#and that suspense and that whole scene

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 77

Part 1 Part 76

He’s growing – Steve can feel it eating away at the pathways in his brain. He can almost feel the way the connections drop, making way from something else, something more. It’s like he wants Steve to be able to see the paths he’s carving out of his brain so he can.

They’re dark, and winding, and there’s nothing in there at all. Steve’s being hollowed out, for a holy purpose he can’t quite grasp, but he can feel it, coiled cold and hard in the back of his skull, waiting to give him his own divine prophecy. When the time’s right. 

But the time’s not right, and he’s lost in the tunnels of his mind, winding fast, fast, fast through corridors he doesn’t recognize. 

It’s like, double vision. He’s looking at Eddie sitting beside him, twirling his frizzy hair in front of his mouth, but it’s dark, too, and the tunnels are winding. Winding, and empty until they’re not.

It’s not until he sees the man that Steve wonders if he’s looking at something internal at all. Because there’s a man he doesn’t recognize walking inside them. He watches him stumble, he watches him fall. 

Steve doesn’t recognize the man. But, still. Something twists inside as he watches him collapse, He’s supposed to collapse. Steve knows, he can feel it.

But there’s still something pulling in his sternum. He can feel it, sometimes, when Eddie’s looking at him with big, sad eyes. He wants to wring the sadness straight out of him but can’t – he doesn’t know what’s wrong. 

“Something’s wrong.” he says, but he’s not sure if he means the man or the look in Eddie’s eyes, or the way he’s not sure where he is right now.

“What is it, honey?” 

The woman who says it looks frazzled from where she’s kneeling in front of him. He doesn’t know her, but she’s holding Will’s hand. He looks at Will, and his eyes match hers – both wide and worried and trained on him.

“There’s a man,” he says. There are vines circling the man’s wrists, legs, trailing up his neck. Steve rubs his own throat, esophagus convulsing in sympathy pain. And just for a second, there’s a flicker of that same man smiling down at him, settling something over his face, letting him breathe. 

“Where?” the woman asks, at the same moment Eddie asks, “who?” and reaches out his burning palm to clutch Steve’s knee. 

He turns back to Eddie. Eddie who’s touch burns straight through him, who he can feel pulling pulling pulling him in like he wants to incinerate him whole. Steve would let him. 

So, he ignores the woman’s question and focuses on the man. “I don’t know him,” Steve whispers. He’s not sure it’s true, he can still feel the way his warm hand had cradled Steve’s jaw as he breathed life back into him.

Eddie’s boring his gaze into him, like maybe he can scoop out the images and muddle through them on his own. “But he’s in trouble?” 

Steve nods.

The woman stands up with a grunt, hands braced on knees as hauls herself up. “I’ll try Hop again.”

The name twinges. “Hop, Hop, Hopper,” Steve murmurs, looking back down at Eddie’s hand on his knee like it’ll tell him what he’s thinking. Like it’ll make his brain work better.

“What about him?” Will asks quietly. He’s watching the woman pick up the phone, turning the numbers by rote. 

Steve doesn’t know Hopper, but there’s a man with a dirty name plate attached to his dirty chest that reads the same name. “The vines,” he starts, before stalling out, unsure of what to say. “They’ve– they’ve got him.”

Eddie sits up, squeezing Steve’s knee tight, the bite of his fingernails into burnt flesh aching. “Hopper’s who’s in trouble?”

He nods, and sits, watching Hopper struggle, watching Will and Eddie trade looks around him, watching the woman hang up the phone with a sigh.

“Where?” Eddie asks.

Steve doesn’t know. He doesn’t know, but it’s Eddie who’s asking, so he closes his eyes. He closes his eyes and focuses. “There’s dirt,” he says, “and vines, and—” 

There’s nothing else. No discernable features of the landscape he both can and cannot see, but he’s squinting into his own mind hard enough that the back of his skull starts aching like it’s splitting open and that’s when he feels it: a pull.

It’s coming from the back of his head, like a migraine, aching at the join between his neck and skull. He lets his head sway with it, then points with the sway.

He closes his eyes, focuses on the man, and lets the pull take him. 

It’s like walking through purgatory – following the lines in his mind. He’s going the right way, can feel it just as surely as he can feel Eddie’s burning hand on his elbow and Will’s burning fingers on his ankles.  

He doesn’t open his eyes, just walks, and walks, until there’s nowhere to walk anymore.

It’s not until he stops that the implications of the pull yanking him down sink in. He wants to drop to his knees and scrabble at the ground with his nails. But he’s down too deep, and time’s running out. 

He opens his eyes and looks down. There’s a rotten pumpkin under his shoe, foot turning it to mush. Beneath that, there’s dirt. Dirt and vines. Steve points down to it, and looks up to meet Eddie’s worried eyes.

“He’s running out of time,” Steve says, watching both Eddie’s eyebrows furrow, and the way the man’s fingers are still flexing on the vine around his throat, keeping it at bay. 

“He’s down there?” the woman asks, unhelpful in her hysteria. 

Steve watches the reality unfurl in Eddie’s eyes and then looks down at the dirt beneath his feet and watches the man struggle.

People flit around him like ants. He doesn’t pay it any mind. Will and Eddie are here, and everything else is just killing time.

Part 78

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @wonderland-girl143-blog @nerdsconquerall @sharingisntkaren

[blackcanary567]

my wildest and probably completely wrong yellowjackets theory is that the wilderness is supernatural but not how the girls perceive it. The whole "wants blood and sacrifice" is because of Lottie's delusions and hallucinations, it's actually a neutral or benevolent force that just wants the girls survival.

[jessiescock]

catws was really. By normal movie standards it's a decent action movie with some nicely choreographed fight scenes and good pacing and stuff all in all nothing groundbreaking but a solid 6/10 imo. But compared to other mcu movies it's a thought provoking avant garde masterpiece that i have to assume happened completely by accident bc it was so much better than everything that came before or after it

[infinity-on-ri]

LESS THAN AN HKUR LEFT AND WHAF??? OH MY GOD??? HOLY SHIT, EVEN???????

[miyasann]

i'm late to the party but i cried 5 times watching the dumpster battle

[its-all-papaya]

the ending of nutcracker fic is so cheese it's actually making me cringe. begging pleading for ppl not to make judgments about me as an author based on this specific work of christmas fluff plz & thank you

[hoapes]

blood and cheese was kinda underwhelming but the more i think about it i think i don’t hate it?? I am intrigued at the implication of helaena maybe having dreamed of it or knowing that something was going to happen which is why her reaction was so different from the book, it'll definitely be interesting and heartbreaking seeing how she copes the rest of the season

[etherealyoungk]

<3

psycho | wen junhui

SYNOPSIS. in which a new patient is assigned for treatment under your care, and you begin to put the puzzles and pieces together to a past case that you thought to have ceased away from your mind. PAIRING. wen junhui x psychologist!reader (ft. nurse!seokmin) GENRE. dark au, mystery, angst, a tiny tiny subtle pinch of fluff, my very first attempt at a psychological thriller :> WARNINGS. LOTS of descriptions and talks about fire, cursing, mentions of death, a mention of cigarettes, descriptions of scars + burns, descriptions of injuries from glass, mention of blood, reader has a small habit of scratching at their arms, jun makes a suggestive comment if you take it that way WORD COUNT. 12.8k

notes: this is for the caratsland event and probably the most complex plot i've tried to execute so far jsdlkfdfsdf. thank you to @slytherinshua for reading this over for me and being my lil confidence boost 💕 feedback would be much appreciated!! pls remember this is all fictional and not at all an accurate depiction of a psychiatric facility!!

another note: also this turned out to be rlly dialogue heavy and jun asks too many damn questions in this istg lmao

PRESENT DAY: 2023

"Dr. L/N, you have a new patient assigned to you in room 610."

You don't glance up from your desk. Instead, you finish reviewing the case notes of your previous patient and nod in acknowledgment to the nurse standing in your doorway, a friendly young man named Lee Seokmin who was a recent hire, as you were told. As you hear the drop of a patient file in front of you, you lean back in your chair and finally get yourself to look up.

"Thank you, Seokmin," You tell him with a soft smile.

Seokmin grins, teeth all-flashy and cheerful. "You're welcome, doctor," before dismissing himself back out of your office.

You turn your attention to the patient file now resting on your desk. As you start to read through the notes, you see it only contains some basic information about the patient: name, age, and a brief overview of their medical and psychiatric history. It's a starting point, but you know that the real work begins when you meet the person behind the paperwork.

"Name, Moon Jun... male, age 27..." You quietly study the file to yourself. The file mentions a history of severe emotional trauma and burn scars due to a fire, which immediately catches your attention in more ways than one. It also mentions extensive facial scarring and a history of therapy that completely lacked significant progress. A part of it is a familiar story in your field𑁋it isn't uncommon for individuals to experience setbacks in their recovery.

But there's something about this patient's history that tugs oddly at your heartstrings.

As you rummage deeper into the file, you come across a brief note from a colleague who had previously assessed Moon Jun, mentioning he had been withdrawn and non-communicative during his stay, displaying anti-social behaviour, sometimes even having random bursts of aggression when approached. You take a mental note of all this in your head.

Closing the patient file, you rise from your chair and adjust the white coat draped around you, before leaving your office. You make your way through the sterile, fluorescent-lit hallways of the psychiatric facility. The environment here is all-too familiar to you; you've spent years navigating these halls. With every door you pass, there hides a different story; a different struggle; a different battle.

Upon finally reaching the room, you hesitate outside the door for a moment. The anticipation and curiosity surrounding you mixes with a touch of uncertainty, almost like fear, as they often do when meeting a new patient. You've been doing this for nearly ten years, and the feeling isn't new.

Then as you come back to your senses, you lift a hand, give a gentle knock to the door, before entering the room. It's dimly lit inside, the curtains ominously drawn on the windows to conceal the sunlight peeking through. A figure sits at the edge of the bed, back turned to you, and the hood of his hoodie pulled low over his head worn over his patient gown.

"Moon... Jun?" You call out softly, trying not to startle him.

He doesn't respond immediately, shoulders tensing at the sound of your voice. After a moment of silence, he slowly turns his head to acknowledge your presence. Half of his face is obscured by a mask, leaving only his dark eyes visible.

"Doctor," he replies gravelly.

His gaze lingers on you as you take a seat in a chair that sat against the wall next to the bed, keeping a respectful distance from him. You've encountered many patients who have initially shown distrust or apprehension, but there's an intensity in the way he looks at you that sends something chilling on the surface of your skin, especially when it's the only part of his face that you can see.

You try to break the ice with a polite smile. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Moon. My name is Dr. Y/N, and I'll be conducting our therapy sessions during your stay here. Please, make yourself as comfortable as you can."

He slowly nods, but his eyes never leave yours. The mask covering his face makes it difficult to read his expressions.

"Before we begin," You continue, clearing your throat. "I want you to know that this is a safe and confidential space. Our conversations are private, and I'm here to help you in any way I can𑁋to help you heal. You can share as much or as little as you're comfortable with."

You see the way his gloved hands clench together in his lap.

"I can't be healed," he mutters quietly, voice trembling as you sense the hopelessness in his tone. You've heard this phrase many times before during your career.

"I understand that you may feel that way right now," You reply, as soothingly as possible. "but I believe that with time and the right support, healing is possible for anyone. It's a journey, and I'm here to walk it with you. It's a process, and you don't have to go through it alone."

His gaze remains fixed on you, and the unsettling tension in the room lingers, almost palpable that you feel like there's an imaginary barrier between you and him that was enough for you to see this small part of him, while he can see all of you.

"Would you like to tell me a little bit about yourself? How do you feel coming here today?" You ask, hoping to begin the process of establishing some sort of connection.

He uncomfortably shifts a bit on the bed.

"I never wanted to come here," he says flatly. "They say this is a place of healing, but I've seen enough doctors like you. They prod and poke, dig into your past, and in the end, nothing changes. They don't know what I've been through, what I've seen. The scars, everything, they don't heal."

The words that leave his mouth are bitter and sour, yet you could only get yourself to nod sympathetically.

"It's not uncommon for people to feel that way, especially if they haven't found the right support. I want you to know that my approach is different. I'm here to listen, not to prod or poke." You glance down at the file in your hand and flip it over so that you couldn't see any information about him. "You're in control of our sessions, Mr. Moon. We can go at whatever pace you'd like."

He finally seems intrigued by this, leaning in ever so slightly, eyes devoid of colour that seemed to bore straight into yours.

"Control?" he repeats, voice still carrying a hint of skepticism.

You nod once more. "Yes, control. You get to decide what you want to talk about, what you're comfortable sharing, and at what pace. If there are topics you'd like to avoid or take your time with, that's completely okay. We can work together to create a safe space for you."

He seems to be taking in your words. "And... what if I choose not to talk at all?"

You offer a reassuring smile. "Then that's the option we can settle with."

The minutes that tick by seem dreadingly slow, and there's a light that dances in his eyes from the singular light fixture hanging above that almost resembles that of a flame. It doesn't go away even if he blinks, and it draws you in. Just a tiny bit.

"However, is there anything specific you'd like to share with me today, Mr. Moon?" You ask, trying to keep the conversation flowing. "Any thoughts or concerns you'd like to discuss?"

