#lee na-yeon | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

meadowfics · 28 days ago

Text

superhero

park gyeong-seok x f!reader

the hopeful and the hopeless meet and fall in love

this is part one

warnings: angst

honestly, you don’t remember the last time you felt okay.

not the kind of okay you fake when someone asks how you're doing and you nod with a smile that feels borrowed. the real okay. the kind where your chest doesn’t ache when you breathe. the kind where getting out of bed isn’t a full body effort.

every morning feels like climbing out of a hole that keeps getting deeper. your alarm buzzes at 6:00 a.m, but you never need it. you’re already awake, lying there in the dark, staring at the ceiling like it holds answers to questions you’re too tired to ask anymore.

your blankets are always tangled around your legs, twisted like the thoughts in your head that never let you rest.

you peel yourself out of bed. the wooden floor is freezing under your bare feet, and your old apartment windows do nothing to keep out the cold. your bathroom light flickers when you flip the switch, but you don’t bother fixing it. that light is like everything else in your life, it’s broken, but still barely working.

you brush your teeth mechanically, wash your face, pull your hoodie over your head. you used to care about how you looked. you used to match your outfits, wear your favorite perfume, accessorize with little rings and bracelets that made you feel like you. now you just grab whatever’s clean.

you shove your hands in your pockets as you walk to the subway station, head low, headphones in but no music playing. you don’t want to hear the city this early and you especially don’t want to see the couples holding hands, or the joggers with their determined faces. you don’t want to see anyone.

the amusement park always looks eerie before it opens. the rides don’t move yet. the games are all covered in tarps. the music hasn’t started playing. it’s quiet, and for a moment, you can pretend the whole place is yours. later the workers start showing up and the families follow a few hours later… that is when the day begins.

you unlock the ice cream stand like you have a thousand times before. same creaky handle. same flick of the wrist to get the stubborn latch open. the smell of sugar and milk and artificial fruit flavor hits you instantly. you tie your apron. you count the change in the register.

this job doesn’t pay shit. it is a couple of cents more than minimum wage, sometimes less when the hours get cut. however, the tips…those help. the parents who toss in a few extra bills because you complimented their toddler’s glittery sneakers and the ones who smile at you like you’re part of their good day.

it’s not much, but it keeps your fridge from being completely empty.

people always ask why you stay here. why you don’t apply somewhere else. somewhere that offers benefits, security, and growth. you don’t tell them the truth. you don’t tell them that after everything that’s happened, the thought of more change makes your lungs tighten and your throat close up.

after your last relationship ended, if you could even call it a relationship, you're not sure you could handle another shift or change in your life.

your ex-partner cheated on you. not once, and not even twice. they cheated on you so many times that you lost count. still, for some reason, you stayed and maybe because you believed they’d stop. you remember the way they’d lie. effortlessly.

they’d hold your hand and kiss your forehead, and then vanish for the night with someone else. every time you brought it up, they’d turn it around on you and say you were too clingy, too sensitive, and too much.

when they finally left, they didn’t even say goodbye. just a half-assed text and a blocked number. it broke something in you.

now, you’re just… here and surviving. you only scoop ice cream for kids who scream with joy while your insides feel like static.

you laugh when they laugh and smile when their eyes light up but it’s like acting in a play you never auditioned for. no one sees the way your hands shake when you’re alone behind the counter. no one knows you go home and cry into your pillow until you fall asleep from exhaustion.

you live in a cycle of numbness but recently things have been different.

in the shop you’re crouched behind the counter, tugging open the freezer latch with one hand and hoisting up a heavy, half-frozen tub of cookie dough ice cream with the other. your arms ache from how stiff the container is, the frost biting at your fingertips. it’s just past 9 a.m and you are already physically exhausted.

right now it is too early for the usual wave of parents and their sugar-happy kids. it is too early for the noise, the mess, the fake customer service voice you’ve perfected over the years.

you grunt quietly as you slide the tub into place, scooping out the rock-solid top layer so it’ll look fresh when the kids start pointing at it. your back cracks when you stand up. another reminder that your body is tired of doing this every day.

suddenly, the doorbell chimes. soft, metallic.

you sigh.

