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incorrectk-popquotes · 5 years

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My fic is fully uploaded!!!

You guys may remember that I posted the first chapter of my fic on here a couple weeks ago! Well, I finally finished uploading all 20 chapters on AO3!!

You guys should check it out!! I’ll put the first chapter under the cut again in case anyone missed it! <3

Title: A Better Place

Relationships: Bang Chan/Kim Woojin; Lee Minho | Lee Know/Seo Changbin; Han Jisung | Han/Lee Felix; Hwang Hyunjin/Kim Seungmin/Yang Jeongin | I.N

Tags/warnings: Gangs, Alternate Universe - Gang World, Drug Use, Recreational Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Cults, Running Away, Anxiety Attacks, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Anxiety, Depression, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smoking, gratuitous violence, Gang Violence, Violence, Drug Addiction

Summary: Chan just wants to create a place where lost kids can come and have a family, but his past is catching up with him and threatening to ruin everything he’s worked so hard to create. After years of carefully cultivating one of the most powerful and notorious gangs in the city, Stray Kids are being targeted by a secret and powerful organization hellbent on bringing them down. Will Stray Kids be able to defeat the organization before their empire crumbles? Or will the horrors they face get the better of them ~~~ “His entire goal in bringing everybody together was to make a better place for them. Make a place that was safe for them. Nothing about this was better. Nothing about this was safe.”

AO3 Link

Chapter 1: Rebels

[Under the cut]

“Minho,” Chan’s voice said suddenly over the com in Minho’s ear, startling him and causing him to lose his focus on the lock he was currently attempting to pick. “Status update.”

“Would be going significantly faster if you stopped asking for status updates every 5 seconds,” Minho gritted out, forcing his attention back on the difficult lock. Behind him, Felix snickered at his irritation. He was good at what he did, but this lock was tough and he had already been trying to pick it for too long. Every second that the locking mechanism didn’t click into place, more anxiety twisted in Minho’s belly. Wiping his hands quickly on his pants, he focused his entire attention back on the lock.

Tickling at the back of his mind was the knowledge that Changbin could only keep the security system at bay and Jeongin could only keep the security guards engaged for so long before they remembered that they had a job to attend to. These thoughts only succeeded in making Minho’s hands sweatier, making the small metal tools he was working with feel slippery and hard to work with.

Clenching his jaw, Minho carefully worked his pick in the lock, pressing down the pins in the mechanism. The tiny, satisfying click it suddenly let out made him pause. He did it. He stared at it with wide eyes for one moment before snapping out of it. He breathed out all of the anxiety that had been crushing his lungs, and a smug smile broke out on his face. Looking back at Felix, Minho wiggled his eyes mischievously and pushed the door open with a flourish.

“It’s open,” he whispered smugly.

“About damn time,” Changbin murmured, obviously trying to sound annoyed but it just sounded relieved.

Stowing his tools in his pocket and wiping the sweat off his still slightly shaky hands, Minho pushed the door open a little bit more. It was small and dark and looked like nothing more than a storage room at first glance. The earlier anxiety had completely replaced itself with giddy excitement as Minho moved in and flipped on the light, illuminating the room in the same harsh fluorescent lighting that lit the rest of the building. His grin grew wider as he looked at all of the shelves which were filled with bricks of white powder.

“You have 68 seconds to get in there, fill the bags, and get out,” Changbin informed them. “I can try to keep the system down longer, but they’ll start to notice.”

“Aye, aye, cap-Bin” Minho giggled quietly, unable to contain his glee. A quick glance at Felix showed that the other boy felt the same excitement upon seeing everything in front of them. Sharing a grin, Minho and Felix moved into the room and started filling the backpacks as quickly as they could.

“Time to get a move on,” Chan said, his voice tense with worry. “Whatever you have is plenty.” Minho heard Felix zip up his bag behind him, but he couldn’t force himself to leave just yet, he needed to take more. Grabbing another brick, Minho shoved it into the already overflowing backpack.

“ Now , Minho,” Changbin demanded over the com. He sounded annoyed, but Minho knew that he was just worried. Neither Chanbin nor Chan liked to send the rest of them into unfamiliar locations alone, especially when it was a location they couldn't drop into at a moment’s notice if something went wrong. Minho grabbed one last brick of the white powder, slipping it into the pocket of his hoodie, before zipping up his backpack and following Felix into the hallway. Felix was giving him a look that Minho didn’t have time to decipher as he pulled the door closed.

