Chapter Text
Their footsteps echoed softly through the Wolhaiksong Resort as Lero Ro led them through the spacious corridors. Bam walked between Khun and Rak, barely aware of where they were going. Voices drifted through the walls from somewhere—laughter, loud and carefree, as if it belonged to another world. The others were already celebrating their victory and the end of the Workshop Battle, but for Bam, exhaustion outweighed any sense of triumph.
Eventually, Lero Ro stopped, turned toward them, and opened one of the doors.
“This room is yours,” he said with a tired smile. “Stay as long as you like, and don’t worry… the resort is under Wolhaiksong’s protection. You’re safe here.”
Bam stepped into the room behind Rak—and came to an involuntary halt. It was simple, but welcoming. Three sleeping mats lay neatly arranged on the floor, each with a folded blanket on top. A glass door led out onto a small balcony. The light of the setting sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting warm streaks across the walls and making the place feel even more unreal.
“You can go first…” Khun said casually, pulling Bam out of his thoughts. He held out a towel, and it took Bam a moment to register it. Then he simply nodded, took it, and disappeared wordlessly into the bathroom.
The water was warm against his skin. Soothing.
It ran over his shoulders, through his hair, washing away layer after layer of the pressure that hadn’t left him for a single second over the past years.
Bam closed his eyes and let the images of the last few hours drift through his mind. The Thorn. Reflejo. Khun. The moment the platform shattered beneath them. It had been far too close.
And yet—he was here. After all these years, he had escaped FUG. After all that time, his friends hadn’t hesitated for even a moment to fight for him. Something inside him tightened. Seven years—and still, he wouldn’t have made it without them.
When Bam returned to the room, barefoot, the towel loosely draped over his shoulders, his hair still slightly damp, Rak passed by him, stuffing the rest of a banana into his mouth—one he must have scavenged from somewhere. The peel landed carelessly on one of the mats. His own. The bathroom door closed behind Rak.
Bam stopped. His gaze drifted through the room, lingered on the middle mat—and finally on Khun. He sat leaning against the wall on the mat beside it, legs stretched out. Exhaustion was written plainly on his face, even as his fingers absently glided across the display of his Pocket. He had simply let Rak go first. No sharp remark. No eye-roll. Not even an annoyed sigh. Just silence.
Had the fight taken that much out of him as well?
Or did Rak and Khun simply argue less than they used to, after all these years?
So much had surely changed. Bam’s fingers tightened slightly in the fabric of his towel.
He hesitated a moment too long before carefully sitting down on the remaining mat. Silence. Khun’s fingers continued to move across the display, the light briefly reflecting in his eyes. Bam fidgeted with the blanket, searching for words as his thoughts spiraled.
I’m sorry I let you believe I was dead?
I missed you?
I didn’t want you to get hurt because of me?
But Khun was already standing.
“I know the others are celebrating tonight,” he said, almost gently, “but maybe you should lie down for a bit. You look exhausted.”
No questions. No accusations.
Something inside Bam gave way at Khun’s words. He nodded faintly.
“You’re right…”
Then he let himself sink back, slid deeper beneath the blanket, and closed his eyes. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, his breathing deepened and slowly evened out. He heard the bathroom door open and Rak’s heavy footsteps crossing the room. The door closed again. A soft scraping followed, drawing closer. Rak placed his mat with a decisive shove directly beside Bam’s. Then he dropped down without a word, turned onto his side—and began to snore softly barely three breaths later.
A tiny twitch crossed Bam’s mouth. A small smile, so fleeting he hardly noticed it himself.
He stayed awake a little longer. Listening to the steady rush of water now running again in the bathroom. Rak’s breathing. His own heartbeat, slowly calming. Everything felt unfamiliar—and at the same time familiar. Good.
Bam was almost drifting off when careful footsteps moved through the room once more. The gentle rustle of fabric against the floor, then a barely perceptible shift of air. He sensed the movement more than he heard it. A hint of cool mint filled his senses—faint, elusive, yet strangely familiar. The room seemed to close in around him.
Bam drew one last deep breath—then let go.
And slipped into sleep.
✥
It must have been deep into the night when Khun opened his eyes. The room lay in soft darkness, broken only by the dim glow of the artificial stars outside. The world was still. He blinked slowly, pushing the last traces of sleep aside. Perhaps it was nothing more than habit that had woken him—a reflex born from the years at Rachel’s side, when he had never allowed himself to sleep deeply.
His gaze drifted to the mat beside him. Bam was sleeping soundly, his face relaxed. His hand lay so close to Khun’s that he could feel the warmth radiating from it. Rak had curled up tightly against Bam, his head resting at his side. Bam’s breathing was steady, barely audible.
Something in Khun’s chest softened. A pull. A warm, penetrating feeling.
He’s here. Really here. Not dead. Not in FUG’s hands.
The nightmare of the past years—it was finally over.
Khun turned slightly onto his side and studied Bam’s profile. His features were sharper now, marked by years he never should have had to endure. So much time had passed.
He closed his eyes and saw him as he had been back then, on the Second Floor—Black March in his hand, lost like a child in the wrong world. Bam had never belonged in the Tower. Not in those tests. And that was exactly why Khun hadn’t been able to ignore him. He had believed people like that no longer existed. Not after everything he himself had lived through.
Bam had looked at him with those eyes that held no doubt in their heart—and Khun had felt something inside him shift. At some point, quietly and unspoken, he had left behind his original reasons for climbing the Tower.
A smile crossed his face. Small. And a little bitter.
He remembered Rachel’s voice. So gentle, so regretful—and so false.
“Bam was very loved here, wasn’t he?”
Khun opened his eyes again. All those years… just one word from Bam… a trace… The thought dug deeper than it should have. But Khun pushed it aside.
Bam was here. That was all that mattered.
He breathed out softly, and his smile softened. Then, barely more than a whisper, he murmured, “Welcome back.”
The words faded into the silence. Not meant to be loud.
Khun closed his eyes again. His heart beat more calmly, and eventually he let himself be carried back to sleep by the quiet rhythm of Bam’s breathing.