“we’re not open yet,” you mutter under your breath, brushing your hands off on your apron before turning toward the front.

you expected a whoe family… instead, you see her.

that little girl in the ridiculous knitted strawberry hat.

you can't help the way your mouth softens.

na-yeon.

she’s no older than four, all round cheeks and wobbly steps, wearing a bright yellow hoodie and sparkly velcro sneakers. she pushes open the door like she owns the place, eyes lighting up the moment she spots you behind the counter.

“unnieeee!” she yells, arms stretched out like she hasn’t seen you in years instead of twenty-four hours.

you chuckle, despite yourself, “good morning, na-yeon.”

she climbs onto the same wobbly metal chair she always does, clearly stolen from one of the snack stalls nearby, and presses her little hands and face up against the glass display. the smudge marks from her visits have become familiar, almost comforting.

“you have cookie dough,” she announces proudly, like she knows everything.

“i did,” you nod, organizing the scoopers even though they’re already lined up perfectly, “you must be psychic.”

“noooo,” she giggles, nose scrunching, “i just love cookie dough. it’s your favorite, right?”

you blink.

“…yeah. how’d you know that?”

she shrugs, hands still glued to the glass, “’cause you always hum when you scoop it. only cookie dough. i hear it.”

your heart pauses for a second because you don’t even realize that you hum.

you stare at her, this tiny stranger who’s been coming to your stand every morning for the last month, always full of energy and curiosity and always complimenting you in that wide-eyed, innocent way only a kid can.

“your shirt is pretty today,” she says in her little voice, twisting around to smile at you, “i like blue. it makes your hair look shiny like a princess.”

you glance down at your pastel blue shirt. the one you always roll your eyes at when you put it on. the one you’ve sweated through too many times.

yet… it doesn’t feel so ugly today.

you walk over to the case and watch as she points at the vibrant, swirled mess of blue, yellow, and pink near the bottom corner.

“superman flavor,” she whispers like it’s sacred, “can i have some? just a little? i promise i won’t tell my daddy.”

you sigh, pretending to think, even though you already know the answer, “na-yeon… it’s 9 in the morning.”

“but ice cream has milk in it! milk is good for breakfast!” she beams, clearly proud of her logic.

you snort, “that’s a stretch.”

“pleeeeease,” she whines, giving you those big, sparkly eyes, “you’re the nicest. you always give me the best flavors and your hands are cold but your smile is warm.”

your breath catches for a second.

this kid.

you glance toward the door, then back at her. you haven’t seen her parents… never have. you assume they work somewhere in the amusement park, maybe setting up one of the rides or sweeping the walkways. she always shows up alone, like she’s following some invisible morning routine.

you grab a small plastic sample cup and scoop a tiny swirl of the superman flavor into it.

“if your parents ever come yell at me, i’m blaming you,” you tease, handing it over.

she gasps like you just handed her treasure.

“my daddy won’t! pinky promise.” she holds out her pinky, and you blink, surprised, before linking yours with hers gently.

you sit behind the counter as she eats the sample with exaggerated little “mmm” sounds, kicking her legs beneath the chair.

“does your mommy like ice cream too?” you had asked offhandedly, not even thinking. you do not know much about her parents.

na-yeon had looked up, pausing mid-swing. the little girl’s face stayed still for a second too long, her smile dimming just slightly.

“i don’t have a mommy,” she said simply, her voice clear but quiet, “it’s just me and daddy.”

your breath had caught a little in your chest. you crouched beside the counter, feeling suddenly guilty.

“i’m sorry, na-yeon,” you said gently, trying to keep your voice soft, “i didn’t mean to upset you.”

she had just shaken her head, shrugging her tiny shoulders.