Ignoring Felix’s look, for now, he pressed himself up against the wall and motioned for Felix to do the same. It wouldn’t do them any good to leave here if they were just going to run into the guards’ waiting arms because they were stupid enough to not check first. Holding his breath, Minho listened intently. When the only sound that he heard was Jeongin’s bright chatter with the guards over the com, he let out a breath and nodded for Felix to follow him down the hall.

“En route to the rendezvous,” Minho said lowly. They moved fast, keeping their steps light and staying close to the walls, out of sight of most of the cameras. They peeked out every once in a while so Changbin could keep track of their location through the building. Minho knew the way out, having studied a blueprint of the building before the job. He had to constantly remind himself that just because he knew the way out didn’t mean that he could let his guard down. Just because nothing had gone wrong up until this point, didn’t mean something couldn’t go wrong now.

Glancing back at Felix, Minho frowned when he saw the hardened look in his eyes. It was a look that reminded Minho too much of Felix’s past and Minho didn’t like it. Looking at the other’s hand, his frown deepened when he saw the gun, loaded and ready, in his hand. Minho made a mental note to talk to him about that later.

“We are waiting at the meeting point,” Woojin voiced over the com. Minho hummed in acknowledgment, turning his attention back to the bright, empty corridor. He stayed alert, really not wanting to get surprised or ambushed by anybody, especially with Felix being so on edge right now. He could practically feel the tension coming from the other, and that was never a good sign.

“You got a couple guards up here around the corner,” Changbin informed them. Minho glanced back at Felix and saw that he had readied his gun and was ready for a fight. “There should be a supply closet on your right,” Changbin continued. “Hide in there and I’ll let you know when they pass.” Minho ducked into the closet Changbin mentioned, dragging Felix in with him, and pushed the door closed behind them. It was dark, cramped, and smelled of cleaning supplies, but Minho could still make out the anger on Felix’s face as he glared holes into the door.

Keeping a vice-like grip on Felix’s wrist, Minho forced his gun to remain at Felix’s side. Sadness and unease settled heavily in Minho’s mind as he watched Felix continue to grit his teeth and glared at the door like he wanted to burst through it and kill every living thing on the other side. Heavy footsteps walked past the door of the little supply closet they were hiding in. Minho felt Felix’s fingers twitch on the gun, tightening around the handle and moving closer to the trigger.

Releasing Felix’s wrist, Minho placed a gentle hand over Felix’s on the gun. He grabbed Felix’s chin and forced him to stop glaring at the door and instead look into his eyes. This couldn’t happen right now. They were in too good of a position to have Felix check out and go berserk. But more than that, Minho really didn’t want Felix to do something that he would regret after the job.

The pointed glare Minho directed at him seemed to snap Felix back into himself. Looking at the ground guiltily, his fingers around the stock of the gun loosened, but Minho didn’t dare remove his hand until Felix moved to reholster the weapon. Minho breathed a small sigh of relief and squeezed Felix’s shoulder reassuringly, focusing again on the sounds of the hallway. He couldn’t hear the heavy footsteps outside anymore, but that didn’t mean much and since Changbin hadn’t given them the go-ahead to leave the room, they stayed put. Minho continued to gently hold Felix’s shoulder as they stood together in the dark, hoping to keep him grounded in reality.

