Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Sieun is seated on a stiff chair beside Suho's hospital bed, watching his chest move up and down with breaths given to him instead of ones he took for himself.

The room is flat and cold, filled with words that Sieun's not sure he'll ever get the chance to say. 

There's so much Sieun wishes he could tell Suho. He wants to apologize for getting him into this mess. Because of him, Suho may never wake up and live a normal life.

The guilt sits heavy in his chest, like a weight he can't lift. It keeps him up at night, knowing that Suho is lying in a coma.

Seeing Suho still and immobile stirs something in him. He used to be so restless and on the go. But now, he can do nothing but lay still. There's no more motorcycle rides, no more morning runs, nothing.

Sieun knows that if he were awake right now, he'd insist that he doesn't need to be in the hospital, that he's "too strong" and should be practicing with a punching bag instead of resting.

Sieun feels something sting at the back of his eyes at the thought. He rapidly blinks, pushing it away. He blames the strong scent of antiseptic for his wet eyes. No matter how quickly he attempts to blink them away, they keep coming. It's like a tidal wave that can't be held back.

His hand pulls his sweatshirt sleeve over his hand before lifting it to wipe his damp eyes. It's rough, scratching at his eyes rather than soothing them.

A door creaking as it opens pulls him out of his trance. 

He rubs over his eyes one last time and swiftly lowers his arm onto his lap before rotating his head toward the sound. 

One of the doctors enter his vision. Haejin is her name, if he remembers correctly. She's been assigned to take care of Suho since he first went into the coma. She occasionally talks to Sieun when he's there, asking him how his day was.

She's a nice lady, but Sieun is never exactly in the mood for small talk when he's visiting Suho.

Their eyes meet and her lips quirk up into a sad smile. She walks to Suho and observes his vitals with multiple medical instruments that Sieun is clueless on.

"Hi," she says quietly as she wraps a cuff around Suho's arm to take his blood pressure. 

Sieun responds quietly with a "hi," in return, uninterested.

She makes sure the cuff is tight around his bicep and begins squeezing the pump at the bottom before turning back at Sieun. "It's 8:05. Visiting hours are over," she reminds him kindly with her slightly tilted head. The look she's giving him is one full of sympathy, one Sieun doesn't want. 

"Go home, kiddo. Eat dinner and get a good night of rest."

Sieun doesn't meet her eyes. He just looks back at Suho's relaxed body and almost admires the peace that washes over his face as he lies asleep. His gaze flickers over his frame, seeing his body that used to be defined with muscle now thin after months of laying dormant. The arms that used to always be slung over his shoulder lay by his side, not having moved in a year and a half. 

Suho should be complaining about the hospital and how it's “not nutritional enough for a buff dude like him.” He would've been raiding the vending machine snacks and trying to convince the nurses he was starving so that he could get more food despite constantly groaning about his distaste for it.

Now, the snacks that Sieun buys for him sat untouched.

They always did.

After a minute of no response, he slowly rises to his feet and adjusts Suho's blanket one last time. He distantly hears her telling him to have a good night on his way out but everything around him sounds fuzzy, like he has headphones on.

He walks down the stairs, paying no mind to those around him. He has no memory walking out the hospital doors, all he knows is that his hands are cold and his teeth are chattering. 

The roads are quiet, with the occasional car driving past while he waits at the crosswalk.

There's a man next to him. He was already here when Sieun arrived. Normally, Sieun wouldn't bother paying attention, but he couldn't help himself because of the man's odd attire.

He wears a long, black trench coat with a black top hat. It reminds Sieun of how he pictures British fashion in the 1800's. His faded white complexion allows light to reflect off his cheeks like a geisha, a stark contrast to his clothing.

At this point, Sieun's been waiting for the pedestrian light to say they can walk for about five minutes even though there's been only one truck that's drove past in the last minute. 

While staying motionless, Sieun feels eyes on the side of his head. At first, he ignores it, but it lasts for far too long. When he turns, he sees the man beside him staring intently.

His eyes are wide, practically engulfed by his black pupils, matching his garments. But Sieun notices one thing. One of his eyes, specifically his left eye, is glazed over. Clouded with cataract. It's a milky color, ensuring that he's blind.

Even when Sieun looks away, the man continues to steadily watch, like he's too fixated in him to look at his surroundings. After another minute, Sieun peered back in an attempt to understand. 

Their eyes meet and the man soon pulls something out of his pocket.

A watch. It's old and silver with the glass scratched at the edges. For the first time since Sieun stood next to him, his eyes were on something other than Sieun. The dark eyes follow the movement of the hand signifying the seconds ticking by, seemingly entranced.

But the man suddenly tears his eyes away and he unhurriedly looks up at the pedestrian light. Not even a second after he laid his eyes on it, a picture of a walking man with green lights overtakes it.

By the time Sieun makes it to the other side of the road, he rotates himself so he could see him, but when he does, he's no longer there. He looks around, searching for him, but he's gone.

Sieun ponders for a moment before shrugging it off and walks to the bus stop thats now in his line of vision. He's seen weirder people than him.

The weathers dropped even colder when he arrives, with the chill of the metal bench making it worse.

He picks at his lips, biting off the dry skin. He feels a small spot of blood pool at where he peeled a piece. He swipes his tongue over the cut before biting another part of his lip, relishing in the sting it brings.

In the distance, he hears thuds. They're quiet, but they echo down the alley and over to the sidewalk. He ignores it, instead choosing to focus on waiting for his bus.

But they go on and on, seemingly never ending. He continues to not acknowledge them until he begins hearing grunts. As the seconds go by, they both the noises and grunts crescendo in volume, the noises on top of each other like a depraved melody.

Suddenly, a voice croaks out, barely audible over the sounds of what Sieun assumes to be punches.

"Is that really all you guys got?"

Sieun raises his eyebrow. He recognizes that voice. The deep grumble and condescending tone is something he remembers. 

His head shifts a bit toward the noises. They're progressively getting louder and their voices are becoming shouts.

It's not his problem and Sieun knows it. 

But somehow, he still finds himself getting up and slowly approaching the dark alley.

The closer he gets, the clearer he can make out the noises. The thuds are for sure punches, and the words are more audible.

"We'll kill you, you fucking punk," someone shouts.

"Don't think so," another responds, the same voice that keeps ringing a bell in Sieun's mind.

Sieun slows down, mindful of how loud his footsteps are. He nears the alley where dark engulfs every spot within it.

He steps forward and sees figures. The lack of light is making it so he can't see details, but he can count multiple people.

Arms swinging, legs kicking, and lips opening with shouts. 

They're all too absorbed in their fight to notice Sieun nearing. He tilts his head, trying to get a better look.

A cackle echoes through the alley. 

His foot stops mid-step, hovering above the pavement. He knows that voice. He knows that demeaning laugh.

Seongje.

Sieun's eyes widen and looks where the sound came from.

There he is, with a smirk. Blood drips down his chin, the source being from a large cut on the bottom lip. Scratches litter his face, making him look like he got into a fight with the local street cat.

His movements are sharper than the others despite the bruises forming along his face and body. 