“i’m not sad,” she’d replied, “daddy says we’re a super team and you give me superman ice cream today, so I feel like a superhero. I think i am today.”

you had smiled then…one of those rare, real ones. without another word, reached into the display and scooped her more of a generous swirl of the blue-yellow-pink flavor, handing it over like it was a peace offering.

she lit up again.

“hehe!” she giggled.

for a few minutes, you forget the ache in your chest. you forget about your ex, the shouting, the cheating, the betrayal, and the loneliness you feel. you forgot about the nights you laid curled in your bed, wondering what was wrong with you that made someone so easy to leave you behind.

you forget all of it because na-yeon is humming now and it’s off-key, and it’s loud, and it’s everything.

“you’re my favorite person at the carnival,” she says through a mouthful of melting colors, “you don’t yell and you smell like strawberries and sugar.”

you smile slowly, not the fake one you give to customers and not the tired one you wear when your boss walks by.

“you’re my favorite too, little one.” you say before you even think about it.

na-yeon swings her feet, beaming, “i knew it!”

she stays longer than usual today.

na-yeon settles at the table closest to the cashier counter, a crayon in her hand and a napkin spread across the surface like it’s fine art paper. she hums while she draws, legs swinging beneath the plastic chair. every so often, she asks you what your favorite animal is, or what color you think clouds really are when no one’s watching.

you answer her questions between customers. the usual slow trickle of tourists has started…parents tugging along sleepy kids, already asking for ice cream this early in the day. you serve them with practiced hands, smile politely, then find your gaze drifting back to her.

na-yeon doesn’t ask for more ice cream. she just... sits.

the younger girl’s presence is soft and not demanding like most kids. she is not loud or messy. she is just comfortable like background music you do not mind playing over and over again.

or a while, you let yourself believe that maybe things are okay and maybe the ache inside you doesn’t own every inch of your body after all.

around noon, when the sun sits high above the striped carnival tents outside, you hear the scrape of her chair. the sound makes you turn instinctively.

she walks behind the counter with tiny steps, her strawberry hat slightly crooked and her drawing clutched in her hand. you wipe your hands on your apron and crouch down to meet her eye-level, the familiar ache in your knees whispering that you’re not twenty-two the way you should be.

“what’s up, superhero?” you ask gently, smiling.

na-yeon rocks on her heels for a moment before leaning in close, voice hushed like she’s letting you in on a secret.

“i’m going to go see the pink bunny at the parade.”

you blink, “the pink bunny?”

she nods, face serious, “yes! she throws candy. real candy and not fake ones like the green bunny.”

your lips twitch, “ah. of course. only the pink one’s legit.”

“uh-huh,” she says proudly, adjusting her strawberry hat, “so i have to go now.”

something tightens in your chest.

you glance toward the window where the crowd outside is beginning to shift, slow music drifting from the distance. you know the parade’s starting soon…balloons bobbing between the booths, dancers in costume lining up at the far end of the fairground.

you reach out and gently touch her shoulder.

“stay safe, na-yeon,” you say, voice soft but steady, “and don’t talk to strangers.”

she beams, crumpling her drawing a little in her excitement.

“i’m not talking to strangers,” she chirps, “i’m talking to you.”

that shouldn’t make your heart ache the way it does.

“fair enough,” you whisper, “i’ll see you later then?”

“uh-huh,” she nods eagerly, already turning on her heel. suddenly, she pauses, wiggles her arms, and does her little jumpy dance…two hops to the left, spin, two hops to the right, clap.

you can’t help but laugh.

she waves once, twice, and then pushes open the door with both hands. the bell jingles above her head as she disappears into the afternoon sun, swallowed up by the carnival crowd.

you stare at the door for a few seconds longer than you should then you sigh, quietly.

the booth feels emptier and your shift drags back into the rhythm of scooping and smiling, but something lingers in the back of your mind.

you hope she finds her pink bunny and you hope the candy’s sweet. you hope, more than anything, that she stays safe. she’s just a little stranger but somehow… she matters more than you expected.

the next morning, everything feels familiar again. the same tug of exhaustion behind your eyes, the same cramp in your shoulder as you unlock the ice cream stand. you restock the napkins, wipe the smudges off the display glass, straighten the neon-colored paper cones.

it feels routine. safe, in a weird way. the kind of repetition that keeps you from spiraling.

just like yesterday… the bell above the door rings at exactly 9 a.m.

you don’t need to look because you already know who it is.