For a moment, it seems like he's about to speak, but then he shakes his head ever so slightly, his hooded gaze still locked onto yours.

"Very well then." You let out a very subtle, shaky breath. It felt almost relieving. Silence it is.

That's what most of the session has come to𑁋sitting in this peculiar silence, feeling his eyes burn a hole right through you. It isn't until the end of the hour that he calls out toward you just as you were about to his exit his room, and you turn back to face him.

"Can you heal me, doctor?" he asks quietly, almost begging in a way. It's unnerving.

All you do is give him a faint smile.

"I'll try my best, Mr. Moon."

FLASHBACK: 2013

"...All I could see were orange and red flames, and the smoke was hurting my eyes. I couldn't breathe𑁋just barely, but it hurt. It was painful. They were getting larger and larger and the screams louder and louder. Everything was gone."

"And what did you do while the fire kept growing?"

"I watched it all happen. I watched it all burn in front of me." The words had sent an eerie shiver up your spine, forcing the pen in your hands to stop mid-sentence. There was a singular pause that had come to follow, a harrowing silence that seemed to stretch into eternity, a subtle quiver in his voice that you barely caught. "There was nothing I could do."

You clicked your pen, its sound echoing in the tense silence. The room seemed to grow colder with each moment that passed.

"But it's all my fault, right?" he had asked, tone so innocent that it itches a part of your heart uncomfortably, but tugged in a way you felt determined to take root of the grief in his chest and rip it apart. And for a moment as you looked in his dark eyes, over his youthful features and guilt-ridden face, you felt that inkling feeling again. "I killed them. It's all my fault."

"None of this is your fault. Blaming yourself for something you couldn't control is a heavy burden to carry," You reassured him calmly, as gently as you could, knowing the power that your own words could cause for someone seemingly lost, troubled, and young. "You saved yourself. You're alive; you did what you could to survive, and you're here to heal. I'm here to help you heal, okay?"

Your reassurance was met with a fleeting smile, but it hadn't quite reach his eyes, yet his gaze peered directly into you as if searching for something in you𑁋you could only think it was hope. Hope that he wanted to heal just as much as you wanted to help him heal. It's your job. This was why you took this job in the first place.

You needed to save people, either from the demons in their minds or the traumas that haunted them. This boy had lost his entire family in a housefire, for God's sake. This was your duty.

"It's not my fault," he had said, and met your eyes, as if searching for approval. "It's not my fault."

"That's right, Hui." You offered him a faint, assuring smile. "It's not your fault."

PRESENT DAY: 2023

"Excuse me, Dr. L/N? Is it okay if I sit here?"

You glance up to see Seokmin holding up a tray of lunch food, returning you from your zoning thoughts. You shoot him a kind smile and a nod, motioning to the empty space across from you for him to have a seat. Usually, you frequently have lunch alone in the comfort of your office where you can tend to yourself in solitude, but today, you might as well welcome the company.

Seokmin sets his tray down and takes a seat, and for some minutes, there's a comfortable silence as you both begin to eat. He seems to notice the tired lines to your face, but he doesn't press on about it.

"Have you been settling in well?" You ask him suddenly, breaking the silence.

"Huh, me? Oh." He's a bit taken aback, cheeks flushed, and you give a soft chuckle. "You could say that. I wanted to try something new after working bedside for the longest time. I didn't think that psych would be a field I was interested in𑁋look where I am now, though."

"That's the thing about this field." You let out a sigh, giving a knowing smile. "It has a way of drawing you in, even if you didn't plan on it."

"It was definitely an experience when I was in nursing school," Seokmin comments eagerly. You felt as if you were talking to a close friend rather than another colleague, and it feels rather refreshing. "and doing ICU was already draining of itself."

You take a sip of your drink, nodding your head. "I can only imagine. It can be quite rigorous."

Seokmin lets his gaze wander over you curiously. "How long have you worked here, doctor?"

"Please, you can just call me Y/N. Unless we're working."

Seokmin smiles. "How long have you worked here then, Y/N?"

You pause for a moment. Thinking about the amount of years you've worked in this field hasn't been a particular thought to come up𑁋time just seems to fly by when it's the only job you've been dedicated to for most of your life.

"Hm, ten years now? I believe this month will mark my ten years here."

Seokmin's eyes visibly widen in awe before responding, "Wow, that's... You must have really seen a lot of things. I really envy you, doctor."

Your smile fades just a bit; it's barely noticeable, though you still hope that Seokmin doesn't see it. You can feel that feeling gnaw at your skin again, something inexplicable, like a sense of foreboding that seemed to be creaking open a door you believed to have firmly shut for good.

But you choose to push it aside, just like you always do, dismissing it perfectly with a mutter of a thank you. It's ironic, considering this is what you do𑁋normally you would tell patients to confront their past and face their fears, but when it comes to your own, you tend to bury them.

There's an itch that crawls up your arms, and you knead at it through your sleeves with your fingers.

Maybe you can get used to this company, though.

"Do you have any kids, doctor?"

The question comes after a click of your pen, and you glance up from the vitals sheet in your hand to see Moon Jun sitting criss-crossed on the bed, gloved hands sitting on his lap and pupils peering curiously over you.

"No, Mr. Moon," You reply, keeping your tone soft, somewhat nonchalant. "I don't have any children."

He tilts his head slightly, almost as if he's studying you like a specimen under a microscope. The mask on his face makes him appear even more enigmatic, his dark, even charming eyes the only feature you can discern.

"No family at all?" he asks. "No husband, wife, or children to go home to?"

"I live alone. My work keeps me quite occupied."

Some silence passes.

"Alone," he repeats, almost to himself, as if savouring the word in his mouth. "Don't you ever feel... lonely though?"

His question hangs in the air like a dark cloud. It's an oddly personal inquiry, but you decide to address it professionally. "Loneliness is a feeling that many people experience at different points in their lives. It's a normal human emotion, and it's something we can work through."

His gaze narrows, and his gloved fingers twitch in his lap. His mask conceals most of his facial expressions, but you can sense an intensity in his gaze.

"I've felt lonely my entire life, you know," he points out as you sit yourself down in the chair in front of him just like all your previous sessions. Despite the considerable space between you two, sometimes you swear you can feel him breathing right down your neck. "Even being in here too, it.... feels like a different kind of loneliness. A place where they put people who are broken. Like me."

"I can assure you that you are not broken, Mr. Moon," You tell him reassuringly. "How are you with meeting the other patients here? Are there any you have been interacting with since our last session?"

He leans back slightly, his gloved hands still resting on his lap, and his gaze seems to drift momentarily as if he's recalling something.

"I think... they are scared of me, to be honest," he answers, eyes crinkling just slightly as if there was a smile playing on his lips right below his mask. "But... perhaps they're all just lost, confused, and weak. They pretend to get better, but they're just putting on a show. It's a bit pathetic, don't you think?"

"It's not uncommon for people in this environment to have their guard up," You tell him. "Sometimes, it's just a reaction to the unfamiliar. Everyone here is dealing with their own battles, just as you are, Mr. Moon."

He chuckles lowly at that. It's the first time you've heard such a sound like that leave his mouth, like a dissonant note echoing in an otherwise quiet room. His masked face gives nothing away.

"Maybe it's because of this stupid mask on my face," he says, touching the mask with the tips of his fingers. "It makes me look like a criminal or a monster."

"The mask might be intimidating to some," You acknowledge, crossing your arms together. "but it doesn't define who you are."

His eyes narrow slightly, though there's that twinge of amusement as he crosses his arms together, mirroring your body language.

"You're not scared of me, right, doctor?"

You meet his steady gaze, his own searching yours from behind the mask. There's a moment of silence, something unspoken lingering in the air.

"No, Mr. Moon, I'm not scared of you," You respond, keeping yourself composed. "I'm here to understand you."

He leans back, that hint of amusement still present in his on his face.

"I think you would make a great parent, doctor."

The unexpected compliment catches you off-guard for a moment, making you briefly at a loss for words. There's a slight blush that crawls up your cheeks, and you clear your throat, trying to regain your composure.

"Thank you." You give an appreciative smile. "That's very kind of you to say."

You see that flickering flame in his pupils again. It's a fire that seems to burn brighter with each passing minute, and it leaves you both intrigued and uneasy.

FLASHBACK: 2013

"I told you not to call me that!" Hui exclaimed angrily in frustration, his face turning a shade of red as he glared at you. The sudden outburst had caught you off-guard, and for a moment, found yourself at a loss for words. His face contorted with volatile frustration, and his hands clenched into fists.

"I apologise," You said calmly, doing your best to defuse the situation. "I didn't mean to upset you. What would you like me to call you then?"

He took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself down. His shoulders slumped, and his expression softened slightly.

"Just call me by my nickname, okay?" he urged, voice a tad less sharp now, but it's still enough to pierce. "Hui is fine. I hate my name! It's ugly. I want to forget about it𑁋I want everyone to forget about it! That name doesn't exist anymore, got it?"

"Of course, I understand." You leaned back forward in your chair, slow and cautiously. "But I want you to tell me why you stole crayons from Chaewon earlier in the rec room."

Hui only scoffed in response. "It's not that big of a deal. I only took a few from her. She'll forget about it."

"You took something from someone else without permission, Hui," You explained matter-of-factly. "That's a violation of their personal space and boundaries."

Hui's focus darted around the room for a moment, lips pursed and fingers messing around with the frays of his hospital gown. Then his gaze hardened once more as he landed back on you. His silence was almost unsettling as it stretched between you, but you remained patient, waiting for him to offer an explanation.

"Fine, whatever," he muttered, finally relenting. "I wanted them for a project I'm working on, that's all."

"A project? What kind of project?"

"Back in group therapy... They wanted us to create something meaningful or something𑁋something that means a lot to us, and I needed the crayons for it. So I took them from her."

It took a couple of moments before you nodded, acknowledging his explanation. "I see, Hui. It's important to express yourself through art or projects, but it's also important to respect others' belongings. Try asking for what you need instead of taking it without permission, okay?"

Hui's response was a simple, noncommittal nod, eyes holding onto yours a moment too long.

"Now, the next time you're back in the rec room, please say sorry to Chaewon whenever you see her, okay?"

Again, all he did was nod begrudgingly, his expression showing a hint of reluctance.

"Good." You gave him a proud smile. "That's all for today. Tell me about your project next session, alright?"

You felt his eyes on you as you grabbed your case notes and stood up, before leaving him in his room. And even though you were out of his room, you swore you could still feel the weight of his gaze on you.

PRESENT DAY: 2023

You find Moon Jun sitting on the edge of the bed once entering inside of his room, gloved hands folded neatly in his lap. The mask obscures his face as usual, but his dark eyes lock onto yours the moment you walk inside. The dim lighting in the room casts long shadows on the walls, and you find yourself drawn into those shadows as you take a seat across from him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Moon," You greet warmly, taking your usual seat across from him. "How has your day been so far?"

He doesn't immediately respond. There's a hint of curiosity in his hooded eyes, but it's devoid of warmth. It's subtle, almost imperceptible, but you've learned to pay attention to the smallest details when dealing with patients over the years. It still sends a shiver down your spine.

"Just been like any other day in this place," he finally replies coolly.

You offer a polite smile and proceed with the session. "Is there anything specific you'd like to discuss for today's session, Mr. Moon?"

He thinks for a moment, tapping his gloved fingers lightly against his knee. The rhythmic sound seems to echo in the room.

"Are you interested in mythology, doctor?" he asks, and the question was certainly something you didn't expect him to ask. He continues, "I've always had an interest in it growing up, so I was wondering if you did too."

You chuckle quietly. "I wish I could say the same, but... I guess I found it intriguing at times."

"Surely you must have heard some stories though." He giggles at this, unclasping his hands together and propping himself right at the edge of the bed so that he's leaning forward, his masked face closer to yours. The dim light makes it hard to see his features clearly, and the shadows in the room seem to grow darker, more pronounced. "Are you familiar with the creature, the phoenix?"

You pause for a moment to think, before giving a slow, careful nod. "I've... definitely heard of it."

"The phoenix," he murmurs, voice a soft, hypnotic cadence. "It's a beautiful creature of rebirth and fire, isn't it?"

The mention of fire makes you shift slightly in your seat.

"Mr. Moon, I'm not entirely sure where you're𑁋"

You're interrupted as he leans even closer, his masked face now mere inches from yours, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intense and unsettling focus. The shadows play tricks on your vision, making it feel like the walls are closing in on you.

"I just find it fascinating," he continues. "The idea of burning away the old and rising from the ashes anew. It's like a fresh start, a chance to be reborn. Do you believe in second chances, doctor?"

You swallow the lump in your throat. His intense gaze, shrouded by the mask, seems to hold you almost captive and confined to the chair you sat on, and his words seem to echo in the confined space.

"I... I believe that everyone deserves a chance to heal and grow, Mr. Moon," You respond carefully, trying to regain your composure. "But it's also important to work through the past before embracing the future."

He tilts his head slightly, as if considering your words. The room remains eerily quiet, the shadows deepening around you.

"Do you believe people can truly change?" he asks, voice softer now, almost pleading.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of his question sitting right on your chest.

