Chapter Text
The sound in Min-ji’s ears was a low, grounding hum, cutting through the oppressive silence of an office that had long since emptied. She didn’t move for a moment, sitting perfectly still as the fluorescent lights overhead gave a rhythmic, sickly flicker, casting long, tired shadows across rows of desks. The hum of the air conditioning was the only thing filling the void left by her departed colleagues.
Min-ji slowly massaged her temples. The ache was a familiar companion, a dull, pulsing rhythm behind her eyes that usually signaled the end of a ten-hour shift.
"Min-ji, are you coming? We’re heading to the BBQ place down the street," a voice called out.
She looked up to see a coworker already shrugging into her coat, the movement hurried and eager for the night. Min-ji felt the weight of the day pressing down on her, making the idea of social interaction feel like a mountain she wasn't prepared to climb. She forced a polite, weary smile—the kind she had perfected over years of corporate invisibility.
"Not tonight," she replied softly, shaking her head. "I have something I need to take care of at home."
The coworker paused, a playful, knowing look crossing her face. "Always busy with your secret life, huh?" She didn't wait for an explanation, laughing as she turned and walked toward the elevator, the sound of her heels clicking away until the office door finally shut.
The silence that followed was heavy, but for Min-ji, it was a relief. It was the only time she could truly breathe.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a worn, black leather diary. She didn't open it to write. She flipped to the front pocket and slid out a single, crisp ticket—a pass for Kim Namjoon’s upcoming solo concert.
Just looking at the date sent a jolt of warmth through her chest. This ticket was the anchor, the only thing keeping the monotony of her day-to-day life from swallowing her whole. As she traced the edges of the paper, her mind drifted back years, back to a time when her own reflection had felt like a stranger she couldn't stand to look at.
She was a student then, lost in a world that felt suffocating, drowning in self-doubt that whispered she would never be enough. Back then, the world had felt like it was closing in, and she had forgotten how to breathe. That was when she found his voice.
It wasn't just the music; it was the philosophy. She recalled a specific interview, the way he spoke about being one's own star—a steady, unwavering light to guide the way when everything else turned dark. It had been a simple message, quiet and unassuming, but it had reached her in the depths of a darkness that nothing else could penetrate. It told her that she was worth the effort, that her existence was its own kind of present. Because of him, she had survived those years, slowly learning how to be kind to herself.
Min-ji finally stood up, the chair scraping against the floor, and gathered her things. She stepped out into the cool night air of Seoul, where the city was a blur of neon signs and the frantic rush of traffic. Despite the noise, she felt shielded, wrapped in a private bubble.
She pulled out her phone and pressed play on a recorded audio clip she had saved—a short, spoken message from Namjoon that she kept on a loop. His voice filled her ears, smooth and grounding, acting as a bridge between her reality and the person she wanted to be.
“Look at how far you’ve come,” the recording continued. “Be proud of yourself, because I’m proud of you.”
A genuine smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. It felt as though he were standing right there on the sidewalk beside her, his words cutting through the exhaustion of the work and the office politics. She closed her eyes for a fleeting second, letting the words anchor her, feeling the stress of the day finally melt away.
Lost in the comfort of his voice and the anticipation of the concert, Min-ji took a step off the curb. Her mind was entirely consumed, her senses narrowed down to the sound of his encouragement.
She didn't hear the sudden, violent screech of tires. She didn't see the blinding white headlights rounding the corner, nor the car barreling toward her like an unstoppable force. There was only the fading echo of his voice in her ears, and then, a sudden, jarring rush of wind.