. No one even noticed me until he did.”

Nam-ra was silent for a beat.

“Sometimes,” she murmured, “when you’re drowning, even poison looks like salvation.”

You didn’t know what to say. You’d never heard it put so clearly. So cruelly. So true.

“But I’m not like him,” you said. “I never hurt anyone.”

“You didn’t stop him either.”

The silence after that felt like a scream.

“I tried to leave,” you whispered. “But by then, it didn’t matter. No one would’ve believed me.”

Nam-ra gave the faintest nod. “I understand.”

You met her eyes.

She didn’t look through you this time. Didn’t look past you.

“You’re not the infection,” she said. “But you’re not clean either. None of us are.”

You sat in that truth. Didn’t run from it. Didn’t deny it.

When the others returned, their eyes stabbed into you like knives. But Nam-ra stayed seated. She didn’t move away.

And no one told you to leave.

Chapter Text

He was so bored.

So bored it felt like his skin didn’t fit right.

All alone in these crowded, stinking hallways. Surrounded by corpses that refused to stay dead—groaning, slack-jawed things that barely acknowledged him. They brushed past him with vacant stares, rotting arms swinging loosely by their sides. He walked among them anyway, like a ghost among ghosts, hoping—idiotically—that their presence would soothe the gnawing ache in his chest.

It didn’t.

Every second spent in that suffocating company only made the ache worse.

He missed you.

Your dumb laugh that sometimes snorted on the exhale. The way you limped just a little when you ran—like you’d forgotten how knees were supposed to work. The way your eyes lit up when you talked, even when what you said was completely fucking pointless.

He felt disgustingly, pathetically lonely.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. It had only been two days. Just two days since he’d started tracking you down. And already, he felt like he was losing his mind.

No—scratch that. He had lost it. Somewhere between your last whispered word and the last spot he searched, he’d misplaced whatever shred of sanity he had left.

So he tried to shut it down. Flip the switch. Ignore every bleeding thought and every phantom version of you that haunted the corners of his mind. Focus. Eyes scanning for movement. Ears straining for a sob, a shriek, a stifled breath. Nose twitching, desperate for the faint trace of that scent you always wore. Sweet. Sharp. Unmistakably you.

He mentally checked off another hallway. Another room. Another shattered memory.

Still nothing.

And that’s when the rage hit.

Hot. Blinding. Total.

He didn’t think—just grabbed the nearest zombie by the back of the neck and ripped it down to the ground like tearing a weed from the dirt. It screeched—a thin, wet sound—before its skull collided with the floor.

Gwi-nam’s boot came down hard. And again. And again.

Each stomp a guttural punctuation to his fury.

Skin split. Bone cracked. That horrible, wet noise echoed down the hall like a drumbeat. Bits of brain matter painted the tiles in sticky red arcs. He didn’t stop. Not until his breath came in ragged bursts, chest heaving, foot dripping gore.

When he finally stilled, he stared at the ruin.

The zombie’s head was barely a shape anymore. Just pulp. A red blossom opened across the floor. Art, in its own twisted way. But the artist stood over it, empty-eyed. No satisfaction. No relief.

Just a pulse in his ears that wouldn’t go away.

Then—he heard something.

Something soft. Delicate. Almost shy.

A breath? A gasp?

He went still, head tilting slightly. There it was again. A muffled rustle. A scrape. He turned, following the noise. Slow, deliberate steps. Letting the sound lead him, draw him forward like a bloodhound on a leash.

Until he stopped in front of the door.

Class 3-A.

Not one he remembered. But that didn’t matter.

With one rough shove, he flung the door open.

A boy inside yelped and scrambled backward, falling onto his ass with a pathetic thud. Wide, terrified eyes locked on Gwi-nam. His jaw trembled. Tears welled. A dark stain bloomed across the front of his khakis.

The boy knew exactly what stood before him.

And that power… that imbalance… it sent a thrill racing down Gwi-nam’s spine.

He crouched, slowly. Eyes narrowing into slits as he leaned in, grinning like a cat with a cornered mouse.

“I’ve got a question for you,” he said, voice syrupy sweet. “Answer well, and I might not kill you. Sound fair?”

The boy nodded so hard it looked like his head might come off.

“Good.” Gwi-nam’s smile sharpened into something cruel. “Now… tell me. Where’s Cheong-san?”