"I believe that change is possible, Mr. Moon," You reply gently, choosing your words with care. "People have the capacity to grow and evolve, and to make choices that lead to a more positive outlook. But this varies from person to person𑁋if they are willing to put in the effort to do so."

For a moment, the tension in the room seems to dissipate slightly. The shadows on the walls appear to retreat, and the dim light feels less suffocating.

"Doctor," he finally speaks, voice low despite only being the two of you in the room, like he's telling you a secret. "what if... those flames of the past have burned too brightly, leaving nothing but ashes behind?"

You furrow your brows. "I-I would say𑁋"

"It's what happened to me, doctor, don't you understand?" he snaps suddenly, standing up from the bed to step closer to you. "You can't possibly understand what it's like to fucking lose everything, to watch it all burn in front of your fucking eyes! This is why I did this𑁋I put my life into the phoenix. I burned what was left of me, and now I'm here, in this absolute hellhole."

"Mr. Moon, I need you to calm down, please𑁋"

There's a flash of anger that shoots through his eyes, the flame burning in his pupils brighter than before. The atmosphere grows tense in the snap of a finger, and you instinctively stand up to bring yourself in the direction of the door to the room, maintaining a safe distance, acutely aware of the limited space and the fact that you're alone with him. There's an emergency button within reach where you can call for help whenever needed.

You can't get yourself to respond, feeling frozen from the way you can feel your heart pounding anxiously in your chest from his close proximity. He takes a step back, his hands trembling slightly as he clenches and unclenches them. The room seems to regain a semblance of normalcy, but the tension still lingers in the air, and you still can't move.

You watch as he cowers back towards the bed, leaving you standing next to the door. You felt as if you've been holding your breath, like you were submerged underwater and your fight or flight instincts were kicking in.

"You won't give up on me, right, doctor?" he asks, and the way he says it so weakly, naively, makes your head spin. "You can trust me, right?"

You smooth out your white coat, placing yourself back down in the seat across from him anticipatingly.

"I... I trust you," You mutter meekly. "I won't give up on you."

The corner of his eyes crinkle again. He's smiling. You can see it through the mask.

"How lovely," he states sweetly. "We're on the right track, then."

"Y/N𑁋I mean Dr. L/N, are you okay?" Seokmin's voice comes up from behind as you walk yourself towards your office, feeling completely and utterly scatterbrained from the events of the past hour.

As Seokmin's voice reaches your ears, you take a deep breath to steady yourself. You turn to Seokmin and offer him a reassuring smile, though it doesn't quite reach your eyes, but seeing him in front of you already makes you feel a tad bit better.

"I'm fine, Seokmin, thank you." Your voice carries a hint of exhaustion and residual unease. "Just a challenging session, but I'm okay."

Seokmin just nods, but as you were about to turn around, he says, "If you... uh, ever need someone to talk to or anything, just know I'm here for you, okay? It can be tough, I've heard."

You smile gratefully at him, this time genuinely reaching your eyes. It feels like a breath of fresh air talking to him.

"Thank you," You tell him. "I might just have to take you up on that someday."

Seokmin scratches the back of his neck shyly and returns your smile with a warm one of his own. "Well, you know where to find me."

You stand still for a moment as Seokmin begins to dismiss himself away to resume his rounds, but just then, you feel a sudden idea pop up in your head.

"Seokmin, wait!" You exclaim after the man, who immediately turns around to the sound of your voice, peering at you worriedly. "Actually, there's something... Could you do me a favour?"

His eyes light up curiously. "Sure, what do you want me to do?"

You step up closer to him, looking around to ensure no one else was listening in.

"Can you help find me more information about the patient in 610?" You lean in, lowering your voice to a hushed tone. "I'd like to know more about his background, more than what's in his file right now, or just anything that might help me understand him better."

Seokmin raises a brow briefly but nods either way. "I'll see what I can do, Dr. L/N."

FLASHBACK: 2013

The rec room was buzzing with activity as you entered, giving a chance for patients to interact with others and engage in activities outside of their rooms. Laughter, conversation, and the occasional burst of youthful energy filled the air; it’s a striking comparison to the somber atmosphere of the individual therapy sessions you usually conducted.

As you glanced around to find Hui, you finally caught sight of the boy sitting alone at a table in the very corner of the room. He appeared seemingly engrossed on the piece of paper in front of him, an array of crayons sat on the table. His focus was so intense that he seemed completely oblivious to the world around him.

You approached Hui's table with a gentle smile. "Hui, how are you doing today?"

Hui looked up from his drawing, eyes meeting yours briefly. "I'm fine," he replied coldly. "Just drawing."

You glanced down at his artwork, which depicted a scene of fire and destruction. The flames consumed a house, while stick-figure people screamed in the windows, their tiny, distorted faces twisted in agony. The only colours there would be that of the orange and red gigantic flame that enveloped the jagged, blackened lines of the house.

"That's... quite a powerful drawing, Hui," You commented as you took a seat right next to him. "What made you choose this subject?"

He shrugged nonchalantly, eyes not leaving his paper. "It's just what I felt like drawing."

"Is this supposed to represent what happened to your family?"

Hui only continued to mindlessly colour his drawing, his crayon moving across the paper with deliberate strokes.

"Maybe," he replied stoically. "I saw it all happen, but I couldn't do anything."

You studied Hui's face for a moment, but his expression remained blank, his focus entirely on the drawing. His mien was calm, almost eerily so, in comparison to the disturbing scene of destruction right below his fingertips.

"Can you tell me more about what you saw, Hui?" You asked him.

He glanced at you briefly, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of something in his eyes. But it was gone so quickly that you couldn't be sure if you had imagined it.

"I already told you," he pressed. "I saw the fire, and I watched everything burn. It wasn't my fault that it happened."

You nodded, acknowledging his words, and continued to watch him work on the drawing.

"Did you ever feel sad about what happened, Hui?" You questioned.

Hui's face only remained impassive as he answered, "It won't change anything."

You could only think about all the trauma he must have endured𑁋from losing his family and being the sole survivor of such a ruinous event, to having to deal with all the emotions at once that it must feel almost numbing inside of him.

"Did anyone help you during or after the fire, Hui?" You prodded calmly.

He still didn't look up from his drawing. "Some firefighters came, and they put out the fire. But they couldn't save my family."

You felt that pang of sympathy for Hui as he mentioned the firefighters' futile attempts to save his family all while he was waiting right outside the house. It was clear that the traumatic experience had locked his emotions away behind a stoic, desensitized façade.

"I'm sorry to hear about your family, Hui," You said softly. "It's completely okay to feel sad or angry about what happened."

Hui's hand paused briefly in its colouring, but he didn't look up. You glanced down to the paper, noticing that he was drawing something in the corner, almost appearing like some sort of bird, like some sort of crow or cardinal.

"I don't feel much about it anymore. It's just the way things are."

Your eyes drift from his drawing, concern deepening, but you understood that emotional numbing was a common coping mechanism for trauma survivors. In a way, it's like a protective shell around oneself to prevent further pain. The emotional scars ran deep, and sometimes, it was easier for them to keep their feelings at bay rather than confront the overwhelming grief and sorrow that lurked beneath the surface.

That is what you attributed with Hui𑁋what you always had when he first came here. And you promised him patience and that it took time to fully heal.

"I'll leave you be now, okay?" You stood up from the seat, giving the young boy a reassuring squeeze to the shoulder.

Hui doesn't respond, still engrossed in his drawing. You took a step back, leaving him to his artwork, and decided to check on some of the other children in the room for the time being.

You swore you could feel his eyes on you as you walked away.

PRESENT DAY: 2023

Your eyes are practically lasering holes right through the manila folder of Moon Jun's file.

The file only houses the basics𑁋his medical history, therapy notes, and observations from the staff. But there's something missing, something you can't quite put your finger on. His background information is limited, and there are no records of any family members or relatives listed. It's as if he appeared out of nowhere.

A knock on your office door makes you jump, and you quickly open your eyes to see Seokmin standing there with a stack of papers in his hands, concern etched on his face.

"Sorry, did I startle you?" he asks, stepping inside your office.

You offer a tired smile. "A bit, but it's okay. Come in."

Seokmin walks further into your office, closing the door lightly behind him. He takes a moment to study your expression, clearly noticing the exhaustion and frustration on your face. You let out a sigh and lean back in your chair, rubbing your temples with your fingertips as Seokmin sits down right across from you.

"So, I tried to do some digging, as you asked." Seokmin places the stack of papers on the desk. "It wasn't easy to look into his medical history, but I think this might be important."

You straighten up in your chair, your exhaustion momentarily forgotten as you lean in to examine the stack of papers Seokmin has brought. However, what you expected is to see information regarding him, but instead, you see news reports.

"I... I don't know if any of these can be related, but I found a few unsolved cases of arson over the years. It might be the cause of his facial scarring," Seokmin explains. "I think one of them happened at an orphanage, another at an abandoned warehouse nearby, and another at a small church a few miles from here."

You carefully pick up one of the articles and start to read the details. The article mentions a fire at an orphanage several years ago that resulted in the tragic loss of lives. The incident remained unsolved, with no clear cause identified. Then you come across another article about the fire at the warehouse, and it, too, was a case that had perplexed investigators, leaving it unsolved.

"...and I also think there was one about a family from around... nine? Ten years ago? I didn't read all the details of it, but I believe only one survived𑁋"

That's when you feel your heart drop all the way down to the ground, into the ground at that point, eyes widening as the gasp that leaves your mouth cuts Seokmin off. You're already standing up, fingers trembling, as you frantically shuffle through the articles he had provided for you.

"Where can I find that one? Is it here?"

Your adamancy surprises Seokmin as he scrambles through the papers before taking one out and offering it to you. You take the article from his hands. The paper is slightly crumpled, and the ink is faded, but the headline is still clear: "Family Tragedy Claims Lives, Sole Survivor Emerges."

The only survivor was a teenage boy, whose name was redacted from the article for privacy.

But you know exactly who it is.

The article describes how he had been found by the firefighters, huddled on the lawn outside the burning house, his eyes blank with shock. Authorities had attempted to investigate, but the case quickly went cold due to lack of evidence. It also mentions that the boy had lost his entire family that night and was assumed to be too traumatised to provide any coherent information about the fire's cause, which later caused him to be sent to a psychiatric facility due to the trauma.

"Doctor, what is this?" Seokmin interrupts your thoughts as he brings up another paper from view.

You glance up from the article to meet Seokmin's gaze, the urgency in his eyes mirroring your own. He unfolds it carefully, and as your eyes scan the headline, your heart sinks further: "Tragic Fire Engulfs Local Psychiatric Facility."

As you read through it, you swear you feel the same flames dancing up the skin of your arms. This article reports a fire that occurred exactly ten years ago at the very psychiatric facility where both you and Seokmin currently work. You were there that night. It was only your first year as a psychologist at the facility, still learning the ropes of your profession. The memories you've long tried to suppress come flooding back.

The sound of alarms blaring, the acrid smell of smoke, the frantic efforts to evacuate patients, and the feeling of utter helplessness as the flames consumed parts of the facility. It had left scars on your soul, scars you thought you had buried deep over the years.

That boy was one of your first ever patients.

Your arms are itching again, and you can almost feel the searing heat from that night a decade ago.

"Y/N, are you... are you okay?" Seokmin asks. You can see the worry in his eyes, but you're not sure if you can answer his question.

You swallow hard, your throat dry as you try to find your voice. "Yeah, I just... Sorry, reading this article, and..."

That's when Seokmin gets it. "Were you..." His eyes lower down to where one of your hands is clawing anxiously at the sleeves of your arm, and he immediately takes away the article from view. "I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up. I didn't know you were..."

You manage a weak smile as you bring your arms back down to your side, hugging yourself instead. "It's alright. You didn't know."

Seokmin doesn't seem entirely convinced, for a moment feeling stuck on what to say. "Are you sure that you're up for this? We can always𑁋"

"Yes," You say boldly. "It'll be okay."

You take a deep breath.

"I'll be okay."

"You seem troubled today, doctor."

In the dimly lit room, Moon Jun's observation is shrewd as always, whose calculating eyes seem to analyse every twitch of your expression as you both sit in the room together, right across from each other, with him hovering over you while you felt feeling like a cowering mouse trapped in a cage.

You flash him a faint, grateful smile. "I appreciate your concern, but let's focus back on you now, shall we?"

"Uh-uh, doctor," he taunts, crossing his arms together and shaking his head dismissively. Even in the darkness of the room, you swear you see his lips curl into a smirk under that damn mask of his. "If I'm not mistaken, you said at the very beginning that I have control over what I want to talk about in our sessions. I realise I hardly know anything about you! Isn't that funny? I consider you a dear friend, you know. You're the only person in this place who even makes the effort to talk with me."

The weight of his words suspend like a dense fog. You can hear the faint hum of the ventilation system, see the way the lone light fixture in the room seems to flicker intermittently. It plays tricks on your perception, making his features appear to morph and shift, all while his eyes are practically dissecting you.

"Friendship... is built on trust," You reply cautiously. "But our sessions are designed for your benefit. My role here is to help you, not the other way around, and my personal life is not relevant for this."