"Come on, guys. Is this really the best you got?" Seongje inquires, purposely riling them up more.

It clearly works, because Sieun watches as rage wash over all of their faces.

One growls in anger and swings directly at Seongje's face. Seongje dodges and elbows him back in the torso and unlike the other man, it lands. The man stumbles and loses his balance. 

A friend of the man comes up from behind, but Seongje briskly turns and slides his feet under the others legs, causing him to slip hard onto the pavement below.

Sieun stands still, observing the fight. Seongje seems to be doing well on his own. He's young, much younger than those he's actively brawling with, but he's striking blows to them more often than they do to him.

He's about to turn away, not caring enough to watch anymore, when something catches his eye.

From his peripheral vision, he sees the stranger who Seongje tripped to the ground walk closer to the wall of the alley.

He slowly limps his way over there, and Sieun almost thinks that he's trying to back out of the fight. He bends over, but his back is turned to Sieun. Whatever he's trying to do, it's out of sight.

He rises again, and his eyes lock on Seongje. There's a look in his gaze that Sieun can't place, but it sends a shiver down his spine.

Seongje is still smugly beating up the others with no end in sight.

The man gets closer and closer to Seongje, who is clueless to his growing presence.

He eventually settles over half a meter behind Seongje. He looks over to another person in his group, a sinister smile contorting his face as he lifts his hand to show off what he has.

Sieun's breath gets knocked out of his body.

He has a brick.

And he's holding directly above Seongje's head.

His pulse begins to pound and he shouts out before he can think twice.

"SEONGJE!"

Everyone freezes.

Punches stop, yelling comes to an end, and the one holding a brick freezes. His arm lowers slightly before his eyes look back at Seongje. 

Sieun watches as he winds his arm back again, faster this time, and he makes no hesitation to sprint his way over.

Seongje's expression is painted in confusion. "Newbie? What the hell are yo-"

His words are cut off as Sieun shoves him out of the way with all his strength. It's not an easy feat, considering Seongje is over 6 feet tall and his body fat to muscle ratio must have a shocking gap between the two. 

The force of the push almost brings them both to the ground. Seongje quickly straightens himself up and roughly nudges Sieuns hands off of him.

"What the fuck was that, newbie?" Seongje asks, dumbfounded.

Behind Sieun, Seongje sees the man with a brick. His hand was exactly where his head previously was. His eyes bulged behind his glasses and he quickly looks back at Sieun.

Sieun is already staring at him with blown pupils, his face wearing a panicked expression that could go unnoticed if you don't look closely enough.

"Seongje," Sieun breathes out. "Focus."

Someone interrupts them, whistling. "Damn, Seongje. Didn't know you had this cutie with you," he says with a burning hunger in his gaze as he looks Sieun up and down.

Sieun turns around to glare at him, not bothering with a response.

The man finds it amusing, letting out a deep chuckle. "Come on babe, let's go. I'll be good, I swear." He extends his hand out to Sieun as he wears a menacing grin. 

Sieun looks down at his hand and back up at his face. He grabs the arm and yanks it, causing the man's body to collapse.

Seongje snickers from behind. "Damn. The Newbie got you good, dude," he says, still smiling while pointing at him lying on the floor.

The man quickly recovers, jumping up to his feet.

The others get quiet and back away, something Sieun immediately notices.

He must be their leader.

Sieun's scared. Terrifyingly so. But he can't show it. It'll only make things worse.

He walks his way towards Sieun and stops in front of him. Slowly, his hand makes its way to his cheek and his thumb begins caressing it. It brushes back and forth over the red skin. Sieun's hands start trembling.

Just as he was about to move his thumb down to his lips, Seongje steps forward and shoves his shoulder.

"Yah," Seongje yells with his eyebrows furrowed. "That's enough, old-timer."

The hand falls off Sieun's face and he couldn't hold in his sigh of relief. Though the feeling doesn't last long because the man immediately shoves Seongje back just as hard but tenfold.

"You think you can touch me, punk?" he growls. "You'll fucking regret that."

With a nod from the man, all the others join. They surround Seongje and Sieun, allowing no escape. 

The two bump shoulders when Sieun instinctively attempts to step further away from them. Seongje doesn't react and glares at the men who have formed a circle around them.

In a blink of an eye, they all move in. From every angle and every side, they rush into their space and begin throwing hits. 

Immediately, Sieun is overwhelmed. There's three men hitting him in multiple different areas of his body, pain washing over every one of his limbs. He tries to get a look at Seongje, but when he jerks his head around, he's met with a punch to his nose.

Something warm trickles down his face and there's a coppery taste invading his taste buds. 

He tries to recover, but every time before he even gets the chance to try, it's interrupted with someone's fist or foot assaulting him.

In the distance, he can hear Seongje's breathing growing louder and louder. He's still laughing like the maniac he is, even when he's groaning in pain each time a blow lands on him.

Slowly, Sieun's vision becomes blurry in the corners. There's a ringing in his ears that wasn't present before.

There's only two men rather than three jumping him now, but he's still getting hurt all the same. His knees are getting ready to buckle but he doesn't allow it. 

He slowly blinks and his eyes dart around him. There's a wall behind him, lined with bricks.

Just as one of their fists was going to connect to the side of his head, Sieun grabs his arm and pulls him in his direction. 

Sieun shifts to the side and the man's face slams into the brick wall. Taking advantage of his distraction, he punches him and throws him to the ground. 

Breaking him out of his haze, Seongje's laugh rings through the alley. But it sounds wrong, almost strained. He must be getting tired.

Sieun quickly looks at the other man and sees Seongje standing behind him. He's still fighting, but his movements are getting sloppy and there's more blood on his face than there was minutes prior.

Sieun rushes to punch the man in the face, but he dodges it and slides his feet under Sieuns. He falls to the rough pavement and barely avoids slamming his head.

A groan of pain escapes his lips. 

His eyes flicker up and his gaze meets Seongje's. He must have heard him.

There's an intense look in Seongje's eyes and neither to look away. Sieun doesn't know what to make of it.

Their eye contact breaks when the man who just kicked him steps in front of him.

"What is it?" he coos mockingly. "Can't get up?" There's a mocking hint in his tone and appears to be holding back a laugh.

His amusement fades when Sieun scowls at him and says nothing back. He runs a hand through his tussled hair and his jaw ticks.

"Okay. I guess that's how it is then."

The man goes to kick him in the abdomen, but Sieun rolls slightly to evade it. He sits up, his ab muscles burning in the process. 

Sluggishly, Sieun raises to his feet. An ache echoes through his legs and they quiver. 

Sieun lunges forward and lands a hard punch on his nose. A satisfying burn blooms in his fingers and knuckles.

He's quick to bounce back and grabs Sieun's collar with one hand and begins repeatedly punching him in the jaw with the other. 

Cuts form on the inside of his cheeks and lips. His head throbs more and more with the perpetual hits that persist for what feels like hours. 

Sieun feels as if his mind is swimming. Between every breath, the man winds his arm back to hit him again. He's about to pass out. If he hits him one more time, he won't be able to fight back. Sieun has to give up–

It stopped. The blows come to a halt, the only noise being his staccatoed panting and the huffing of everyone else.