The new day came with new motivation.

After your talk with Nam-ra, you came to a realisation.

If you want to make it out of here alive, you're going to need to count on yourself. You can’t go around making enemies, but there is no use in beating a dead horse.

So that is exactly what you're going to do. Focus on your survival. You are going to try to help Nam-ra out, since she’s the reason you are doing this. Besides, if you do end up with a friend, you would enjoy that very much.

So when everyone was still waking up and creeping out of their makeshift beds, you were already out looking for something to that would be your escape.

You come back after half an hour of scavenging, empty-handed. Taking a seat next to the pale girl, you offer her a bottle of water you had saved up yesterday. “Here, you must be thirsty.”

She looks at you for a moment, before ultimately deciding to take it. She gulped down the drink in three big swallows. You chuckled a bit at the sight.

This entire interaction didn’t go unnoticed busy the group. Most don’t seem to care for it, except for one.

That is how the entire day progresses. Everyone ignoring you and keeping you at arm’s length, while you cling onto Nam-ra. She didn’t change her cold behavior towards you, not like you expected that. You knew that it would take much more and a few favours for her to see you as a friend.

Still, it doesn’t discourage you from trying.

But with each act of kindness you give her, someone gets more and more annoyed. Not at you, but at the girl that is receiving all that affection.

He watches every interaction with suspicion. It makes no sense for the two of you to suddenly become so…acquainted. And it feels very one sided. It just didn’t feel right

And all that frustration comes boiling down at this exact moment.

The entire group is sitting together in a circle. The night has almost fallen, and everyone has gathered to eat their dinner. A single bun of bread with a bit of water to swallow it down.

You didn’t seem to have much of an appetite right now. An uncomfortable knot rests in the pit of your stomach. Deciding that it wouldn’t be nice to hog the food for yourself, you decide to give it to someone else.

The bread in Nam-ra’s hand had barely made it halfway to her mouth before Cheong-san stood up.

It was abrupt, like a chair being kicked back—except no one was sitting on chairs anymore. Everyone turned their heads, spooked by the sudden motion.

He fixed his gaze on her. Not you.

“You think this is funny?” Cheong-san spat, voice louder than it needed to be.

Everyone is at loss for words. Eyes peering at him with nothing but confusion. This sudden harshness was not only unexpected but also out of character of Cheong-san usual soft attitude.

“What?” Nam-ra speaks up. Her voice quiet, barely audible, yet steady with a sense of authority in it.

“I asked you if you think this is funny,” he repeats. “I mean, I can’t be the only one who finds this weird. You never gave Y/N the time of day before. Probably didn’t even know her name until a few days ago. And yet, here you are. Manipulating and exploiting her so that she gives in to your every need.”

The atmosphere thickens in the room.

You are completely stunned by the words that have left Cheongs-san mouth. How did he even come up with this conclusion? All you wanted was to be nice.

You try to clarify the situation.

“Wait, I think you might have the wrong idea-” but he doesn’t even let you finish that sentence.

“Y/N you don’t need to defend her.” this is getting utterly ridiculous.

Nam-ra stands up, poised and cool, and takes a step closer to Cheong-san. “I didn’t ask her to give me that bread or that bottle of water. Even if I did, would that be so bad? After all, she wasn’t going to eat it.”

Those words make his blood boil. He takes a step towards Nam-ra, now standing directly into her personal space. Eyes wide open, a fire buried beneath. She doesn’t back down from his glare.

Suhyeok finally decides to step in, taking a hold of Cheong-san’s shoulder. “Hey, man…let’s calm down.”

He shakes it off. “Like hell I will. Just because you guys don’t like Y/N doens’t mean we should stand here while she gets extorted.”

Ouch. That was kind of unessecery.

Now everyone is getting involved. Screaming over one another, tugging and grabbing onto their clothes.

But before anything drastic takes place—

CRASH.

The impact threw the door open as if it had been kicked off its hinges.

Everyone froze.

And in the doorway stood Gwi-nam.

Dripping blood. Panting softly. Something feral burning in his eyes.

No one moved.

He stepped into the room, dragging something behind him—a bag? No, a body. Limp. Broken. Forgotten.

He let it drop with a thud.

Then his gaze landed on you.

He smiled.

But it wasn’t warm.

It wasn’t even cruel.

It was hungry.

“Found you.”