“unnieeeee!”

you turn, smiling before you even see her.

na-yeon is dressed in a new hoodie today…purple this time, with little white stars scattered across the sleeves. she runs in, cheeks flushed from the morning breeze, eyes glowing.

“you’re here early again,” you say as she climbs onto her usual chair.

“the parade was fun,” she says proudly, kicking her feet, “the pink bunny gave me a huge lolipop!!!”

you pause for a second, but she’s already distracted, staring through the glass again. you lean down and grab a small spoon from the drawer, scooping a tiny bit of raspberry swirl into a paper sample cup and handing it over.

she eats it in one bite.

“mmm! this one is purple and yummy!”

you grin, “it is raspberry. a lot of people like that one.”

“i do too,” she hums, “it tastes like the color purple like... princess flavor.”

you’re about to ask what color she thinks chocolate tastes like when you glance at the wall clock and remember you’re supposed to pick up your paycheck today. your boss left it in the office near the ticket booths, and if you don’t grab it now, you’ll forget again.

you turn to na-yeon.

“hey, i gotta grab something real quick. wanna walk with me?”

she hops off the chair without hesitation, “okay!”

you step outside the stand, locking the door behind you. the weather’s warmer today, and the sun feels sharp against your skin. you hang a handwritten sign on the window:

“back in one hour. 돌아오는 데 한 시간 걸립니다.”

na-yeon walks beside you, skipping every few steps. she licks the spoon even though it’s already clean.

“yesterday’s ice cream was good,” she says, “the blue one with sparkles. i think that was my favorite.”

“superman?” you laugh, tilting your head, “yeah, that one’s always a hit.”

you’re about to ask her if she wants to try another flavor tomorrow when your eyes catch a figure in the distance…toward the edge of the fairground, near the roller coasters.

a man with a canvas and folding chair, setting up his portrait supplies.

you’ve seen him before.

he’s one of the freelance painters who does quick sketches and soft pastel drawings for couples and families. you always notice him during your lunch breaks. his head is always down, focused, hands always stained with color.

na-yeon follows your gaze.

then, before you can say anything, she lights up like a lantern.

“daddy!!”

your heart stutters.

you watch her run toward him, arms spread like wings and her little legs move so fast you worry she’ll trip.

he looks up, startled at first…but the second his eyes land on her, his whole face softens. he sets down the sketchbook and bends to catch her, lifting her easily into his arms.

he looks at you through her shoulders and there’s a moment where neither of you speak.

you both just nod.

soft, simple. an acknowledgment.

you nod back, lips curled gently at the edges.

you knew it. you had a feeling with her comfort wandering alone, and her timing that she had a a parent worked here. the dad, since na-yeon has no mother. of course na-yeon belonged in this place.

you turn and head toward the office building. it’s a short walk… just across the square near the spinning teacups. you get your check, exchange a few tired words with the payroll clerk, and then head toward the gate, ready to catch the train home.

the sun is starting to dip low, casting everything in gold.

you’re halfway through the park when you hear sirens. your heart instantly clenches as people start to look around, whispering, gathering.

your pace quickens, then turns into a jog. the flashing red lights blur against the colorful carnival backdrop. your stomach drops.

you see her before anything else.

na-yeon who is limp in someone’s arms.

you turn when you see her father, the painter, he’s shouting her name, frantic and trembling, running beside the paramedics.

your legs feel like lead. your whole body freezes as you watch them lower her into the back of the ambulance. na-yeon’s tiny hand dangles. her hat is gone.