Wait.

No sounds of fists?

Is Seongje not fighting anymore?

In a hurried state, Sieun's eyes search for Seongje as he's still being held still by strong arms. His eyes land on him. Him and the men aren't fighting anymore. Instead, they're all staring at Sieun.

Seongje's standing, favoring his left more than the right. There's rips and blood scattered on his clothes, but he's standing and conscious.

Being so engrossed in studying Seongje's state, he almost doesn't hear the man holding him say, "Get him."

Sieuns blood runs cold. 

The man in front of him is looking behind Sieun, where Sieun can hear the hasty footsteps of someone sprinting. There's wicked smiles contorting the faces of the men.

He peeks at Seongje, but he isn't looking back. No, he's looking behind Sieun, just like everyone else. Sieun can practically see the color draining from his face as he watches something unfold that Sieun was incapable of seeing.

The men are holding Seongje back, three restraining him by the arms. But Seongje tries to thrash out of their hold and becomes more hectic each time. He yells at them to let go of him, but they don't respond.

Eventually, he breaks out of their hold and he immediately makes a run towards Sieun.

Sieun's about to yell a snarky comment before Seongje's shout cuts him off.

"NEWBIE! BEHIND YOU!"

The terror and rush of Seongje's tone shuns Sieun. Seongje's eyes are blown wide and his mouth is hanging open.

Listening to Seongje's words, Sieun whips his head around. 

He's met with the sight of someone bolting in his direction. Their face isn't visible at the speed they're running at, but Sieun feels as if he recognizes it.

Sieun doesn't know what the meaning of this is, but even when he tries to move away, he can't bring himself to move. His mind is screaming to run, but his body makes no movement. Dread flows through his body, burning everything in its path. He gets closer and closer, now only a few meters away, and–

Seongje shoves Sieun. He comes up to Sieun's right and places both his hands on him, thrusting him to the side.

The impact takes Sieun by surprise and his body dropped to the ground. His limbs are too weak to protect himself or break his fall, so his shoulder takes the brunt of the impact.

Rocks cut through his shirt and embed themselves into his skin. He winces and moans in pain.

Blearily, he reopens his eyes that closed mid-air. The pounding in his head intensifies at the lights coming from afar, despite being dim.

Seongje is standing above him, but only the left side of his body and face is visible.

"Seongje?" Sieun whispers, voice rough.

At the sound of Sieun's voice, Seongje turns to look at him, brows drawn together like he wants to say something. Or yell.

Then—just barely behind Seongje—movement. 

Feet hastily moving, hair swishing at the force of his movements, and arms moving in time with his steps.

It's close. Too close to Seongje.

The man is behind him now. Fully. And he just stands still. He's not as tall as Seongje, but still just as intimidating.

Something shiny glints in his hand. Light reflects onto it from the broken down streetlights outside of the alley.

The man takes a step closer to Seongje.

And that's when Sieun's went rigid.

It's a knife.

His vision tunnels in on the knife, everything else around him going blurry.

Sieun tries to call out, but the tightness of his throat allows no sounds. When it finally does, it barely escapes his mouth, creaking as it crawls out.

"Seong—"

Only half of his name comes out, but it still lands in Seongje's ears.

Seongje's eyes follow the sound of Sieun's voice, but his head barely moves, staying in the same place for the most part. Seongje's eyes examine him, and his distress must be written all over his expression because Seongje's face went from anger to unease.

The look on Seongje's face grows more and more urgent as the seconds tick by.

"What?" Seongje starts, looking Sieun in the eyes.

He shifts his body to face Sieun, back opening to the alley behind him.

In response, Sieun starts shaking his head side to side, his mind going fuzzy as he gets dizzy in the midst of it.

No. Don't look this way. He wants to shout it, scream it, but he can't. 

Sieun lifts his hand in an attempt to point behind Seongje, trembling, but it doesn't reach far enough. Instead, it looks like he's trying to reach for him. 

"Behind—" it breaks in his throat, coming out as a whisper.

Seongje looks puzzled.

An arm—so fast, so close—comes behind Seongje. Rapidly moving.

He's still holding the knife, positioned right at Seongje's side. Then, as if it was never there, the metal disappeared, now only the handle being visible.

Seongje jerks where he stands. His mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. A strangled breath comes from him, pained.

His hands at his sides clench into fists like he wants to fight back but his arms don't raise. 

Their eye contact finally breaks. Just as it does, Seongje looks down.

Sieun watches as his head tilts to look below, looking to his left. Even in his disoriented mind, Sieun's eyes follow his gaze.

To the knife. It's sunk into the left side of Seongje's abdomen, buried deep.

Wetness takes place on Sieun's waterline, unwanted and uninvited.

To his horror, the knife keeps moving. It twists, agonizingly slow and deliberate, undoubtedly tortuous.

Seongje's body folds over and a yell of pain escapes his mouth, finally breaking the silence. It's longer and dragged out, something Sieun's never heard. And especially something Sieun never thought he would hear coming from Seongje of all people.

Seongje's face is creased in anguish with his mouth agape.

The man behind him freezes. His actions pause before looking up at Seongje. Instantly, his eyes widen before looking to his right, where the others stand.

They all share the same expression as him. No one says anything, the only sound being Seongje's panting and the occasional soft whimpers that he's clearly trying to hold back, even in this state.

After a moment of silence one of them speaks up.

"Dude—what the hell?" he shouts. "That's the wrong kid! Are you fucking blind?"

The man who committed the act looks down at the knife and back at the men. He repeats this action multiple times before the leader steps forward and begins yelling.

"Are you fucking serious? You had one god damn job, and you just went and stabbed the wrong one like a fucking idiot." Spit flies out his mouth as he goes on, endlessly reprimanding and insulting him with cruel words. 

Sieun lies still on the ground, tears finally paving their way down his cheeks. The only sounds leaving Sieun are his hitched breathing.

The men's shouts echo throughout the alley, but their voices are warped. None of the words fully register in his brain. His focus is still on Seongje, the way his body seems to struggle more to hold himself up and his lips lightly quivering.

"We need to go," someone mutters.

Another agrees. "Dude, if we get caught, we're fucking screwed."

After the rest get on the same page, Sieun hears their feet shuffling. He doesn't look, but their loud shoes dragging on the floor make it obvious that they're making their escape.

Suddenly, the knife gets yanked out of Seongje with a wet sound. He shouts again and immediately falls to his knees. In a panic, Sieun tries to stand but immediately fails when he realizes his legs are too weak. Instead, he resorts to crawling towards him.

His knees and hands ache with the pressure and they get scratched every time he moves, but he disregards it. Right now, all he cares about is Seongje.

When Sieun reaches him, he rises so that he's also on his knees. His first instinct is to put his hands on Seongje's arms, but when he sees the uncovered stab wound spilling blood, he quickly changes his mind.

Sieun's hands rush to put pressure on it and Seongje groans. His hands land on Sieun's shoulders and grip hard enough that Sieun’s fairly sure that it'll leave bruises.

"Fuck, that hurts," Seongje groans.