He leans in closer, his eyes never leaving yours, and you can feel his intense focus like a physical weight. You're caught in the gravitational pull of his eyes, his relentless gaze that seems to strip away your defenses. "But, doctor, how can you truly help me if you don't open up a little?"

He tilts his head, the mask inches away from your face, his eyes boring into yours.

"We could be more than what we are right now, couldn't we, doctor?" he whispers, feeling his cold breath against your skin even through the mask, and you close your eyes. "I could make you feel things you've never felt before𑁋"

"Stop! Please!" You yell out unexpectedly, hearing nothing but the unsteadiness of your breaths and the echo of your own voice in the dim room. Your eyes snap back open; he's not hovering over you, and the disturbing scenario you had just experienced was nothing more than a figment of your imagination.

Instead, Moon Jun is calmly seated away from you, watching you intently from the bed. There's a curious glint in his eyes, one that suggests he's found your reaction to be rather... entertaining.

"Doctor, you do seem to be quite troubled today," he remarks almost playfully, voice dripping with amusement that shoots goosebumps up your skin. "Seeing things, aren't we?"

You can't quite find the words to respond, and the sensation of his cold breath against your skin still lingers in your memory.

"You must think about me a lot, day and night possibly, if you imagine such things," he teases, and you feel the way his words crawl under your skin. "You probably wonder what lies behind this mask of mine, don't you? You're a special friend𑁋perhaps you deserve to see it."

You watch the way his gloved fingers toy with the edges of his mask, and for a moment, it seems like he's contemplating something. The room is so silent that you can hear your own heart pounding in your chest.

Then without warning, he reaches up and slowly starts to peel off the mask, revealing the face hidden beneath. Your breath catches in your throat as his visage is unveiled.

His face is tainted by a network of scars, the skin tissue looking raw and discoloured. The scars extend from his jawline up to his cheeks and forehead, giving his face an almost grotesque and nightmarish appearance. Some scars look like they were caused by something sharp, while others appear more like burns. There were also some that seemed almost... fresher than others. His lips, once hidden by the mask, are twisted into a smirk that sends shivers down your spine.

"You wanted to see, didn't you, doctor?" he asks, voice low and taunting. "You wanted to know what's behind this mask."

You can't tear your gaze away from his disfigured face, and you're overwhelmed by a mix of curiosity, horror, and a strange fascination.

"Are you surprised, doctor?" he continues, voice now tinged with mockery. "Do I look like a monster to you?"

You can't seem to respond just yet, eyes still peering over him as if trying to discern the features of his face. There's this wave of familiarity that seems to hit you, as if you've seen those certain details before. A nagging feeling tugs at the corners of your memory like a half-forgotten dream.

You squint, trying to connect the dots between the disfigured face before you and the dim recollection buried deep within your mind. The way the scars twist and curl, the faint traces of burn marks𑁋it's all so eerily and hauntingly familiar. You swear you've seen those eyes before. He watches your expression closely, as if he can read your thoughts, and those eyes that seem to follow your every move, your every thought𑁋

And then it hits you. It hits you like a freight train on the tracks that was beyond avoidable. It hits you like a tidal wave crashing against the shore of your conscience, leaving wreckage to be abandoned and forgotten forever in its wake. It hits you like a thunderstorm tearing apart a peaceful, sunny day.

"Hui...?" is all you manage to choke out.

Images from the past flash before your eyes𑁋Hui, the young boy you once knew, whose face was marked with troubled innocence and a haunting vulnerability that had drawn you to him in the first place. You had watched him grow, had nurtured the fragile trust he had placed in you. You recall your early sessions together, hearing all the painful details of the fire that had torn his life apart.

His smirk deepens, and his eyes gleam with an uncanny satisfaction.

"Hui died ten years ago, doctor," he says with a cold, haunting certainty. "He died in that same fire that set this place ablaze. I'm sure you remember that very well, don't you?"

The room seems to close in on you, and the memories of that fateful night come rushing back like a torrential downpour. The fire, the chaos, the screams. It had been a nightmarish scene, etched into your memory like the faint scars that plague your arms from that very night.

But before you could respond, you felt something vibrate in your pocket. It's the end of your session.

FLASHBACK: 2013

The fire alarm rang.

It was blaringly loud, completely jolting you out of your chair in the silence that carried through your office. Your heart raced as the panic had begun to sink in, the blood-red light of the alarm painted the muted colours of your office walls with a surreal, macabre-like glow, and the acrid scent of smoke was beginning to fill your lungs.

You reached for the door handle, but your trembling hands fumbled, and it wouldn't budge. You tried again and again, the cold sweat on your palms making it even more difficult to grip.

"Wh-What the hell?" You shakily muttered to yourself, before bringing your fists up to pound on the door. "Hello? Someone help me! I'm in here! Someone!"

The panic intensified as the fire alarm continued its relentless wail as you continued to pound on the door. Smoke started to seep in from the edges of your office door, and you could feel the heat of the flames approaching. You coughed, choking on the sharp fumes that stung your throat. It felt like the walls were closing in on you. Fuck, fuck, what do you do? How the hell was the fire spreading so fast?

You were trapped. You were going to die.

The windows! You remembered the windows. Desperation drove you to the large window on the wall. Instinctively, you grabbed a chair and used it to break it, the sound of shattering glass ringing in your ears, the shards grazing against your skin and the palm of your hands, making you let out a sharp gasp. Blood trickled from the cuts on your hands, and as you peered down to the ground below, you realised that you were too high above the ground for a safe jump.

The fire was only getting closer and closer.

As you hesitated by the shattered window, a muffled voice from the hallway reached your ears. "Is anyone in there? We're trying to get you out!"

Your eyes widened as you stumbled back to the door. "I'm in here! Please help!"

"Step back! We're breaking down the door!"

You stepped back from the window as much as you could and away from the smoke, feeling the flames inching closer. Your vision blurred as you fought to breathe, eyes stinging with tears from the dry air.

Moments later, a loud crash resounded through the room as the door burst open. A group of firefighters rushed in, their protective gear making them look like otherworldly figures emerging from the haze. They quickly located you, wrapped you in a fire-resistant blanket, and led you to safety.

Once you were outside, an emergency medical team checked you over for any injuries, plastered up your arms, and administered oxygen. You were shaken, bruised, and suffering from smoke inhalation, but you were alive. Somehow. In some way.

Then, you found your mind drifting back to Hui. Did he manage to get out safely? Where was he? Questions swirled in your mind as you watched the firefighters work tirelessly to contain the blaze. God, he must not be in the right state of mind after witnessing yet another fire himself.

"Excuse me..." You weakly called out to a paramedic, voice barely a whisper.

The paramedic turned to you, concern etched on their face beneath their protective gear. "Yes, are you okay?"

You swallowed hard, barely getting your words together. "I was in there... in the building. I have some patients... uh... Do you know if they made it out? I need to know if they're safe."

The paramedic exchanged a glance with another passing colleague, eyes hidden behind their mask, before returning back to you and shaking their head.

"We're still searching for survivors and dealing with the fire," they explained. "We can't give you any information right now. I'm truly sorry. I'll let them know to keep a lookout. Can you describe them for me?"

You described what your other patients and what Hui looked like as much as you could, and the emergency worker took down all the information before walking away to tend to others.

The silence that followed was suffocating, perhaps even more than what you endured inside the building, and you found it difficult to hold back tears of frustration from flowing down your face.

As the smoke gradually dissipated and the flames were brought under control, the once-deafening alarm was reduced to sporadic chirps and the occasional distant rumble of falling debris. The scene around you was one of destruction, merely charred remains of a place that was filled with hope and healing.

You glanced down at your trembling, injured hands and arms and see the cuts from the shattered window, yet the physical pain was nothing compared to the anguish in your heart, and the fear and guilt that gnawed at you. You lost patients whom you had sworn to protect, had sworn𑁋no, promised to heal.

It was only when the search and rescue teams began to wind down their efforts that you realised the search for Hui had come with no results. All of your other patients were safe, but him. There was no sign of him anywhere, as if he slipped off the face of the earth.

A firefighter approached you some time later, his face covered in soot appearing both exhausted and empathetic.

"I'm sorry," he spoke, voice heavy with regret and defeat. "We've searched every area we could access, but we haven't found anyone else. The fire was intense, and... I'm truly sorry."

His words hit you like a hammer blow, and you felt your heart sink even further. You had dedicated your life to saving others, and yet it seemed that you might have failed to save one.

"Thank... Thank you for trying," You mumbled to the firefighter, nodding in acknowledgement. "And thank you for risking your lives to save us."

PRESENT DAY: 2023

The clouds outside obscure any hints of sunlight, and the overcast sky casts a sad, grey hue over the world outside. The room feels dim and lonely despite the overhead lights. You try to ignore that particular gnawing feeling to your skin as you sit at your desk, waiting for your next session with Moon Jun to start. It'll happen anytime now𑁋perhaps the more you anticipate will make time go by slower.

However your thoughts are interrupted by the soft knock at your door, and you look up to see Seokmin standing there. He offers you a warm smile as you motion for him to come inside, and you swear you see small ray of sunshine break through the clouds outside at the corner of your eye.

"Hey, how're you holding up?" he asks. "I wanted to check up on you."

You tilt your head a bit giddily at the sight of him. "We just had lunch break together, Seokmin."

He rolls his eyes at this, scratching the back of his neck bashfully. "I know, I know, but I... Well, is there a rule here that says I can't see you twice in one day when we're not working?"

Your lips purse together thoughtfully. "I guess not."

"Good." He grins, but it's quick to fade once he takes another look at you. "so... how have you been?"

The soft concern in Seokmin's voice is almost like a comforting hug for your ragged nerves. Normally it's your duty to ask your patients those kinds of questions, not the other way around. You offer him a tired but appreciative smile as he settles into the chair across from your desk. It's a rare moment when the roles are reversed, even if it's just for one short minute.

"You look tired," Seokmin points out, and it makes you let out a chuckle, even though it's tinged with weariness.

"You have a good eye, Seokmin," You reply playfully, and he blushes at this. "Do you want to know what I've been dreaming about the past few weeks?

Seokmin thinks about it for a second, then his eyes widen slightly.

"Is it... the fire?" he queries, hoping there's that small chance he might be wrong.

Your steady gaze meets his.

"Yes," You admit casually. "It's always the fire."

Or specifically, it's the fire and the guilt that you weren't able to save anyone, and it had been eating away at you ever since that fateful day.

His face softens at this, then he feels himself hesitate for a brief moment, before slowly reaching out to place his hand over yours on the desk. His touch is warm and reassuring, and you can feel the genuine concern in his eyes.

"I-I'm sorry you have to go through that, I wish there was a way I could... you know, stop you from reliving those kinds of things." His words make your lips twitch upwards, and he knows he's done something right. He finishes your smile with one of his own. "But... you're not alone in this. Just know I'm here."

"You've been helping me this entire time, Seokmin," You assure him. "If anything, I should be the one thanking you."

The weight of all the memories and unhealed scars left behind still cling to you like shadows. But in the presence of Seokmin, the burdens seem a little lighter, the darkness a bit less suffocating. The room seems a bit less lonely as you both sit there, just like all the days you eat lunch together where you seem to look forward to seeing him sit with you, and the sound of the clock ticking on the wall serves as a reminder that time keeps moving forward.

Before you know it, it's as if you've been struck by a gong that you could only hear, and you knew it was time to move forward with your session. You take your hand away from Seokmin as you stand up, and he follows suit.

"Y/N, wait, um..." Seokmin stops you before you could leave, and you turn back to him. "If something bad happens, or if you need anything, don't hesitate to reach out to me, even outside of work. I... want to make sure you're okay."

His words warm your heart, and you shoot him a thankful look.

"I know I can," You say, while opening the door to the outside of your office. "Thank you, Seokmin."

When you enter inside room 610, you spot Moon Jun sitting on the chair that you were supposed to sit in, his posture relaxed and arms crossed almost impatiently. He didn't wear the mask on his face, and he appeared confident, somewhat smug. It was the only other chair in the room. The other place for you to sit would be... the bed. This isn't how a typical therapy session begins.

"Doctor, I was just thinking about you!" he exclaims excitedly. "Please, go ahead and sit down on the bed. I thought it would be great to change things up a little. You wouldn't mind, would you?"

You hesitate for a moment, glancing between him and the bed. Maintaining your professionalism, you make your way to the bed and sit down, folding your hands in your lap. Something brushes against your leg for a moment, you look down to see a sheet of paper sitting next to you, and a plethora of crayons resting on top.

"Please bare with me for the mess, I was busy drawing before you came in," he tells you, voice almost cheery and... delighted?

As you sit on the bed, his demeanour only raises more questions than answers. He appears unusually relaxed, and his eagerness is disturbing. It's unlike him.

"Of course, that's fine with me," You tell him casually.

There's a grin that spreads across his scarred face, and it brings an uncomfortable twist to your stomach, but you don't let it show, though at this point you feel that he can sense your nervousness, your unease, knowing there's history between you two you thought to have burned away in the back of your mind.

Yet it had all come back just like his reemergence back into your life𑁋into something more sinister.

"He talks to me sometimes, even though he's perished in the flames," Jun begins, grabbing the paper right next to you. "You remember his drawings, right? Back in that big, bright room... where beneath all those smiles of the other patients was just... hopelessness."