“na-yeon! what happened?” her father calls, asking the paramedic as he is stumbling into the vehicle. the doctors slam the doors behind him.

the sirens scream again.

you just stand there, unmoving, watching the ambulance drive off. you don’t realize your fists are clenched until your nails dig into your palm as your throat burns.

‘please be okay,’ you think.

not the only light you’ve had in weeks, limp as she is being taken to the hospital.

you had no idea about her conditions. did na-yeon eat something she wasn’t supposed to? did someone do something to her? your mind went wild.

you stay there long after the crowd disperses. you stay silent and still wishing you had done more.

the next morning is tuesday.

your only day off.

you should be grateful…most people working the stands barely get a break. for you, it’s the worst day of the week because on tuesday, you’re alone with your thoughts.

you wake up around ten, later than usual, buried beneath heavy blankets in your too-small bed. the sun peeks through the blinds, cutting harsh lines across the floor. you don’t get up at first. you just lay there, staring at the ceiling, letting the quiet suffocate you.

your mind spins. all you can think about is na-yeon. there have been no updates, no word, no laughter.

you hate not knowing.

you wish you could’ve worked today…at least at the stand, someone might have known something. maybe her father came back, maybe one of the other workers heard something at the hospital.

instead, you're stuck in your room, spiraling. eventually, the emptiness becomes unbearable. you force yourself out of bed. you take a lukewarm shower, pull on your most comfortable jeans, and toss your wallet into your coat pocket. your grocery list is short: laundry soap, lettuce, ranch, body wash… the essentials you can guess.

you walk to the store in silence, the weight of the last 24 hours pressing into your shoulders. the streets buzz faintly around you, but it all feels distant. muffled.

the store lights are too bright, and the aisles too clean. you move through them like a ghost.

you stare at the wall of body wash bottles for too long before grabbing the cheapest one that doesn’t smell like some artificial fruit or plant.

you don’t speak to anyone and you pay in cash and leave without looking the cashier in the eye.

on the way back home, you take the shortcut…cutting through the narrow alley between the abandoned bakery and the old printing shop. you’ve used it a hundred times before.

however, you walk against the rocks below your feet and see a man standing in the middle of your path. he is tall, and has broad shoulders.

the man’s suit is clean, perfectly pressed, like it was made just for him. sharp black dress shoes, polished to a shine.

he smiles when he sees you.

“excuse me,” he says politely, voice smooth, “i’m sorry to bother you miss… would you like to play a game?”

you blink.

“…what?”

he holds up a square envelope. inside it….a colored tile and what looks like a stack of money.

“one round. simple game. all you have to do is win.”

you narrow your eyes, “and if i lose?”

“then i win,” he replies, still smiling, “and you get another chance to try again. each time, you walk away with something.”

you don’t know why you stay.

maybe it’s curiosity, maybe you’re just tired of going through the motions. its probably the abnormality and curiously poking at your mind at this strange exchange.

you nod slowly.

he explains the rules. a matching tile game. quick, stupid, childlike.

you lose.

however, the slap that hit your face is fast and loud, snapping your head to the side. your eyes sting and your cheek burns, you’re shocked at the impact but surprised when he gives you that same light smile from before.

after you win the second game… he hands you an envelope.

inside is 100,000 won. crisp. clean. real.

you stare at it.

“…why?”

he shrugs, “you played.”

after, he hands you the card. it is brown and embossed. there is no name, just a number. on the other side there is a shape of a circle, a triangle, and a square.

“call if you’re interested in something bigger,” he says, “if you want more than just getting by.”

you stare at him, stunned.

“i’m not in debt or anything,” you mutter, still dazed.