More tears fall and Sieun's head falls forward, almost bumping into Seongje's shoulder. Small hiccups leave his mouth as he tries to avoid breaking down completely.

He can't. Seongje needs him.

He's unsure whether Seongje heard him because he made no response and his eyes are clenched shut. Seongje's stuttered breath brushes Sieun's face when he applies more pressure because of the blood spilling through his fingers.

"Seongje," Sieun pants. "Lay on your back. Now."

The urgency in his voice causes Seongje to finally open his eyes, and Sieun immediately notices how wet his eyelashes are.

Despite obviously hearing him, Seongje stays in place. Instead, he just looks over Sieun's face. His eyes follow each new tear that falls from Sieun's eyes.

He smirks, though pained. Blood is speckled along his teeth and tongue.

"You—" he cuts himself off with a groan. "You crying over me, newbie?"

Sieun can't find it in himself to tease back.

"Shut up. Lay back."

Seongje's smirk grows wider but he eventually listens. His legs shake and stomach clenches. He leans back but doesn't let go of Sieun's shoulders. Sieun nearly tips over at Seongje's grip, but he barely manages to keep himself upright.

When Seongje is lying on his back, Sieun makes sure to keep his hands tight over his side.

Blood seeps through Sieun's sweatshirt sleeves, staining it incarnadine. His hands are slipping and even the roughest pressure isn't preventing the blood from spilling.

Sieun's heartbeat paces more and more and his breathing is turning frantic.

If Seongje doesn't get help soon, he'll die.

"Seongje," Sieun rasps.

He hums back to Sieun in response, moving his head to the side to look closer.

"I need—I need to call the police. I'm only going to use one hand, but I need to take one off. So when I take it off, you need to replace it with yours."

Seongje still doesn't take it seriously, still smiling at him. "What? You scared?"

The blase act is getting frustrating. Sieun doesn't have time to entertain Seongje and his jokes.

"Shut the fuck up, Geum Seongje!" Sieun shouts. Through his blurred vision, he can see Seongje's smile drop a fraction. "You need to listen to me!"

After not saying anything for a moment, Seongje finally acknowledges him. "Okay." There's no more joking hint in it, like he's done messing around.

It alleviates Sieun a bit because Seongje is finally going to listen to him. "When I say three, I'm taking my hand off."

Seongje hums, too tired to give a proper response. It only scares Sieun more, reminding him that he needs to be quick, or the consequences will be permanent.

Sieun counts, starting at one, and when he reaches three, he speedily removes his hand and makes sure Seongje follows through with what they agreed with.

When Seongje's—scarily cold—hand falls atop of Sieuns, applying a slight amount of weight, Sieun reaches into his pocket. He grabs his phone and hurries to click the emergency call button.

His fingers slide and slip across the screen from the blood coating his hands.

He nearly drops the phone. 

"Fuck—"

He ignores the mistake and starts clicking in 119, having to re-click the numbers multiple times because it didn't recognize the touch of his wet fingers.

The phone rings, once, twice, then—

"119, what's your emergency?

Sieun opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

His throat closes so tight that it burns. It feels like he's being strangled.

Beside him, Seongje lets out a strangled groan, his body curling slightly under Sieun's trembling hand.

The sound shocks him back into motion.

“A stabbing,” Sieun blurts out hoarsely. “There's been a stabbing.”

He hears typing on the other end of the call before the operator speaks up again.

“Okay, who was stabbed?”

“G–Geum Seongje.”

“Where did this happen?” Her voice remains calm, a striking opposite to Sieun's rushed words and breaths.

“Uh– an alley. In Yeongdeungpo. A few blocks from the Ministop store and the worn-down noodle restaurant with Christmas decorations.”

She quietly hums and then asks, “And who did this?”

“I don't know, some random men. I don't know, please just send an ambulance. Please, he's bleeding so much. I can't make it stop, it just—” His body wracks with a sob, loud and harsh. It tears out of him and he can't stop once he starts. “Please. Help us,” he pleads, sounding like a little boy.

The operator doesn't pause her typing while responding. “Okay, it's okay sweetheart. Police are on their way right now. Can you tell me your name?”

The kindness in her voice only makes him cry more.

Because he doesn't deserve it.

“Yeon Sieun,” he hiccups out.

The sound of typing continues, a steady background noise. 

“The police are five minutes away. Is Seongje still awake?”

Five minutes? That's too long. Sieun doesn't know if Seongje can make it for another five minutes. Taking his eyes off the injury and looking back at Seongje's face, Sieun sees that it's lost a significant amount of color. His skin has gone pale and his previously pink lips are turning gray. Seongje's breaths are getting quieter and more faint, like they're taking too much effort. It's barely present, but there's a slight wheeze in the beginning of each one  sending Sieun into even more of a panic.

“–eun? Sieun? Is Seongje conscious?”

He sputters. “Y–yeah. He is. Please tell them to hurry.”

His shoulders shake up and down as he watches Seongje struggle. 

He's in pain. And it's all his fault.

Sieun's head hangs over Seongje's body, his tears falling onto his blood soaked jacket. They leave little marks, barely noticeable. 

Over his own, he feels the faint press Seongje's hand become lighter and lighter. It wasn't rough to start with but it was there and reassured Sieun that he was still awake. 

Sieun pauses. He lifts his head to look at Seongje and sees his eyes are closing. 

He takes a sharp intake of air and drops his phone to the ground. The operator says something else but he doesn't pay attention. He brings his hand and starts repeatedly tapping Seongje's cheek, rubbing the red across it in the process. 

“Seongje? Don't play this game with me, Seongje. Open your eyes!”

Seongje moves his face away from the hand. “Calm down. Just resting my eyes.”

“No! You're not doing that! Please, Seongje.” His voice cracks at the end, sounding heartbroken. “It was supposed to be me, not you.”

Even though he's trying to keep a level head, Sieun can tell Seongje is really starting to feel it now. The stab is deep and wide, since the man doubled down and twisted the knife. The blood flow stays intense, getting worse as the seconds tick by.

Seongje cracks an eye open, weary. “What?” His voice sounds confused, not sure what Sieun means.

“They said they got the wrong person.” His voice wavers with every word.

The words land heavy. For once, Seongje doesn't have a joke to reply with. He stares at Sieun, his eyes empty.

Sieun doesn't know what to do. All he knows is that nothing is making feel any better and it won't stop the tears that are irritating his cheeks.

His hand is still resting on Seongje's cheek, trying to keep a grounding presence so that he stays awake. His face is cold under his fingers. 

It scares Sieun. It scares him so bad.

Blood coats his hands so heavily that it drips down onto Seongje. The skin on his own fingers aren't visible beneath the thick layer of red. 

And that's when Sieun realizes it.

He's going to ruin another person's life.

Another person collapsing because they chose to stand beside him.

It's already happened once. He doesn't know if he can handle it a second time. It's been a year and a half since Suho and he still feels the guilt like it was yesterday.

He doesn't notice when his breathing picks up. 

Seongje watches him for a moment despite the pain twisting across his face.

“Yah,” he rasps weakly. “Why're you crying like someone died?”

The joke falls flat.