Then he flips the paper over, and you find yourself peering at a drawing of flames, and the uncanny similarity to Hui's artwork all those years ago cannot be ignored. You see the same vivid depiction of flames, the swirling reds and oranges dancing on the page, and the black lines of its remains. But more than that, it's the emotions that these drawings evoke, the overwhelming sense of dread, and the traumatic memories that it unsheathes. He's the personification of the fire that scarred you all those years ago.

You feel a lump form in your throat. "Hui..."

"I-I am not Hui!" he wails out unexpectedly, voice shaking with anger. His hand grips the crayon so tightly that it snaps in his grasp, the colour streaking across the paper. "Hui is dead, remember? Burned by the flames?"

"If you're not Hui, then who are you?" You ask almost pleadingly.

His fingers toy with the broken crayon as he leans in closer, his disfigured face mere inches from yours. His gaze pierces through you like a knife, and in the dimly lit room, the shadows play tricks on his scarred face, making his disfigurement seem even more malformed.

"The phoenix, don't you remember, doctor?" He chuckles lowly. "It's a creature reborn from the ashes of its own destruction, risen from the flames just like me. Rebirth and fire, doctor! You haven't been paying attention, have you?"

You sense the panic seeping inside you, causing your heart to race. His words send shivers down your spine, and you realise that he's explaining with a belief that goes beyond mere delusion, beyond repair. The scars on his face are only a fraction of the damage done. He claims to have risen from the ashes, taking on a new identity, giving him this motive of... cleaning the world with fire.

Cleaning the world...

...with fire.

Ashes of its own destruction....

"You..." You slowly rise up from the bed, the room suddenly feeling too confining. The door seemed like it was miles away, and you find your breathing shaky and unsteady. "You were... you caused those fires, didn't you?"

His eyes fixate and narrow down on you as you stand up from the bed, and a sly smile spreads across his scarred face. His gaze is intense, and you feel like you're trapped. You recall the sessions you had with him years ago that you thought were leading him toward healing. But now, you face a man who has fully embraced a twisted ideology.

"I didn't cause those fires," he responds with eerie calmness. "I simply set things in motion."

"You𑁋You killed innocent people, you were the one... from ten years ago... You𑁋"

"They were all lost, meaningless, and I brought meaning to their lives. What's so hard to understand?" he deadpans.

"You killed your family," You state. "How can... how can you justify that?"

"Hui killed his family, I didn't," he claims, crumpling up the piece of paper in his hands. "Hui started all of this, I'm merely just a follower. He was misunderstood his entire life, and you promised him healing, which you didn't fulfill."

The room feels like it's boiling you alive, and you're stuck in an endless maze of his twisted delusions. There's a sense of helplessness as you try to reach through to the man behind the scars, the one who once sought your help, but you fear that he's too far gone.

"Jun, this isn't the answer. The… the phoenix is not real,” You plead, your voice trembling. "Hui was troubled, yes, but violence is not the path to understanding or redemption. It only leads to more pain and destruction."

His expression only hardens as he throws the crumpled up piece of paper on the floor, gloved hands forming fists at his side.

"You think you can help people by sitting in your comfy chair, listening to their problems, and scribbling notes on a fucking notepad." He scoffs annoyedly, leaning back in his chair. "You're just like all the others, doctor, so dumb and worthless. You never understood... You say that you do, but you don't."

And just as you were about to speak, you watch him pull something out of the pocket of his patient gown. You squint your eyes, and a gasp shudders out of you when you notice what's in his hands.

A lighter.

"You people are just so gullible, all while you're thinking you're helping," he mutters, flicking the lighter on. The tiny flame dances at the tip, casting bizarre shadows across his scarred face. "When in reality, you're laughing behind our backs with your stupid cigarettes and your fancy degrees. You wouldn't believe the things you can find in a place like this. It's amazing what people leave lying around."

There's an arrow that penetrates through your heart, an arrow of betrayal, helplessness. How can he think of you this way when you dedicated your entire time to helping him heal all those years ago? How can he, of all people, not see that your intentions were always to provide support and understanding?

You can feel the room heating up, not just from the small flame but from the growing tension. Jun's eyes are locked onto the flickering fire of the lighter, and his words are plagued with bitter resentment. You attempt to scurry to the door, but he blocks your way, nearly shoving the flame of the lighter in your face.

"Don't you see how beautiful this is, doctor?" he utters in a trance-like state, as if the flame was hypnotising him. The orange and yellow hues reflect onto his soulless eyes. He moves the lighter dangerously close to your face, and you can feel the searing heat radiating from the tiny inferno at the tip of your nose.

Your heart pounds like a beating drum, beads of sweat form on your forehead, and your breathing quickens as panic threatens to engulf you. But his gaze only remains possessed on the fire, as if he's being consumed by the very flames he holds in his hands.

"It's so beautiful how something so small can hold so much power," he murmurs, voice barely more than a whisper.

"This... This isn't the way to find meaning or healing," You respond, slowly backing away from him, trying to create some distance between the flame and yourself. "Fire and destruction only lead to more suffering, more pain. It's not the answer, Jun."

For a split second, something flickers in Jun's eyes, as if a fragment of his former self tries to break free from the shackles of his obsession. But it's a fleeting moment, quickly devoured by his fixation on the fire.

"There are... There are people who want to help you. Don't you remember all of our sessions together? All the... all the breakthroughs we had? You were making progress, Jun. You were on your way to healing." You bring your hand up as if in defense, watching him closely as he steps the tiniest inch closer to you. "I... I want to help you, I always have. I..."

He stares at you, and for a moment, it seems like your words might be getting through to him.

"Let me help you, Hui."

But just when you think your words may have struck a chord, his face contorts into a menacing grin and you can see the flame reflect onto his eyes. The last fragile thread of sanity that seemed to linger has snapped.

"You failed Hui that night, just like you failed me." He chuckles darkly. "You couldn't save us. Do you really think you can save everyone, doctor? Do you really think all the patients you've helped all these years are any better off now?"

Now, you found yourself speechless, a tight grip around your throat from his words.

He laughs coldly, waving the flame in front of your face once more. "You're so blind, doctor. You want to heal and save everyone, but you can't save me, and you can't save yourself. I can see it in your eyes."

He’s getting in your head, you know he is. He's trying to loosen your grip on whatever reality is𑁋attempting to unravel in your mind that you were, in some way, responsible for the events that had occurred over the years, forcing you to succumb to the guilt placed on your shoulders. You've never dealt with someone so deeply rooted to their own twisted reality. You can't reason with him.

It's impossible.

But you refuse to be the victim of your own past just like you had made yourself to be.

"Junhui," You call out urgently, and the use of his real name brings a harsh, foreign taste to your tongue. You notice the way he flinches slightly to it. "That person still exists inside you𑁋I-I know it does. Please, let that part of you come back. I'm here to listen, to understand, and to help. No matter what you believe."

The flame continues to sway at the end of the lighter, yet his face remains deformed into that unsettling grin, but your words seem to have given him a momentary pause.

"You think you can bring him back?" he hisses, bringing the flame away from your face, stretching his arm out toward the side. "He's dead, doctor. It's too late."

And with that, he tosses the lighter in the direction of the bed, and a cascade of flames quickly engulf the sheets, the crayons, the drawing, everything. Horror sets in as you watch the fire rapidly spreading, consuming the room, and overhead the fire alarm screams into action.

"Isn't it beautiful, doctor?" he guffaws as the flames devour the room, eyes wide with awe. "It's so perfect... So beautiful..."

Nothing but Jun's laughter fills the air as he watches the flames lick up the once-white walls with a maniacal fascination. The flames flicker and crackle loudly, casting shifting shadows on the walls of the room. You dart towards the door, but the intense heat and smoke make it nearly impossible to breathe or see, and you cover your mouth and nose with your hand. Coughing and vision disoriented, you stumble and hit the floor with a thud, weakly pounding your fists against the door.

"Someone help!" You shout desperately, the words barely escaping your mouth. "Someone help! I-I'm in here! Anyone, please!"

The room is suffocating you whole. You can hardly even see where Jun is amidst all the smoke, yet his laughter still rings in your ears, fogging away all your thoughts. You keep pounding on the door, voice hoarse from shouting, skin tingling with heat, but there's no response from the other side.

So this is how you're going to die, You think to yourself, leaning back against the wall like you were accepting your fate, and the thought makes you chuckle at the irony.

Time seems to stretch into eternity. But just when it feels like all hope is lost, the door bursts open, and a strong hand reaches in, grabbing your arm and pulling you out of the room and into the chaotic corridor. In the corridor, the fresh air is quick to fill up your lungs. You gasp for breath, your heart racing, while the fire alarm continues to blare.

It's Seokmin who pulled you from the room, and you can hardly make out his face from your stinging, watery eyes. He wraps a protective arm around you as you both stumble away from the dangerous room, mixing with the rushing crowd of staff and patients all being guided outside to their safety.

"Y/N, are you okay?! Stay with me!" Seokmin continues to pull you through the corridor, shielding you from anything that you might run into.

You only manage a weak nod, still coughing from all the smoke. Your mind is racing, and you can hardly tell where you were going, but you trust Seokmin's guidance as he leads you further away from the scene of the fire. The sounds of sirens and shouting surround you, and the sight of the smoke floating out from the room you just escaped haunts your thoughts.

When the brightness of the outside hits your eyes, you catch your breath and fall out of Seokmin's grasp and down to the ground. Firefighters and police officers quickly brush past you and into the building as Seokmin pulls you up once more to lead you in the direction of the paramedics and ambulances.

"Here, sit down." Seokmin places you on the stair of the ambulance and helps you out of your white coat before wrapping a blanket around you. "Can we get some help over here?"

A paramedic approaches, checking you over and providing oxygen to help clear your lungs of all the smoke you inhaled. Your heart is still pounding in your chest as you sit there, trying to process what just happened.

Seokmin places himself right next to you, scanning over your features closely. You look over at him, and he gives you a reassuring smile, pushing away some disheveled strands of hair so he could properly see your face.

"You're going to be okay," he assures you, rubbing some comforting circles on your back. "Just take deep breaths and try to relax. They'll take you to the hospital to make sure you're alright."

You give him a nod, feeling a bit more security from him than the blanket draped over your shoulders right now. The two of you sit there for a few minutes, calmly watching the chaos begin to subside. It didn't look like the fire damaged much in terms of the outside of the building.

"I'm going to see if I could help around," Seokmin says, standing up. "Just stay here, okay? I'll be back before they take you to the hospital."

Just as he begins to walk away, you hesitate for a second, before calling out his name, "Hey, Seokmin?"

He turns back to you, a look of concern in his eyes. "Yes? Do you need something?"

You reach out your hand toward Seokmin, silently gesturing for him to come closer. He approaches, and without a word, you pull him into a tight hug. You feel him freeze in your grasp, before his arms fully encircle you in return, tightening the hug, and for a moment, the world around fades away as you hold onto each other. You can feel his heart beat a bit faster than normal against your chest, but you don't acknowledge it, and neither does he.

Eventually, you reluctantly pull away from the hug, but you don't let go of Seokmin's hand just yet.

"Thank you," You whisper. "for everything."

His gaze softens as he looks at you, before glancing away shyly. It makes you chuckle.

"No need to," he tells you. "I'm... I'm just happy you're safe."

The two of you stay like that for a moment, with you closing your eyes to steady your breathing while Seokmin continues to hold your hand, and you can feel the tension in your body slowly easing.

Seokmin's smile is warm, and he squeezes your hand gently. "I'll be back soon, okay? Just hang in there."

With that, he leaves your side to assist the emergency responders, leaving you seated on the ambulance's stairs, wrapped in a blanket. Your brows furrow together, trying to make sense of the situation and all the events that just transpired. The fear, the confusion, the mania that gripped the lost man back in that room𑁋it all swirls within your mind. The lingering scent of smoke fills your nose, and you swear and you can still feel the heat on your skin even though the air was cool outside.

As you sit there, lost in thought, suddenly feeling disconnected from the world around you, you find yourself questioning the nature of your profession and everything you ever believed about it. Could you have done something differently? Were there signs you missed that might have prevented this particular descent in delusion? Was he right, and you were blind this entire time? Not just for him, but for everyone you've helped?

Were you really this dumb and worthless?

Or perhaps was it impossible to save him this entire time...

...and he was too far gone?

That hefty burden of guilt, both for your inability to help him in the past and in the present, weighs heavily on your shoulders. What's for sure is that this will forever be an image tainted in your mind, scarred just like the man who brought destruction and chaos to your life today, and that particular day ten years ago.

You don't know how long you sat there until Seokmin returns, yet when he comes up to you, his face appears disturbed and... paranoid?

"They've got the fire under control. It didn't spread much farther than the room," he informs you, catching his breath. "It seems like nobody else was hurt."

"That's good to hear." Your eyes roam over his features, taking in the tense expression to his face. "Is... is everything okay? How about..."

He sits down beside you, expression still apprehensive. You can see the flicker of concern in his eyes, and the remnants of the chaos from moments ago are still evident in the way he holds himself. His gaze meets yours, and you notice a small shift in his demeanour, as if there's something he's struggling to express.