“you don’t have to be,” he says simply, “sometimes it’s not about money. sometimes it’s about having hope.”

just like that, he walks away.

you stand there in the alley with a grocery bag in one hand and a future you didn’t ask for in the other. your cheek still stings and your mind races because you weren’t even looking for something new. you weren’t even broken financially in the way people usually are.

you slip the card into your pocket.

just in case.

a week later, you weren’t sure what you were walking into.

the field area looked too cartoonish. it felt too smooth, too clean, and the guards in red didn’t speak. the doll acorss the field did not make things any better. you tried not to look at it for too long.

everyone was herded together like cattle…rows of strangers in numbered green tracksuits. your number, 346, was among the many players.

you felt a hand push you aside when you were standing around the middle. you nearly protested, but the man whose jacket was labeled 456, turned around to the crowd.

“listen carefully!,” he warned, eyes wide and desperate, “this is not just a game! if you lose the game, you die!”

at first, you rolled your eyes. really? is he really trying to sabotage the game for everyone else already? however, the fear in his eyes… and that desperate tone in his voice changed your mind as he pleaded more…

“hey! what are you talking about?” a woman called out.

“we’re gonna die playing red light green light?” another asked.

“don’t listen to him, that man is clearly drunk.” a younger boy, one around your age, mumbled that that woman.

the man started raising his hands, “if they catch you moving on red light, they will kill you! they will shoot you from above! stay on your toes!”

you weren’t sure if he was trying to scare everyone or protect them. however, your gut feeling started to scream at you. the same gut feeling you used to have back during your last relationship when you felt like something suspicious was going on.

your stomach turned, your nerves kicking in fast. yes, your mental health had been on a sharp, steady decline for months now. yes, you’d started to feel like maybe the world wouldn’t miss you if you were gone but you didn’t want to die. not really. is this man being serious.

the game started, and for a moment, things were okay.

the robotic voice called out, “green light.” and you moved slowly, and cautiously, but you moved.

“red light.” you stopped.

you did it again and again.

suddenly, you heard a sound of a buzzing bee. you were scared of bees too, but the sound came from a distance. all of the sudden, a scream ran out. you didn’t think much about it until a gunshot exploded from your left.

you flinched, hard, your knees locking from the sudden loud noise, a strangled gasp stuck in your throat. you turned your eyes (only) to see the screaming woman fall…. then another.

for seconds, blood splattered the ground like spilled paint.

screams erupted around you. someone bolted. another followed and more gunshots ringed out.

you wanted to run. every fiber in your body, every thread of muscle, screamed at you to go. your adrenaline flooded you like a wave, your heart hammering against your ribs so hard you thought it would break but your mind… somehow, your mind was louder.

if you move, you die.

that thought buried itself in your spine. you didn’t move.

your breath stayed trapped in your chest and your eyes stayed straight ahead.

step by step, you forced yourself forward when it was green light and stopped instantly when it was red.

you could hardly hear anything anymore. just the mechanical voice, your own pounding heartbeat, and the sound of bodies dropping like they meant nothing.

when you finally crossed the line, it didn’t feel real.

your foot touched sand and your legs collapsed beneath you.

you sat there, heaving, chest rising in shallow, sharp movements. your vision swam.

you’re okay, you told yourself but you weren’t.

your lungs wouldn’t open. your fingers were numb. your mouth trembled as if trying to speak but forgetting how. you tried to breathe in and out and in and out but it felt like something inside of you was locked shut.

you wanted to cry and you wanted to scream but all you could do was sit there on the sand, broken and breathless, while the game went on behind you.

back in the dorms, the silence was heavy.

you climbed to the top bunk the second the guards allowed it, wanting to be away from the crowd. you needed something to hold you, something solid. your knees still shook from earlier, and your hands hadn’t stopped trembling since your foot first hit the sand.

you sat cross-legged, arms wrapped around yourself, your back pressed to the cold wall.

from up there, you could see everyone.

most people just stared forward…at the guards, at nothing. no one spoke and no one cried. shit, some people were even engaging in jokes like nothing even happened. it was like everyone had already run out of emotion.

the guards stood tall and motionless as they offered empty congratulations. “congratulations on completing the first game.”

you wanted to scream.

congratulations? hundreds of people were dead.

this wasn’t a game because this was something dystopian.

you pulled your knees up to your chest, trying to keep your breathing slow.

then, from the top bunk just to your right, someone shifted.

you didn’t look right away, but you felt her eyes on you.

when you finally glanced over, the woman gave you a crooked smirk. she sat in a strange position…knees pulled up high, feet balanced like she was on the edge of a cliff, arms folded over her thighs.

the woman’s eyes were sharp. not unkind, just… ancient.