Sieun's expression crumples even more.

Seongje's face becomes panicked. “Hey, hey. I was joking. I'm fine.”

Sieun whined as he was trying to steady himself but to no avail. 

“No you're not, Seongje! You're not fine! You—you were stabbed! Don't joke like that!”

A hand touches Sieun's cheek and pulls it to look at Seongje's face. He looks even worse, like the act of staying awake itself is exhausting. 

“I can't lose someone else.” Sieun admits with a whisper.

The words are quiet, almost inaudible, but Seongje hears it. He sees it. He sees the sorrow that lies deep beneath Sieun's eyes and the hefty burden that tears him down a bit more everyday.

It was clear when Seongje went to Suho's hospital and it's becoming even more clear now. The regret and guilt from whatever happened is a strong burden that seems almost unbearable. 

“Hey.”

No response. Just more sobs leaving Sieun's mouth. His face contorts like he's in pain as more liquid escapes his eyes and leaks onto Seongje's own face. 

“Hey,” Seongje repeats, louder than before. This time, Sieun opens his eyes. They're red and bloodshot, almost painful just to look at. He doesn't respond, instead giving him his attention.

“It's not your fault.” Seongje has to wheeze it out, but he needs Sieun to hear his words. 

“It is, Seongje! You don't get it!”

Seongje coughs before giving his reply. “I'm okay. We're okay.” He can't tell if he's trying to comfort Sieun or himself. Although he tries to hide the fear in his voice, it's beginning to leak out.

Sieun lowers his face down to Seongje's chest and Seongje's hand moves from his cheek to his shoulder again. His chest rises and falls lethargically with every small breath he takes. It's grounding. It lets him know that Seongje is still here and breathing. He's still crying, but he's trying to stop. 

“Seongje?”

This time, the response comes several seconds later. 

“Mhm?”

It's so quiet that Sieun almost doesn't hear it. He could've mistaken it for the hum of street lights nearby.

“Just checking on you.”

Seongje's hand is loose on Sieun's shoulder, looser than it was just minutes ago.

In the distance, Sieun hears sirens. 

The sound tears through the alley. Faint at first, but growing louder as it comes closer.

Sieun almost breaks at the noise.

Finally, help is coming.

Automatically, he waits for the next breath. For the next rise of Seongje's chest. 

But it doesn't come. 

Instead, his chest stays still. It doesn't move under Sieun's cheek.

He's not breathing. 

Sieun shoots up from where he lay and looks at Seongje's face.

Tears are obscuring his vision and he almost can't see him. When he finally blinks them out, he's horrified. Seongje's complexion has lost almost all its color. The mole beneath his eye stands out like a sore thumb on his nearly gray face.

His eyes are closed and his lips is parted.

“Seongje?”

No sound except for the sirens that are so close yet so far. 

“Seongje!”

Sieun keeps one hand on Seongje's wound and puts the other on the side of his chest. He begins shaking him enough to grab his attention but not too much in a way that would injure him further. 

“Open your fucking eyes!”

The sirens are almost deafening now. His shouts sound like whispers against the booming sound. 

His hands start using more force onto Seongje's body. “They're almost here, Seongje. Help is almost here. Just please, open your eyes.”

When he gets no response, he moves his hand towards where Seongje's neck where his pulse should be. He's trembling so terribly that he can barely move. 

He places it on his—ice cold—neck and feels nothing. 

Sieun's breath hitches. 

No. 

He moves his fingers to a different area, hoping he just missed the spot where his pulse was.

There's still nothing. The telltale thump isn't there. 

But it can't be true. Seongje has to be okay.

He's the one who beats everyone up for fun with a smile on his face.

He's supposed to be spitting remarks to Sieun and his friends, not laying in front of him with his own blood forming a pool around his body.

A car pulls in close with skidding tires. Doors open and close before footsteps sprint towards him. He doesn't look, he can't bring himself to look away from Seongje's face. Even unconscious, it's still laced in pain. His expression is scrunched, proof that he suffered. Slow, and excruciating.

Hands tug on Sieun's shoulders and arms. He doesn't fight them. He allows himself to be pulled away with his eyes closed. Distantly, he feels someone rubbing his back and another pulling up his clothes where blood stains are to see if they're from his own wounds or Seongje's.

He turns around to get a look at Seongje. There's multiple paramedics surrounding him. They're all blocking the view.

He can overhear fragments of their sentences. 

“...no pulse…”

“...omeone start compressions…”

Sieun's heart picks up. He desperately tries to maneuver his body to see what's happening. The paramedics watching over him tell him to stop, but the words go in one ear and out the other.

After a few minutes of trying to step on his toes for a proper view, he hears the words.

“...has passed away. The time of death is estimated to be 8:32. We need a stretcher for…”

The words fade out. Everything goes silent, despite nothing around him being quiet. 

Time of death. 

Sieun doesn't move.

The words settle somewhere in his mind, but they don't seem real. They feel like they should be apart of a different story.

Voices continue around him, but they lose all meaning. All of them blend together until they're nothing more than a noise.

Deep down, Sieun knew Seongje had died. There was no doubt from the second he felt him go still.

But there was something in him that wanted to hold onto the hope that maybe, maybe Seongje still had a chance.

He brings his hands to his face, undoubtedly rubbing Seongje's still wet blood on his cheeks. But it doesn't matter. Desperately, he tries to form a thought, but nothing comes. His mind is blank, emptied by the words he just heard.

He would've fallen if it weren't for the paramedic beside him. The woman's hand smooths his hair, stroking repeatedly from the top of his head to his nape. She occasionally says something but the words don't process in Sieun's state.

Seconds stretch into minutes–or maybe minutes to seconds. He doesn't really know anymore.

When he comes back to his senses, he sees Seongje is no longer on the ground. The only trace of him is a dark puddle of red. A hand touching his shoulder takes his attention away from the blood he stared at for probably too long.

A police officer stands in front of him. His face is calm, but Sieun can recognize something in his face. Sadness, maybe?

“Hey, kid,” he starts, voice gentle. He doesn't wait for a response, probably not expecting one. “We need to ask you some questions. It won't be long, just a few minutes. We'll ask you more on a different day. Sounds good?

Sieun continues staring at him with a wobbling lip. When it becomes obvious he won't say anything, the officer lets out a small sigh.

“I know this is difficult, and you're going through a lot right now, but I really need to talk to you. Just a few questions and we'll be done.”

After a moment, Sieun sniffles and nods. “Okay.”

The man seems relieved and pulls him out of the alley, away from the crime scene and begins probing him for answers that Sieun doesn't know. 

His voice faded into background noise and Sieun would hoarsely reply to his questions. They felt automatic. His words came out blank. Occasionally, he would turn his head to look at where Seongje previously was but the officer would quickly place his palm on his arm and redirect his gaze to himself.

By the time they're finally done talking, Sieun feels the exhaustion settling in. It sinks deep in his bones and flows through his bloodstream. Though it doesn't overpower the pain and sorrow.

“Kid? Did you hear me?”

Sieun blinks and looks at the officer. He hums.

“I asked if you need a ride.”