Seokmin darts his attention around, as if making sure no one was listening in, before taking a deep breath and leaning in.

"They... They said they didn't find his body in the room," he mutters, and it's so quiet you hardly make out what he says. "It's... It's like he escaped."

Your heart drops. A sinking feeling settles in your chest. Dread washes over you at his words.

"W-What?"

another another note: sorry if u expected some sort of romance w jun (which would kinda be weird for the story tbh), but feel free to imagine whatever u want w our dear seokmin. cgrats on making it to the end of the longest oneshot i’ve made so far on this blog 😍🫶

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @ylliris-hanniehae @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @rubywonu @etherealyoungk

[luna-azzurra]

How To Write A Chase Scene

Before anyone takes off running, the reader needs to know why this matters. The chase can’t just be about two people running, it’s gotta have a reason. Is your hero sprinting for their life because the villain has a knife? Or maybe they’re chasing someone who just stole something valuable, and if they don’t catch them, it’s game over for everyone. Whatever the reason, make it clear early on. The higher the stakes, the more the reader will care about how this chase plays out. They’ll feel that surge of panic, knowing what’s on the line.

Sure, a chase scene is fast, people are running, dodging, maybe even falling. But not every second needs to be at full speed. If it’s too frantic from start to finish, the reader might get numb to the action. Instead, throw in some rhythm. Use quick, sharp sentences when things get intense, like someone stumbling or almost getting caught. But then slow it down for a second. Maybe they hit a dead end or pause to look around. Those brief moments of slow-down add suspense because they feel like the calm before the storm kicks up again.

Don’t let the setting just be a backdrop. The world around them should become a part of the chase. Maybe they’re tearing through a marketplace, dodging carts and knocking over tables, or sprinting down alleyways with trash cans crashing behind them. If they’re running through the woods, you’ve got low-hanging branches, roots, slippery mud, and the constant threat of tripping. Describing the environment makes the scene more vivid, but it also adds layers of tension. It’s not just two people running in a straight line, it’s two people trying to navigate through chaos.

Running isn’t easy, especially when you’re running for your life. This isn’t some smooth, graceful sprint where they look cool the whole time. Your character’s lungs should be burning, their legs aching, maybe their side starts to cramp. They’re gasping for air, barely holding it together. These details will remind the reader that this chase is taking a real toll. And the harder it gets for your character to keep going, the more the tension ramps up because the reader will wonder if they’ll actually make it.

Don’t make it too easy. The villain should almost catch your hero or the hero should almost grab the villain. But something happens last second to change the outcome. Maybe the villain’s fingers brush the hero’s coat as they sprint around a corner, but they manage to slip out of reach just in time. Or maybe your hero almost gets close enough to tackle the villain, but slips on some gravel, losing precious seconds.

And Don’t let the chase end in a way that feels too predictable. Whether your character gets away or is caught, it should be because of something clever. Maybe they spot a hiding place that’s almost impossible to notice, or they use their surroundings to mislead their pursuer. Or, the person chasing them pulls a fast one, Laying a trap, cutting off their escape route, or sending the hero down the wrong path. You want the end to feel earned, like it took quick thinking and ingenuity, not just dumb luck or fate.

[saeist]

it's no secret to the public that itoshi sae is allegedly in a relationship

there has been speculations from media outlets that the soccer superstar, re al's famed midfielder has been seeing someone behind the public eyes. some sources say he is dating a famous model while some say he's seeing a local girl next door he met at some coffee shop in the streets of madrid

but who really knows?

recently though, a mystery woman (you) has been seen around sae's known manager. you were chatting along with the man that has been with sae since he was 14 when he first moved to madrid. knowing that sae doesn't really hang out with his peers that much, this was certainly a little odd to say the least

who are you to itoshi sae and why are you seemingly close with his team?

this caused an uproar with the media. for the next following weeks after your first appearance with his manager, all interviewees and reporters questions towards sae was "who was the mystery woman seen with your manager?"

sae simply brushes them off with his infamous blunt short ended answers but he manages to shake these media reporters off his back

for now.

however, one candid shot by his fan changed everything

it was just an innocent picture of sae walking along the boarding gates of madrid's international airport when you had accidentally walked into the frame mid picture, wearing what seems to be his tracksuit jacket that's typically reserved for players

so that could only mean one thing..

twitter and tiktok blew up overnight and re al's pr team (mostly sae's team) was in shambles

articles after articles being published left to right about speculations and insider scoops about who you are and your relationship with sae. luckily, you aren't in the spotlight and long before you even started seeing the famed midfielder, your social media accounts were always on private. you had little to no information about you on the internet much to sae's delight. this way his fans and the media that he hates so much can't say much about you since there was nothing to report about you

it's a win win situation

or so he thinks

sae tried. sae tried so hard to keep his relationship off the public's eye but since he was a high profile athlete, all eyes and cameras were almost (if not) always directed at him whether he likes it or not. it's hard to keep things like a whole relationship a secret

it didn't help that sae had managed to tick off a referee during an official game causing him to get suspended for the next 5 official games. something about vulgar language being thrown around. whatever, sae probably meant every single word he threw out in the field. referee or not, sae does not give a single fuck

maybe all this speculation of his profound relationship was getting to him the way he was ticked off by every little thing his team was telling him to do like "don't get caught again" or "try to lower the attitude" and the likes

and how does sae react to his suspension plus all the reprimanding from his pr team? he decides to metaphorically say 'fuck you, fuck this and fuck everything i'm going to expose myself and my relationship so you all could hop off our dicks' by showing up to the next official re al game with you

it was his first official game where he sits out of the match. there he was in all his glory, seated comfortably on the vip section of re al's home stadium all cozy with you, his long time partner

the very same partner that's been seen with his manager and the mystery woman on the infamous itoshi sae airport sighting photo that went viral on twitter a few weeks ago

sae fails to hold in his smirk when all the camera flashes were aimed at him instead of the ongoing game. even if he was off the field, he still manages to take control and lead the scene. talk about immense star power. literally and figuratively

sae leans back on the cushioned seats, lazily throwing an arm around you. pulling you plush against him after hearing whispers and gasps all around the stadium after arriving

he decides to take it up a notch by leaning towards your ear to whisper something, seeing that you were skittish and fidgeting with your hands with all the attention being directly onto you

"relax," sae murmurs in your ear, causing you to tense up as you were not used to all this. if you were being honest, you would've preferred to be kept away from the limelight

"i'm trying. it's just weird feeling all eyes are on us right now" you mumble, strictly keeping your hands on your lap

sae shrugs, turning around to look at all the cameras before he simply mouths, "enjoy the game" before turning back around to watch the game before him

though its looking like no one seems to care about the match anymore. not when the suspended soccer superstar itoshi sae just basically hard launched his relationship after getting suspended from official matches

even if you guys don't check, you all know that social media is going crazy right now. everyone is tweeting, posting about this one hell of a way to hard launch a relationship— unapologetic, direct and straight to the point, just like his passes

you glance at sae, expecting some kind of reaction. maybe a smirk, a knowing smile, the typical bitch face he makes when reporters are around but no. his face remains stoic and calm. not a single thought behind those teal eyes that's just watching the game below without a single care in the world

like the world isn't going crazy at what he just did

that's when you realize something. all these flashing lights, cameras, reporters and the like are nothing to him. it's not another misleading headlines for articles, it's not just a moment, this is him showing to everyone that if you mess with him, he's going to hit back harder in ways you don't expect him to

for what itoshi sae is, he once again proves that he is untouchable

after all, in itoshi sae's world and everyone (with the exception of you) is just living in it

[ginalinettiofficial]

reading a nice lovey beautiful fic and then it flashes forward to dramatic shit to come then back to the main timeline. author are u aware that u r giving me ANXIETY ???????

[cipheramnesia]

I'm stuck on thinking about the person saying, "Why are they shooting at that dog?" during the opening scenes of The Thing. It's a funny story, but I can't help realizing how many modern movie producers think the same way.

The modern producer would watch that sequence and have notes. Put in an explainer, he'd say, and have the Norwegian lines in English or at least subtitled so the audience can understand what's happening. The dog should get hit by a bullet with a close up so we can see it heal, that way the audience really knows what's up! And he'd pat himself on the back for how much better he made it.

I find myself connecting this to movies more and more trying to keep the plot under wraps, so secret even the actors don't know what they're filming! The audience will really be wowed with the surprise of learning what happens in the plot! That's what suspense and mystery are, after all - not knowing a thing and finding it out. Nothing to it.

There's something to it, this new idea that keeping the plot secret is suddenly hugely important while simultaneously insisting everything is always explained. There can't be a moment anyone knows what's happening before paying for the movie, and there cannot be a single second a paying customer is unsure, or even a little worried, by anything the second they've parted with their money. If you pay your shot and punch your ticket you get everything delivered to the base of your brain in a cup of easily digestible slurry.

Anyway, not all movies and all that, but I think a whole bunch of producers are pleased as punch these days at how much better they are at suspense and mystery.

[ao3lestappeninchident]

Can you do yapper Max where he comes back from night out and is drunk. Reader tries to help him get ready for bed and he just tells her the most random things

Drunk yapping

Max verstappen x reader

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰

You were seated on the couch, blanket firm in your hands as the tenth plot twist happened in your horror movie. A soft yell left your mouth by the look of a couple cut of limbs as the scene became black. The music added a high suspense to the whole movement as you wanted to look away. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to watch it alone and without Max home, you thought.

The camera moved to an abandoned staircase as the music became louder and louder. Just when a door moved open and a face came out, a knock on the moved your attention away. You paused it and got up from the couch to walk towards the door. Looking trough the eye whole you saw Daniel holding Max in his hands.

You smile as you open up the door. Max was losely hanging into Daniels side as he kept on rambling his mouth. Daniel looked a bit irritated, but his smile was as big as ever. "Hi, y/n. I am sorry if I woke you, but Max is being a pain in my ass." you laughed as you made room for Daniel to walk inside. The Australian throws Max on the couch and a loud giggle is heard from your boyfriend.

"Don't worry. I know how Max is when he has a bit too much to drink. I hope he wasn't too annoying." you walked towards the kitchen to grab two glasses of water, Daniel may be less drunk but it was clear he had something to drink too. He thanked you as you gave him a glass of water before moving to sit next to Max.

You held out the glass of water for Max to grab. Max grabs the glass of water and shoots it down his throat like a shot. He sets the glass on the table with trouble and he groans before laying his head in your lap.

Daniel laughs at his friend's antics before walking to the door, "I leave you alone. Carlos is waiting for me in the car. And no, he did not drink." you wave him goodbye and you are left alone with your drunken boyfriend.

"Did you have fun?" you move your fingers through his hair and he nods. Max looks so pretty like this. His hair is ruined and standing in every way, his cheeks are flushing red and the top buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned. He always get it hot when he drowns his third G&T of the night.

"Very, but I did miss you. No one wanted to talk to me." Max pouts and you let out a little laugh at the adoring side. "Every time I said something, they moved away."

You stood up from the couch, "You can tell them to me while we get you ready for bed." Max face lits up and he stands up next to you. He stumbles a bit over his feet and you are quick to grab him by his arms. Together you walk to the bedroom as Max begins to speak.

"There was a cat tonight. I don't know how he made it inside, but he walked up to me, so of course I had to cuddle with him. Did you know cats have 30 teeth. I accidentally moved too close to a place he didn't like and I felt his teeth and you saw like a lot. I didn't hurt, he couldn't help it. " Max rambled and you listened closely to what he said. Of course the first thing was about cats, when didn't he talk about cats?

You helped him sit down on a chair in the corner of the bedroom and walked to the dresser to grab some pajamas. " I did not know they had 30 teeth. It is a surprise you didn't take him home."

"I wanted to, but a security person grabbed it from my hands to bring it outside. I couldn't find him after." Max answered with a sad tone. You saw how he had tried to untie his shoes, but the ties were now pulled fast instead of lose. You shook your head and knelt down you untied them. Max had to keep himself from falling backwards as his eyes close from the busy night.

"People always think cats like milk, but they are actually lactose intolerant. They aren't able to digest the lactose and if they have too much they will be vomiting. Of course a little bit wouldn't hurt too much, but too much is bad for them." Max slurred over his words as you finally pulled off his shoes. "Thank you,"

"Also i read somewhere that animals can have a different time feeling then humans. Smaller animals need more time to progress the movements and time will be slower for them. Like a lizard has slower time then a cat, but a tiger would be further in time than a cat. So technical animals and humans live in different time zones."

"That's strange. That they all live in different moment of time. " you answer while pulling his shirt over his head. "Hands up," you say and Max arms shoot in the air, almost hitting your face by accident, but he is too tired to see. You laugh as you try to pull on his pajama shirt, wich you know if going to be thrown of in the middle of the night when he has it to warm.

After some time Max had finished his teeth and was now sitting on the edge of the bed while you put on your pajama. "Thank you for helping me."

"No worries." you kiss his head and he pulls you in for a hug. "Lets get some rest tonight."