“you have lessons to learn here,” she said, voice low and melodic.

you blinked, “what?”

“a second chance,” she went on, tilting her head, “you’re here for it. to be stripped down. maybe to see yourself. to appreciate what the pain taught you. if you listen, you might leave better than you came.”

you stared at her, unsure whether to speak or look away.

you did neither.

she smiled wider, “your spirit’s been heavy for a long time. now’s the time to choose who you become.”

you didn’t say anything because you couldn’t. what the hell were you supposed to say?

before you could make sense of her words, the guards announced the voting process.

everyone stirred, murmurs breaking through the stillness.

you climbed down from your bunk, boots echoing softly on the metal steps. your number hadn’t been called yet, but you didn’t want to wait.

when they did call it…player 346…you were already on the ground.

you stepped forward. heart pounding.

they offered you a choice.

a red “X” to leave.

a blue “O” to stay.

your hand moved before your mind caught up.

you grabbed the blue badge and pressed it to your jacket and you didn’t know why.

you weren’t in debt and you weren’t dying but… you didn’t have anyone waiting for you either.

no parents. no siblings. no one to miss you.

you just… didn’t feel like you mattered out there. maybe here, at least, you had a purpose.

you returned to your bunk in silence with the badge cold against your chest.

however, you think you are so alone. you are not. you didn’t notice the eyes on you from across the room.

a man…someone who had watched you freeze with perfect control during red light, green light. someone who noticed your breathing, your panic, your will to stay still.

you didn’t know it yet but someone had their eye on you.

na-yeon’s father.

there were too many people…shadows with numbers, faces blurred by stress and panic. you were caught in your own storm, caught between the smell of blood and the sting of regret but he noticed you. player 246.

the man’s eyes found you from across the dorms, and the look that crossed his face was something between horror and disbelief.

he knew you. you were her!

the woman behind the ice cream counter. the one who always gave na-yeon the tiniest extra scoop and called her a superstar. the one whose voice softened around his daughter, even on your worst days. the girl who made his daughter’s life better through her blood cancer issues.

you were the one who made his little girl’s eyes light up like the fireworks they never got to see.

he watched as you took your vote to the front… calm, deliberate. you chose to stay and he didn’t understand yet.

what were you doing here?

he had seen you at the park, always put together. baby blue shirt uniform with nice levi jeans, hair tied back. you looked like someone who knew how to keep moving forward.

yet here you were, in the same green uniform as him in the same broken place.

he had voted to leave. of course he had.

na-yeon needed him. the moment they said “vote,” his heart had snapped back to her soft voice, her strawberry hat, her small fingers tugging at his paint-stained sleeve.

he needed to get out since she was still fighting in the hospital.

why did you want to stay?

he thought of how na-yeon always came home with him and said your name like it was a gift. how she talked about your smile, how you listened to her, how you gave her “princess ice cream” even when it was too early for sweets.

he had seen you from a distance…those rare breaks between sketching portraits at the roller coasters. he saw the way you looked at her, not just like she was someone else’s child, but like she mattered to you.

so what happened? what changed in you that made you walk through this door and stay here?

gyeong-seok’s thoughts threatened to spiral, but the voice interrupted everything.

the votes were finished. blue majority.

he closed his eyes for just a second, not just for himself, not just for his daughter but for you too.

you didn’t belong here, and yet… now you were trapped just like him.

part two