Sieun pauses. Does he? He wants to go home, but he can't walk alone with blood covering a quarter of his body. And either way, he doesn't think he could handle the silence of being by himself.

Even now, with someone trying to talk to him, only Seongje's last words echo through his mind. “I'm okay. We're okay.”

The officer speaks up again. “Or, if you really want, you can call someone else. Do you have your phone?”

Slow and languidly, Sieun digs his hand in his pocket and finds nothing in there. He moves his fingers around to feel if he missed it but it's still not there. He shakes his head.

In response, he nods and says, “Okay, that's fine. I think I saw a sheriff holding it earlier. I'll go grab that for you.” He flashes a small smile at Sieun before jogging to the side.

Sieun's eyes follow him for a moment before looking away. Noise surrounds him, police talking with each other and feet battering against the floor. A shiver runs through his body, the liquid on his jacket becoming cold against the wind.

Cars drive by and Sieun watches as they slow down, trying to see what happened. When they see Sieun stained in red, their eyes either widen in fear or shock. Maybe both. 

He wants to demand that they mind their own business. Who are they to judge him? They don't know him. They don't know what happened. 

Passersby whisper to each other, undoubtedly discussing what they suspect had happened. They watch him with puzzled but fascinated expressions.

His suffering is a show to them. An entertainment. He's like a stringed up puppet in a performance that he never signed up for. Something horrifying just unfolded before his eyes and he sees it every time he blinks. He'll have to live with this memory for the rest of his life as it haunts his dreams.

But they don't care.

All they care about is the scenario that they created in their own mind that they find “interesting” enough.

Anger bubbles deep in his chest. He wants all eyes off of him. He wants people to stop pointing at him with their furrowed eyebrows. He wants everyone to stop whispering behind their hands while they look at him with horror. He wants—

“Hey! Found your phone, kid!”

Sieun turns around and finds the officer he was previously talking to jogging towards him. He eyes him up and down and sure enough, his phone is in his hand. 

When Sieun looks at it, he finds that there's no more blood smears covering the screen. 

He takes the phone from his hand and bows to thank him. When he walks away, he hears him say, “If no one can pick you up, I'll do it.” Sieun stays quiet but the man shouted it loud enough for it to be obvious that he heard it.

Sieun walks to the wall beside the entrance of the alleyway. He sets his back against it before giving up and sliding down to the ground. The blows he took in the legs from earlier make him too tired to stand up anymore.

When he's sitting on the ground, he glances at his dark phone screen. The device sits heavy in his hand.

Who can he call? Who can he tell?

At the top of his phone screen, it says 6 percent battery and he realizes that he needs to decide fast. He quickly clicks his contact list and starts going through names.

There's not many people there, but it's not surprising. He always avoided texting and calling people at all costs. 

As he scrolls, he sees his parents. He rules them out as soon as he sees their names. They'll be too overbearing. They might blame Seongje and paint him out to be the villain. .

As he continues looking through, he sees his friends' names. 

He pauses.

Does he want them to know?

Juntae would be too scared, and Sieun doesn't want to make him sad with the circumstances. When he figures out what happened, he'll look at him with a pity in his eyes that Sieun won't want to see. He doesn't need any more pitying looks today.

He sees Hyuntak's name and considers it for a moment. But Hyuntak wouldn't know what to say. He'd be speechless. He's a great friend, but this just seems out of his league.

When Sieun's thumb lands on Humin's name, he's a little conflicted.

He knows Humin is going through things of his own. There's so much going on with the Union that he's not sure Humin would even answer if he called. He's busy juggling all of the issues with Baekjin, school, and his dad. 

But Sieun has to go home. 

And he needs someone. Even if he doesn't want to admit it.

Before he can overthink, he rushes to click the call button under Humin's contact.

He holds his phone up to his ear, hearing it ring once, twice—

“Hey, Sieunah! What's so special that a nonchalant guy like you is calling me?”

“...”

“Sieunah?”

The excitement from Humins voice drains a bit. It's already weird that Sieun's calling him, and it's even weirder that he isn't answering.

Sieun bites his wobbling lip hard and can't tell if the blood he tastes is Seongje's or his own.

His voice cracks and he has to force the words out. “Humin…”

Humin let out a sudden shocked sound. “Sieun? What's wrong? What happened?”

Sieun's visions go blurry and he raises a frustrated hand to his eyes. “Humin, I need you to pick me up. Please.”

“Okay,” Humin replies with no hesitation. “Okay. Where are you?”

Sieun chokes on a sob that he was desperately trying to hold back. He can hear the pained sound echo through the feedback on Humin's phone. 

Humin's panic is almost audible. “Sieunah, I need you to tell me where you are.” He's trying to sound calm, but Sieun can hear the obvious strain and rush of his words.

“The alley near the noodle place you always take all of us to,” he sniffles. “The old one.”

Movement comes from Humin's side of the line. 

“Alright. I'll take my dad's car and drive over. I'm a bad driver, but I'll do my best.”

Sieun mumbles an “okay,” and allows the call to go quiet, with the exception of hearing Humin's car door open and slam. The engine starts and Sieun thinks he can hear the tires from how fast he's driving. 

“You still there?” 

Sieun's reply comes slow. “Yeah.”

“Okay. I'm almost there, Sieun.”

After that the only sounds through the call is Humin driving and Sieuns stuttered breathing. 

After a few minutes pass, Humin talks again.

“Just turning around the corner.”

Sieun thinks he could cry of relief after hearing it.

Someone's here.

He hears a car speed in his direction but he doesn't lift his head. There's no need, he already knows who it is. Only when the car slams on its brakes and the door opens does he look up.

Humin is running towards him and the dam breaks.

A sob tears out of his throat. For some reason that he's not sure of, seeing Humin makes him cry even though he wanted that to be over with. 

Humins steps become faster and louder until he's directly in front of Sieun. He kneels down low enough that he's almost at Sieuns height.

“Sieun. Sieun, oh my god. What happened? Why are you bleeding?”

Sieun just shakes his head.

Humin's eyes flicker away from Sieun and looks around. His face becomes more and more panicked when he sees the caution tape and cops. Sieun watches as he realizes that he was probably involved with whatever happened.

“Are you hurt? Is this your blood?”

Sieun shakes his head again, but the tears fall faster than before. 

Moving from his previous spot, Humin shifts so that he's sitting by Sieun's side. Immediately, he pulls Sieun into his arms so that his head lies on his shoulder.

“I don't know what's wrong, but I'm sure everything will be okay.”

Sieun fists his hands into Humin's shirt as his tears begin to stain his collar and wet his neck. The warmth from his body soothes him. Humin's grip on him is tight and gets tighter when his sobs get louder.

"I'm here for you, Sieun." His fingers softly scratch Sieuns scalp, hoping it'll reassure him.

After minutes of crying and hushed words of comfort, Sieun loud cries subside. Tears still slide down his cheeks, but they've become silent. There's no more hiccups or whimpers that come with it. 

“Sieunah.”

“Hm?”

“Can you tell me what happened now?”

Sieun pulls away from Humin, feeling a little sheepish about his breakdown now that he's calmed down. He turns his head away as he wipes the tears off of his cheeks.