[shadows-shells]

liveblogging: 2k3 S6E23 'DNA Is Thicker Than Water'

(why did it take me half a lifetime to notice this visual parallel, diabolical)

The Dark Turtles make me so sad, seriously. It's an outright dystopic fate, living without safety or love under the cruel control of Darius Dunn. They don't even have names 💀 Less than 12 differences in their genomes between Leo and Dark Leo, the show makes a point of emphasising. Less than 12 - and where Leo is smug after gently pointing out that kindness comes around, Dark Leo is smugly anticipating them falling for his ruse and trap. That's a world of difference right there.

it surprises me on a rewatch how OBVIOUS Dark Leo's ruse is. The Dark Turtles were winning the fight - and then fled once Dark Leo is injured. Their objective was clearly to leave Dark Leo there to infiltrate/sabotage - but the narrative POV following the younger, naive Cody primes the audience to see Raphael's blunt skepticism as pure unsympathetic cynicism. They decide to give Dark Leo a chance, because his injuries require immediate medical treatment (Dark Don overdid it, probably).

at the 08:05 mark: Dark Leo and Leo consecutively saying "poison?" in offense but you can hear the slight difference, chef's kiss, ASMR, Michael Sinterniklaas SERVED the whole series 💯

The sheer offense in Raph's tone when told Dark Leo is almost a perfect genetic copy to his brother 🤣 "Leo's Leo, and THAT is a mess." Savage. The team discussion is an interesting look into Leo's leadership style behind-the-scenes/off the battlefield. Everyone sitting in a circle, Cody having been won over by the life-saving, Don willing to try this out...Raph thinks this direction of thinking is cray and he openly says so. But without directly attacking anyone, he instead takes this to Leo: "Leo, come on, you're not buying this, are ya?" That is admirable restraint right there, when older audiences know Raphael is 100% right and this is an important matter of their family's safety. i don't think it's a coincidence that they show that Leo barely spoke except when asking for opinions. It gives a more 'listener' and 'panel facilitator' vibe, a more collaborative atmosphere. The end of the discussion was not shown either (deciding to let Dark Leo join them at the family table) - probably mostly to maintain narrative suspense and pacing - but it also softens Leo, in leaving out the 'decision' and focusing on the 'discussion'. Right after the family breakfast test? Leo asks outright for everyone's evaluations. He's listening, encouraging discussion, compromising between standpoints and always making sure no one gets injured. The whole team is visibly used to brainstorming and collaborating, that the '87 team frustrated Raph enough to (re)raise the issue to Leo in 'Turtles Forever' ("Leo i TOLD ya you can't brainstorm with these bozos" 😂)

i love that Raph unhesitantly raises his objections to Leo and clearly expects a solution/direction. That is trust right there - given to a leader Raph has judged deserving. i will forever blame other incarnations for a less-wholesome and more-petty-rivalry dynamic between them. It can be a satisfyingly angsty dynamic for sure but it is not one that is faithful to the 2k3 canon.

Mikey losing appetite at Dark Leo's table manners 😂 you know it's bad when a teenaged athlete loses appetite LOL (4 meals+a snack everyday and yet i was STILL ALWAYS starving)

Don catches the inconsistency when Dark Leo was 'struggling' with the physical test; Raph steps in to rile Dark Leo up and force him to show his true strength. That's a nice bit of teamwork.

And Leo had his hand on his blade ready to draw, both times, when Don was first releasing Dark Leo for the physical test and when Dark Leo was getting into Raph's face. Yes, Leo wanted to give Dark Leo a chance, making the initial executive decision to take him in - but he is neither stupid nor naive, or careless.

Splinter's story about the scorpion and the frog is an unhappy cynical fable. i imagine Splinter told it as a cautionary tale to young reckless turtles to help keep them safe. 

Leo presents the fable here as an opportunity and open question for his clone. Dark Leo seemed to waver, when Leo was still extending a second chance to him (saying that they can all still turn back and discuss options the next morning). 

But i think Leo lost him, when Leo accurately pointed out that Dark Leo had inner conflict about what he is and who he wants to be. Leo did hit a nerve there, and Dark Leo doesn't want that vulnerability and intimacy with him. 

Leo is disappointed, but also not surprised. The frog in Splinter's story was shocked, where Leo was not - but i do think the part of Leo that was hoping Dark Leo could someday become a fourth brother did die, too. 

i think the most tragic part of it was that Dark Leo, in his 'reformed redeemed' act, did waver. He WAS almost there. And the whole act is basically improv - while the turtles' compassionate reactions and decisions can be predicted to some extent - i don't believe the clones knew the team+Splinter+Cody well enough to script the whole act. 

On SOME level, Dark Leo could think up and deliver those redeeming thoughts and dialogue (only to reject them). The theming of Fast Forward was never going to deliver the creepy Gothic doppelganger atmosphere that teenaged me wanted, or go into existential horror like the Lovecraftian Volpehart episode did - but it stands up to scrutiny, beneath the bright colour palettes and narrative framing. The most dedicated and self-sacrificing brother we know, gone 'wrong'...that is an existential horror premise all on its own. 

Dark Leo IS Leo gone wrong...but he did not have to be, and thankfully the ending shows that he won't always be.  i do think it's worth noting that the voice direction and acting had Dark Leo upset when calling himself a scorpion - instead of gleeful or prideful or even just calm.

it is poignant that Leo in the end admits he hates that scorpion story, when Raphael mentions the fable. Leo, the most guarded and strategic brother by necessity - prefers to trust, wants to be optimistic...but life has made him a practical, paranoid man of contingencies and clear-eyed wariness. 

S6 Leo was never going to be openly critical/blunt the way a righteously-angry Raph can be - but he did not shut Cody's naive optimism down, either, where he can and has shut down shenanigans from rowdier people. He had hoped Cody could be right. 

People have betrayed and disappointed Leo before - most painfully of all, himself - and this won't be the last. It is still hopeful and heartening to think, that despite all of it, Leo will continue to extend the benefit of the doubt while keeping clear-eyed awareness. 

This is a nice balance, between Don&Mike's relative idealism and Raph's decisive skepticism. It is so valuable to the team and as a leader, for Leo to be able to understand and reconcile the full spectrum of viewpoints. 

This is a new maturity, that S1's too-trusting-too-inexperienced Leo and earlyS4's too-cynical-too-pessimistic Leo did not have. im happy for our boi!

The ending to this ep is open and hopeful. While the turtles never get to find out that their kindness and mercy DID make a difference - it DID make a difference, and i'm hopeful that things will gradually change. All those fics writing the dark turtles eventually spiralling upward and getting away from Darius are 100% canon in my book!

im SO glad they made this ep hahaha. for me at least this ep alone could justify the whole season ☺️

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Archive link because paywall but LOOK WHAT'S IN THE TIMES. CLOWNFALL BEHIND THE SCENES. https://archive.is/GdLCM

Oh DAAAAAAAAMN

God there's so much in this but let's start with:

November 7 I am blessed with the use of a car to share with Commons leader Penny Mordaunt. On its first outing, the government car service sends a very pleasant driver who has clearly never been outside the M25 and is totally unfamiliar with the rural, unlit lanes of west Wales. We crawl along, following the verge in and out of every yard and gateway until we get to a road with white lines, where normality is restored.

Lmao.

BUT HOLY SHIT THERE'S SOME GOLD HERE. My favourite entry:

January 11, 2023 Just before PMQs we get a call to say one of our MPs, Andrew Bridgen, has made a Twitter connection between the vaccine rollout and the Holocaust. No 10 is initially inclined to “demand an apology” but due to Bridgen being an utter knob, we agree the more decisive and meaningful course of action is to suspend the whip with “immediate effect”. The antivaxers go spare; to them our move confirms the Deep State is at work. The reality is he is a malevolent creep whom nobody likes, and we really don’t need him in our party. A massive cheer goes up in the whips’ office when I tell them.

Get fucked Andrew you disgustoid.

Meanwhile:

June 7/8 Harriet Harman calls by to tell me her privileges committee will publish the report into Boris [Johnson] on June 29 and hand it to him on Friday at noon. It will recommend a 20-day suspension, which will almost certainly result in a recall motion and by-election. Brace for impact. I speak to BoJo, who is questioning whether there is any procedural route by which we can kill off the report or at least vote it down. In any normal circumstances, a former PM asking for special treatment would be a big deal but this being Boris, it doesn’t surprise me at all. Worryingly, it doesn’t even annoy me that much either. So I remind him, as nicely as I can, that it was he who set up this process, he who approved its terms of reference and he who accepted Harriet Harman as its chair. “But I was in India and I wasn’t concentrating,” comes the reply. “I left it all to the whips.” Not sure that will wash, even if it were true.

GOD I'm so glad he's gone. Fucking hell, you get away from the crass incompetence of that fucking buffering pig-stuffed buffoon mask for a couple of years and your mind heals and forgets just how bad he was.

July 6 The standards committee publishes its report on Chris Pincher (accused of groping a young man), concluding with an eight-week suspension. He is finished. On the face of it, the sentence seems unbelievably harsh given he has lost his job, all his money and most of his friends. On the other hand, maybe we are all discovering that “squeezing people’s arses” is not acceptable, however fleetingly or however drunken the circumstances.

Yeah, Simon, maybe you are learning sexual harassment is not acceptable, Jesus Christ. I also managed to forget the extent to which Simon Hart is Mammy's Specialest Turd. But that's actually a good thing, because this whole thing is written as him just having the most increasingly stressful year of his entire life as Tory after Tory goes to an orgy and shits on someone's head, or goes to a party dressed as Jimmy Saville and fucks a blow-up doll, or Suella Happens Again. The whole thing is increasingly written like he wants to cry, but also like he's the One Reasonable Man in the whole place; particularly interesting is the way he tries to throw others under the bus when he was all on board with their shit while in power.

Anyway. Christ I'm glad to see the back of them all.

[twstedfreak]

The Disappearance of Y/N L/N | PRELUDE - 00

Pairings: Various! JJK x Reader (Sukuna, Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Naoya, Toji)

Synopsis: Y/N L/N has vanished without a trace, leaving behind only a trail of confusion and unanswered questions. Sukuna, Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Naoya, and Toji are all pulled into the investigation, each one a suspect. They all believe Y/N is still out there, but none of them know what really happened. Their fragmented memories and conflicting stories of their last encounters with Y/N only deepen the mystery. As Detective Higuruma digs deeper into their pasts, he uncovers dark secrets and hidden motives, but the truth remains just out of reach.

Genre: Dark Romance(?), Mystery, Thriller, Psychological

Warnings: Mature Themes, Mentions of Death, Violence, Abandonment, Graphic Descriptions (crime scene), Trauma, Psychological Distress, Unreliable Narrator

A/N: Hey, it's been a while, but I’m back! Here’s the start of The Disappearance of Y/N L/N. If you like stories where a character lingers in the background and haunts the narrative (you know, that character), then you’re in the right place. This one's got a little mystery, a little kick, a little suspense, and a whole lot of unanswered questions. Hope you enjoy the ride! and as always, thanks for reading! I really appreciate the follow, reblogs, and likes so w/o further adeu,, let's all begin :3

teaser | masterlist | drabbles | headcanon | playlist

—Some people vanish quietly. She didn’t.

The rain hadn’t stopped for three days. The city pulsed under a curtain of gray, neon signs bleeding color through the wet streets. Inside the station, Detective Hiromi Higuruma stood before a case file that hadn’t been touched in weeks—until now.

Y/N L/N.

Age: 25.

Status: Missing.

Presumed deceased.

No body. No note. No witnesses. Just absence.

The kind that wraps itself around you like smoke—clinging, stinging, impossible to ignore.

He flipped open the folder, slow and careful. Her photo was clipped to the front page, eyes too alive for a still image, lips curled slightly like she was about to laugh—or lie. It unsettled him. Most victims’ photos looked hollow, frozen in the past. Hers seemed to look back.

She had disappeared six months ago. No signs of struggle. No sign she ever planned to leave. Just a single call to emergency dispatch—never traced—then silence.

There was no family listed. No one had come forward when she vanished. No concerned boyfriend, no best friend sobbing into the receiver. Only one person had even noticed she was gone.

An elderly woman from the neighboring apartment.

Hiromi’s jaw clenched as he read over her initial statement again, scribbled in loose, looping handwriting with parts underlined and circled.

"She waters her plants every morning. Always the same time. I could hear her singing to them sometimes. But then… she just stopped." "The cat started meowing more. Crying at the door. I saw it getting thinner. Day by day. I knew something was wrong when the leaves by her doorway started to brown. She never let them wither." "I called the tenant. Told him something was wrong. We went in." "Her apartment—it looked like someone had been living there and then just left. Just… left. Plates were still on the table. Food rotting. Worms in it. The sink had dirty water. Like she got up in the middle of lunch and never came back. The cat was still inside. Barely alive." "Please find her. That sweet girl. Where could she have gone to..."

Hiromi imagined the scene. The stench. The silence. The way abandonment settles into a room like mildew. Her cat, bones beneath its fur, curling into itself, waiting.

And the apartment, it told a story, even if no one else would. No signs of forced entry. No indication of a struggle. Nothing stolen. No signs of packing. It was as if she’d simply evaporated into the walls.

That’s what got to him.

He’d seen crime scenes drenched in violence. But this? This was worse. This was absence. An unnatural quiet. Like she had been erased.