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. The words feel like they're trapped somewhere deep inside his chest.

Humin watches him struggle for a few seconds before sighing. “It's okay. You don't have to tell me right now.” He pulls himself up to his feet and extends his hand towards Sieun. “Come on. Let's get you home first.”

Sieun takes his hand and notices the lack of reaction to touching the blood that's begun crusting over.

The drive passes in a blur. Streetlights streak against the windows as Humin keeps peeking at Sieun in a way that he thinks is subtle.

When they pull into the driveway, they stay sat for a bit. No words are exchanged until Sieun turns to Humin.

“It's Seongje's.”

Humin's brows furrow. “What?” It comes out quickly, like he already knows the answer and is rejecting it before he's heard it.

“The blood. It's Seongje's.”

Humin doesn't reply. The engine ticks softly in the tense silence.

“They…they killed him, Humin.”

Humin doesn't move. Sieun nearly thinks that he didn't hear him.

“Let's go inside.”

“Humin–”

“Let's go inside first.” His voice cracks and he looks out his car door window. “Please.”

Sieun stares at him wide eyed before nodding and opening the door. A cold breeze hits his face and his teeth chatter. 

They walk up the stairs to his apartment, Humin's hand a supportive presence over his back in case he trips. When they make it up to his door, his hands are shaking too much to punch the numbers into his home lock. Humin had to do it himself, but Sieun couldn't bring himself to be embarrassed.

When they make it inside, it's empty and silent. 

His moms not home. He knows she isn't. Her car wasn't in her usual parking spot.

They don't have a close relationship— quite the opposite. Despite this, Sieun's not sure whether he's glad his mother's gone. For a strange reason, he finds himself wanting her near, craving the comfort that he never without fail denies from her.

Humin walks in behind him and quietly shuts the door with a click.

Sieun is quick to talk. “I want to go to bed.” His voice sounds foreign to his ears, the crying making his voice rough.

“Okay.” Humin nods. “But let's wash you up first. Where's your bathroom?”

“Down the hall.”

They walk down together, Humin adjusting his speed to stay at Sieun's side while he shuffles across the floor at a sluggish pace.

The bathroom is cold and the white light reflecting off of the shiny floor burns his eyes. His cold stare meets his reflection in the mirror and for some reason, he can't bring himself to look away. 

Parts of his hair stick up in different directions, looking like he just woke from bed. His lips, that are usually already chapped, are actively peeling with blood welling in certain spots. Bruises are already blooming on his cheeks from the brutal fight that he'd almost forgotten about.

Eye contact was something Sieun never struggled with, but he's almost struggling to looking himself in the eye. They're red rimmed all around and puffy. Like this, Sieun almost looks like a little boy. A kid who fell and scratched his knee.

If he thought it couldn't get worse, there really is blood all over his face. Smeared all over his cheeks and leading into his eyebrows where it dries in the small hairs there. He doesn't recognize himself. He looks like he committed the murder himself.

Only when Humin lightly nudges him away from the mirror does he look away. He places his hands on top of Sieun's shoulders to push him down onto the closed toilet seat. 

They don't speak.

But that's just what Sieun needs. And Humin understands that. 

Sieun doesn't own a first aid kit, so Humin washes the blood off and tends to his cuts with wet toilet paper and hand soap.

While softly rubbing the grime off of Sieun cheeks, their faces are closer than they usually are. Sieun can see the pain in Humins face, too. He's trying to hold himself together. 

Just for Sieun.

He's hurting, but he won't show it because he knows that whatever he's feeling, Sieun feels it tenfold.

Sieun's eyes sting at the thought of Humin keeping a stoic facade for him. He tries to blink them away and he knows it doesn’t go unnoticed by the other.

Humin throws the dirtied paper in the trash beside him and shoots Sieun a sad smile. “Come on. Let's get you to bed.”

While Sieun changes, Humin gives him privacy and leaves the room. When he returns, Sieuns is already laying on his bed and looking at him in the doorway.

“I got you some water. In case you get thirsty.” He holds up a clear glass of water in his right hand.

Sieun smiles a bit and Humin's shoulders relax a bit at the sight. “Thank you.”

Humin walks to the side of the bed and sets it on the nightstand beside him. He looks at Sieun for a second too long and his eyes flicker over his face, lingering on the small cuts all over it. After tearing his eyes away, he lightly turns on his feet. “Good night Sieun. Get some rest.”

Sieun's arm quickly shoots out, grabbing his wrist. Humin turns around with thinly veiled shock on his face but he doesn't move.

“Stay. Please.”

Humin schools his expression and allows him to continue holding on to him. “Okay. Yeah, okay.” He turns around and grabs the chair that's right next to him and sets it beside his bed. Once he sits down, Sieun finally lets go. “Go to bed, Sieun. I'm here.”

And in the comfort of his bed and Humin by his side, Sieun softly closes his eyes. His eyelashes lightly brush his cheeks and tickle them. Before he falls into a deep slumber, Sieun only has one thought.

I wish I could go back and change things.

When Sieun awoke, he was in a cold sweat. His body felt freezing, despite having the heaviest blankets in his house on top of him. 

Sun rays shine in his room through his windows, burning holes through his shut eyes. 

When he finally stirred, he noticed that Humin was no longer sitting at his side, though the chair was still in the same place. He's a little dejected, but he understands. He has a job and dad to get to. 

His feet touch the cold wood floor, sending chills across his body. With one hand itching his eye, his other reaches for his phone on his nightstand. After realizing it's not there, he begins feeling under his blankets to search for it. And even when he slides his hand between every nook and cranny, he can't find his phone. Eventually he gives up. He can go through the morning without his phone. 

When he stands and looks down, he's immediately confused.

He's wearing different clothes.

When he went to bed, he was wearing blue sweats and a gray shirt. But now, his pajamas are fully black. 

His room is also significantly more tidy. It's never dirty, he always cleans it before it gets to that point, but since he didn't have time last night to do that, it had been a bit messier than usual. Yet right now, his room looks spotless. Not a speck of dirt and the papers on his desk have been organized.

He walks over to the small desk and his face tilts his head in confusion.

All of the words written on his notes look… illegible.

Not bad hand writing, but complete scribbles.

“What the hell?” he mumbles.

He picks up the pile of papers and starts flicking through them but there's no difference with each page. Everything resembles the writing of a three year old who held a pen for the first time. Even things that weren't handwritten appeared different. Sentences that were printed out look smushed while others have ink smudges where letters should be.

Looking around the room, he continues to find more and more oddities.

His laptop is gone. 

There's no curtains to cover his window. 

His closet was re-organized. 

A dead fly lay on top of his math textbook. 

Trying not to overanalyze the strangeness of this situation, Sieun takes deep breaths. 

This must be a big misunderstanding. Maybe his aunts and uncles were in town and his little cousins barged into his room while he was sleeping.

The only issue with that would be that his mother hasn't talked to her brother and sister in over a decade and his father's an only child.

But maybe she and her siblings made peace with each other.

After his heartbeat has slowed, he approaches his bedroom door. He wants to be somewhere that looks normal. 