Hiromi leaned back in his chair, the old wood creaking beneath him. The city outside blurred through the glass—neon signs bleeding red and electric blue onto slick pavement. Tokyo was wide awake, uncaring. But inside this file, inside this room, was something unfinished. Something rotting.

The more he read, the less he understood.

Until he found the envelope.

Tucked at the back of the file was a thin, unmarked envelope. It hadn’t come with the report. There was no label, no sender. Just one handwritten note on the outside.

“Reopen. Start with them.”

Tucked inside the folder were names. Six of them.

He read them once. Then again.

Ryomen Sukuna

Satoru Gojo

Suguru Geto

Kento Nanami

Toji Fushiguro

Naoya Zen’in

No prior connection between them, not on paper. No overlapping records. No reason to suspect them, yet here they were, listed under Persons of Interest. Not suspects. Not witnesses. Just men with suspicions.

Y/N.

What stood out wasn’t their reputations— all though some were notorious in their own right, it was how different they were. Different lives, different worlds. And yet, somehow, all tangled up in hers.

The deeper Hiromi read, the stranger it got. No official record of romantic ties. No clear motive. But there were letters. Notes. Photos. Snapshots of a woman who meant something different to each of them. A chameleon. A muse. A mistake. A memory.

It was like piecing together a puzzle where every piece belonged to a different picture.

Still… No one had reported her missing.

Not one of them.

That bothered him the most.

He sat back in his chair, the storm outside echoing his thoughts. Any time now, he’d begin the interviews. But for now, all he had were names and questions and the heavy knowledge that someone wasn’t telling true.

Was Y/N dead?

Perhaps, she is alive.. somewhere

Was she hiding?

And if she was hiding... from who?

But what terrified Hiromi wasn’t what they would say. It was what they wouldn’t.

Two months have passed.

A girl with no trace. An apartment like a tomb. A cat barely breathing, clinging to hope in the only way it knew how.

And now, six men. Each one who might have a story.

But only one of them, Hiromi was certain, would know the truth.

And the truth? It would not come easy.

This wasn’t just a missing person case.

He was intrigued.

Maybe, this was something else.

Maybe something cold.

Maybe something violent.

Maybe something personal.

. . . . Who knows?

“Someone needs to be looking for this girl.”

The next morning came with no sun. Just a dull, smothered sky pressing down on the city like a weight. Hiromi walked into the precinct with the file under his arm and the envelope of names secured inside. The halls were half-awake, the scent of burnt coffee and cold sweat lingering like ghosts from the night shift.

He didn’t wait to be called in. He headed straight for the chief's office.

Detective Masuda barely looked up from his desk when Hiromi entered. He was an old dog, worn thin by decades of rot in the system, and even thinner on patience. His tie was crooked. His shirt wrinkled. But his eyes, sharp as broken glass lifted the moment he saw the folder in Hiromi's hand.

"You're early," Masuda muttered, leaning back.

"I'm taking the L/N case," Hiromi said, setting the folder on the desk with a dull thud. "Nearly two months missing. No family, no formal report, but a witness. We’ve got signs of abandonment, starvation, possible neglect, and names. Some big ones."

Masuda raised an eyebrow. "You're wasting your time on a cold ghost story?"

Hiromi’s tone didn’t waver. "It's not cold. It’s buried. There's a difference."

Then, Hiromi reached into the file—past the grainy photographs, past the neighbor’s written testimony, past the preliminary notes from the patrol officer who first stepped into that hollowed-out apartment.

He pulled out a plain, creased envelope.

Unmarked. No return address. No police seal. Just a thin fold of paper that felt heavier than the rest of the file.

He slid it across Masuda’s desk with two fingers, slow and deliberate.

"Look at this," Hiromi said, his voice low, unreadable. “Someone wanted this case reopened.”

Masuda raised an eyebrow, then opened it.

Inside were six names, printed on a small sheet of paper like they’d been clipped from some confidential database. Clean type. No context. No explanation. But they hit like a punch.

Ryomen Sukuna.

Satoru Gojo.

Suguru Geto.

Kento Nanami.

Toji Fushiguro.

Naoya Zen’in.

Masuda’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you proposing?”

Hiromi straightened. “I’m requesting search warrants. For her apartment. For their personal records. Surveillance near her building from the last 90 days. We reopen this case—formally.”

There was a pause. The silence between two men who had seen enough in their lives to recognize when something felt off.

“You’re going to stir up a hornet’s nest,” Masuda warned. “These men. Some of them have influence. Money. Ties to people who don’t like being watched.”

“I don’t care,” Hiromi said. “There’s a girl no one’s looking for. And the longer she stays missing, the colder she gets.”

Masuda looked at Hiromi and frowned as he reached for the file. 

He frowned.

“I know some of these names,” he muttered. “Whispers. Trouble. One of them’s a consultant for a private security firm, isn’t he? Another was tied to that Shibuya case, but never charged.”

Hiromi nodded slowly. “They all move in different circles. None of them clean. None of them ever in the same room at the same time. But somehow , it seems like they’re all connected to her.”

“And you’re saying this girl… Y/N…?”

“She’s the thread,” Hiromi replied. “I think she somehow ran through each of their lives like clockwork. One by one. I don’t know what she meant to them, or what they meant to her. But she’s gone. And they’re all still here.”

He leaned forward now, tone darker. “But not one of them filed a report. Not one of them called to check in. Not one of them even pretended to be concerned.”

Masuda exhaled slowly, tension creasing his brow. He looked down at the names again, like they might rearrange themselves into something less dangerous. But they didn’t.

Hiromi’s voice dropped to a near-whisper.

Hiromi didn’t stop with just the names.

He reached into the envelope again, this time pulling out a series of photographs—old, slightly worn, printed on glossy paper like someone had developed them by hand. Not police-issue. Not digital. Personal.

He laid them out on Masuda’s desk, one by one, like cards in a tarot reading.

The room seemed to quiet with each photo placed down. You could nearly hear a pin drop.

First Photo:

It wasn’t a posed photo. It looked like it wasn’t meant to be taken at all.

The grain of the image suggested it came from an old CCTV still or maybe a camera phone shot from behind tinted glass. Y/N was sitting on the floor of what looked like a stairwell—somewhere dim and industrial, like the back exit of a club. Her knees were tucked to her chest, cheek resting on them, hair messy, mascara smeared like she’d been crying.

Sukuna Ryomen was standing a few feet away, partially turned, as if caught mid-motion. His fists were clenched, jaw tight, but he wasn’t looking at her—he was looking at whoever took the picture.

His stare was dead-on. Unblinking.

Unmistakably a threat.

The only thing more chilling than the fury in his eyes was the stillness in hers. Not scared. Not begging. Just… resigned.

It wasn’t a couple caught in a sweet moment.

It looked like the last quiet moment before something terrible happened.

Second Photo:

It wasn’t the typical carefree shot. At first glance, it seemed playful enough—Y/N and Satoru Gojo laughing at something only he could’ve said, her mouth open in a wide grin, eyes squinting from the brightness of the neon lights reflecting off her face. Gojo’s trademark shades were pushed up to the top of his head, his grin wide, almost too wide.

But there was something off.

Y/N was leaning back, hands bracing against a wall as if she was about to pull away—but Gojo’s hand was still on her wrist, fingers curled around it tightly, a little too tightly. The carefree nature of the moment felt staged, the way he kept her just close enough to hold on—and the look in her eyes was no longer one of amusement. There was a flicker of unease, a momentary hesitation before her smile flickered and she tilted her head, like she was waiting for something.

Third Photo:

This wasn’t a photo that seemed like it belonged in a keepsake album. It looked like a stolen moment—an uncomfortable one. Y/N and Suguru Geto were in a photo booth, yes, but there was no fun, no laughter. The graininess of the image made it almost feel like it had been taken from some hidden corner.

In the first frame, Y/N was giving a peace sign, but her smile was strained, too tight. Her eyes weren’t on the camera, they were glancing sideways at Geto, as if she had just said something, but his reaction didn’t match her expression. 

It seems like his hand was resting on her knee in the second frame, and while she looked down at it with an almost imperceptible frown, his fingers were draped too casually. The tension between them was palpable, even in black and white.

In the third frame, she leaned in closer, but instead of the intimacy one might expect, her shoulders were stiff, her body angled away from him. Geto, on the other hand, stared straight into the camera with an unnerving, cold intensity, his eyes unwavering. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t even pretending to.

In the final frame, her peace sign had dropped. Her face was half-turned, lips parted as if she was about to say something, but the silence in the booth felt suffocating. Geto’s gaze, though, never wavered—sharp, calculating, as though he was looking right through her.

This wasn’t a photo of affection.

Fourth Photo:

This was not a moment anyone would expect from Kento Nanami. The photo showed him and Y/N in what seemed like an ordinary moment at a cozy, well-lit café—her hands wrapped around a coffee cup, his resting on the table beside her. They were sitting close, but something about the image made it feel wrong.

Y/N’s expression wasn’t one of comfort; it was a mixture of betrayal and shock. Her lips were slightly parted, but she wasn’t speaking. Her eyes were focused on something—no, someone—behind the camera, and the tension was palpable. Nanami’s face was unreadable, but his eyes, usually calm and steady, had a flicker of something unsettling—guilt? Regret? His hand, which was placed casually on the table, was pressed against hers in a manner that, on the surface, seemed simple. But looking closer, you could see the slight tremble in his fingers, like he was holding back something. His eyes never met hers, not in the way they should have. Instead, he was staring down at the table, at the spot where their hands touched.

What was truly shocking, though, was the small, crumpled letter partially visible under the coffee cup, its edges bent from being squeezed too tightly. It was addressed to Y/N. But there was no smile, no warmth in her expression. Instead, there was a quiet, unspoken question hanging between them.

Had he written the letter? Had he given it to her? And why was it so clear from the photo that she was already done, even if she hadn’t said a word?It wasn’t a moment of love or affection. It was a moment frozen between a decision and a realization, the weight of something left unsaid hanging heavily between them.

Fifth Photo:

The photo was nothing like anyone would expect from Toji Fushiguro. He was known for his cold demeanor, but this shot caught him at his most vulnerable—at least, in a way no one would have anticipated. Y/N and Toji were locked in a heated kiss, but it wasn’t romantic—it was almost primal. His hand was tangled in her hair, gripping it with a force that made her head tilt back, exposing the vulnerable line of her throat. There was no gentle approach here. No slow build. It was pure, raw need.

Y/N, completely caught up in the moment, looked a mess. Her lipstick was smudged, her hair was tangled and falling wildly around her face, and her eyes—when they weren’t squeezed shut—held a dazed and frenzied look, as if she couldn’t even fully comprehend what was happening. In one hand, she carelessly held a cigarette, the smoke curling up toward the ceiling, forgotten and almost abandoned, as if it didn’t matter in this moment. Her other hand was gripping the back of Toji’s neck, nails digging into his skin, as if she were holding on for dear life.

The intensity between them was palpable, raw—there was no tenderness, no softness in the way their bodies collided. Toji’s chest was pressed against hers, his grip firm, almost possessive, and Y/N was lost in it, her body leaning toward him, caught in the urgency of the kiss. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t graceful. It was reckless.

The background was barely visible, a dark, dimly lit room, adding to the feeling that this was a fleeting, chaotic moment—one that wasn’t supposed to be captured, yet it was. It felt like something that should have been erased, but instead, it was frozen forever. The cigarette, the way her body was slanted against his, the way he held her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded—it wasn’t just a kiss. It was fire and danger, a reckless dance that neither could stop once it had begun.

Sixth Photo:

The image was caught mid-motion grainy, distant, probably taken by someone on the street. Y/N was stepping out of a sleek black car, one heel already on the curb, the other still inside. She looked furious. Her lipstick was smudged like she’d bitten her lip too hard. Her hand was raised in a sharp motion mid-gesture. They seem to be in a mid-argument. Naoya Zenin was still in the driver’s seat, leaned over, clearly shouting something back at her through the open door. His jaw was clenched, face twisted in frustration.

You couldn’t hear the words, but the body language said enough. She was done. He wasn’t.

No smiles. No poised elegance. Just raw emotion between two people unraveling in real time.

It was the only photo where she looked like she wanted to leave

—and the only one where someone was trying to stop her.

Masuda stared at the spread of a mess on the table.

Six men.

Six moments.

Six different versions of Y/N.

“She’s a ghost stitched into all of them,” Hiromi said, voice low. “A different girl in every photo. The question is, who was she really? And why did she vanish without a trace?”

Masuda looked back up at him, face unreadable.

Hiromi tapped the photos one more time.

“Someone slipped this into the file, chief. No initials. No trace. Just the names and these photos. That’s not random. That’s someone telling us where to start.”

He let that sit for a moment.

And then, like a hammer to glass, he added, “I think we’re not looking at a disappearance. I think we’re looking at something worse. And someone out there, someone who knew her. Wants us to dig.”

Masuda didn’t answer right away.

But Hiromi could tell by the way his fingers tightened around the edge of the envelope.

The case is open now. Whether the department liked it or not.

Ꮺ ⋮ TAGLIST OPEN ! comment to be added to the official list of this series (in the making) —

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