When he turns the doorknob, it only slightly moves. He jiggles it again but rougher, and it still doesn't budge.

It's locked.

Panic is starting to set in.

How did his room lock from the outside?

Suddenly, a loud click-clock echoes through the room. His shoulders jump like a frightened cat. He whips his head around and spots a large grandfather's clock in place of where his bed should be. The large pendulum swings from side to side, in time with the ticking sound everytime the hands move. 

Both hands strike twelve.

The sound of chimes enter his room, a melody Sieun would think is beautiful if it weren't for the circumstances.

A knot forms in his stomach as he watches the random grandfather's clock with alarm in his eyes. He looks around his room to look for something. He's not sure what. Maybe something to unlock the door, maybe just something that would tell him that he's misreading this whole situation.

As his eyes rapidly flicker around his room, they suddenly land on his calendar. 

It's weird, any other day, he wouldn't even spare a glance towards it. But the interesting part about it is that it's the only thing in the room that he can actually read. The letters and numbers have stayed the same instead of the squished letters of everything else in the room. Though, he notices the little notes he made on various dates have been violently scratched over.

Yesterday's date is circled with a large red marker. It was drawn over and over again, making the lines wide and uneven until it overlaps into the neighboring boxes.

June 5th, 2026. 

Why is it circled?

He doesn't remember doing this.

Sieun's eyes widen.

It's the date Seongje died.

The room goes dark and it's like the sun was ripped from the sky. 

While his attention was averted to the nearly black window, the soft sound of paper ripping brings his attention back to the calendar.

The page is being torn from the rings on the calendar. It starts slow and precise before it's yanked with an abrupt strength. It's thrown to the floor and the next page for May is quickly ripped out as well. It gets to March when it stops. 

The grandfather's clock stops ringing and Sieun thinks it's finally over. But as soon as that thought fills his head, a loud squeak is heard. Like the sound of a scratchy writing utensil. 

Red appears in the calendar. A line is forming.

But there's no marker.

It's like it's being drawn out of thin air.

Sieun takes a step back and almost trips over his own feet. 

“Stop.” His voice comes out weak.

Despite his protest, it continues, albeit shakily. Like an elderly person shaking as they use their hands.

Gradually, Sieun recognizes the shape it's forming. It's making another circle. 

A large and red circle. 

He blinks his eyes to check if he's seeing things, but every time he looks back at the calendar, he sees the circle being carefully sketched.

Eventually, the circle closes and that's when Sieun notices the date. 

March 5th.

Exactly 3 months before yesterday's date.

Yesterday on the date when Seongje died.

The clock chimes louder, though it's progressively getting both louder and faster. Its pendulum sways quicker and quicker until it almost looks like a blur. 

It's horrifying. Sieun doesn't know what to make of everything. 

Chimes echo throughout his room so loudly that it's making his head pound and the screeching of a marker, that isn't even visible, is picking up pace too as it repeatedly draws more and more circles over the one that's already there.

The red starts dripping.

Not with ink.

But with blood.

The room begins to shake. Or maybe it's his legs. It's all the same to him. Everything begins to warp and his eyes get heavy. The only thing that stays clear in his vision is the calendar and the crimson circle that's already commenced it's haunting upon him. It stays in his mind before everything goes black.

When Sieun wakes from his sleep for a second time, it's with a harsh inhale. It scratches his throat on its way in and sends him into a coughing fit. In the middle of it, his mother comes bursting into the room.

“Sieunah! It's a quarter past eight! What are you still doing in bed? Get ready and go to school before you're late!”

She quickly walks out of his room and shuts the door. Her loud footsteps can be heard echoing through the hall because of the heels that she insists on wears everyday.

Sieun is frozen in confusion and leftover shock from his dream. His head whips around the room. Everything is back to normal. Aside from his chair being pushed back into his desk. But Humin probably just put that back before leaving.

He would've expected Humin to wake him up for school, though. Maybe he knew Sieun needed a break and let him sleep in.

However, Sieuns confused on why there's school today in the first place.

Yesterday was a Friday, so today should be a Saturday. 

Did he just get the days wrong?

No. He didn't. He remembers Humin and Hyuntak talking about how they're “so excited” for the weekend because they don't have to study anymore, even though they don't do it regardless.

He reaches for his phone on the nightstand, which is thankfully there and charging, and turns it on.

To add to the disarray in his brain, when his eyes land on his screen, it reads “Thursday.”

Sieun faceplants and almost groans out loud before something catches his eye.

8:17 am

March 5th

March 5th.

Three months ago.

What?

Is his phone glitching? 

That must be it. His phone probably updated overnight and it just got the date wrong.

Sieun shoots up from where he was laying so quickly that his head gets dizzy and throbs for a moment. Ignoring that, he stands up and looks down.

Same clothes as last night.

Okay, good.

Everything in his room seems normal. Normal notes, normal books, normal words. Excluding the homework he could've sworn he had turned in ages ago that was silently laying on his desk.

While he was looking around, he looks back at his calendar.

The same one that plagued his dream last night.

He walks towards it and sees the page is on March instead of June. A date is circled.

March 5th. 

He yanks the tack out of the calendar and begins flipping through pages. He makes it to June and specifically looks for June 5th.

His heart drops.

It's crossed out with a thick, black line. And beside that line, there's a drawing of a clock. The time on it reads: 6:05.

What the hell?

What does this mean?

He roughly rubs his eyes in hopes that it'll change what's in front of him, but everything stays the same.

Sieun runs out of his room and sees his mom calmly sitting at the dinner table flipping through a magazine with her nicely manicured nails.

“Mom.”

Her head shoots up and her eyes scan him. The expression she wears is irritated. 

“Sieunah, why aren't you dressed?” she asks in an almost whiny tone. “You're going to be late t–”

“What's the date?”

Her face drops. She seems shocked and offended at the way he shamelessly cut through her words. “What?”

Sieun sighs and his head rolls down. “What's the date?”

She continues to look confused as she watches him get more and more impatient. “March 5th.” Her head tilts as she says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Sieun raises his hands to his head and resists the urge to tug at the strands of hair.

Did Sieun miss something? 

Was his head hit too hard during the fight?

He turns around to rush back to his room. When he takes a step, something tickles the side of his foot.

“Sieunah? I think you dropped something," she says, leaning over the table to check the ground.

He says nothing to his mothers words and shakily drops his gaze. 

On the floor lies a white note that's impossible to miss on top of the brown wood. Ignoring the trembling that's threatening his body, he slowly crouches down.

Something about it makes his blood run cold. He doesn't remember holding anything when he walked out of his room and his clothes have no pockets, so nothing could have fallen off of him.

His fingers grab the paper that's jagged around the edges and he hesitates to unfold it. In a way, he doesn't want to know what it says. He wants to be clueless so he can live with a semblance of peace.

His hands tighten around the paper and almost crease it in the process.

Sieun goes so still that he could appear paralyzed.

There's two words. Written in red marker. The same shade of the one on his calendar. The handwriting looks frantic, the letters pressed so hard that the paper had nearly torn beneath them.

Written across the paper, sharp and bold, are the words:

FIND HIM