“Okay, you’re clear,” Changbin finally said after what felt like eons in that too cramped closet. Minho gave Felix a questioning look, hoping that Felix was okay to keep going. Felix just gave a small nod, still mostly avoiding his eyes, and pressed passed Minho to open the door leaving Minho to trail behind.

~~~

Woojin drummed his fingers anxiously against the steering wheel of the rental car he sat in with Hyunjin. After hearing that the other team had almost been caught, he was anxious for them to reach the meeting point and make the handoff. While the job itself wasn’t particularly difficult, something about it made him uneasy and he would very much like it to be over as soon as possible. The pay for the job was too high for a simple theft and delivery. No matter what they were delivering, there’s no way anybody would pay this much for it. Something about it just didn’t feel right.

“Are you okay?” Hyunjin’s voice snapped Woojin out of his nervous rumination. Woojin looked over at him and immediately felt guilty by the concern in Hyunjin’s eyes.

“I’m fine, Jinnie,” Woojin reassured kindly, quirking his lips up into what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Judging from the suspicious look on Hyunjin’s face, he didn’t exactly succeed. But Hyunjin dropped the subject with a curt nod; the job was no place to discuss these kinds of things. Woojin sighed and looked back out the windshield, watching for Minho and Felix to make their way out of the building.

Finally, the two crept into the dark parking garage where Woojin and Hyunjin were waiting. Woojin almost leaped out of the car to greet them, but restrained himself and waited for them to swiftly make their way to the car. The two backdoors opened and Woojin watched as two heavy looking backpacks were dropped onto the car seats. Woojin sent a skeptical look to Minho, who’s front hoodie pocket pulled at the rest of his hoodie.

“Is that all of it?” he asked pointedly, deliberately keeping any accusation out of his words. He knew Minho tended to take more than what they needed and just keep it. While he knew that Minho wasn’t planning on using any of the extra drugs they had stolen, it was better not to keep them on around at all. Judging by the sheepish smile Minho gave him, he was right. Woojin watched as Minho reached into his bulging pocket, pulling out one more brick of the white powder, he put it on the seat next to the backpacks.

“Handoff crew,” Chan’s voice said over the com, “you need to go now.” Woojin simply hummed in reply, watching as the other team shut the back doors and stepped away, making their way to the getaway vehicle where Seungmin and Jisung were waiting.

Woojin pulled out of the parking garage and headed to the agreed-upon location for the delivery. The unease crept back into his mind as they got closer to the location. Fingers drumming the steering wheel anxiously, he examined his surroundings closely. He heard Chan telling Jeongin it was time for him to get out of there and meet up with the others in the getaway vehicle. It brought him some amount of comfort to hear that all the kids had made it out alright.

“Woojin?” Hyunjin’s concerned voice again pulled Woojin out of his thoughts. He glanced at Hyunjin, humming softly in acknowledgment.

“Are you sure your alright?” The question caused Woojin’s heart to clench and he directed what he hoped was a warm smile at the other.

“I already told you I’m fine,” he said, gently squeezing Hyunjin’s knee. Hyunjin didn’t look convinced, but they didn’t have time to dwell on it as they pulled up to the location.

Woojin sat in the car a moment, regarding the other car parking in front of them. He suppressed laughter at how stereotypically supervillain-esque it looked with its sleek, black paint and darkly tinted windows. A man in a suit with dark aviators stepped out of the car and again Woojin had to work very hard to school his features in a neutral business expression. Were they doing business with James Bond himself?

Nodding for Hyunjin to follow, Woojin stepped out of the car casually, forcing his face into a bored expression. Woojin watched as Hyunjin gathered the two backpacks and the extra brick. Woojin didn’t like having Hyunjin carry all of those drugs, but he needed to show Mr. Aviators that he was in charge here.

“Is that the merchandise?” Mr. Aviators asked, nodding to the bags that Hyunjin held.

“Might be,” Woojin hummed offhandedly, examining his nails. Despite the show of disinterest, he was very alert to the man in front of them. After a moment he crossed his arms loosely and looked back up at Mr. Aviators with an indifferent expression. “I guess you won’t actually figure that out until we get our money.” Mr. Aviators nodded once, moving back to the car, he reached in to pull something. Woojin kept his expression impassive and bored, but he felt Hyunjin at high alert beside him. Pulling out a briefcase, Mr. Aviators opened it and showed them the stacks of cash inside.

“That’s the agreed-upon amount?” Woojin asked suspiciously, eyeing the stacks. It seemed like plenty, but the whole situation made Woojin desperate to remain in charge. Despite Mr. Aviators just being some goon from the other party, he still felt the nerves pricking under his skin.

“Of course,” Mr. Aviators said promptly, giving a stiff nod. Woojin glanced at Hyunjin and nodded for him to go collect the briefcase. He watched as Hyunjin set down the backpacks and extra brick and walked to grab the case. Woojin kept his indifferent facade in place, but tension built in him as he watched Hyunjin get closer than comfort to Mr. Aviators and their car.

Hyunjin collected the case and hurried back to Woojin opening it for Woojin to inspect. In all honesty, Woojin didn’t care at all how much was in the case, but he was overwhelmingly glad that Hyunjin was back by his side. Taking the case with a satisfied nod, he flipped it closed and turned swiftly back toward his car. He heard Hyunjin toss the bags toward Mr. Aviators and hoped the boy was following him back to the car.

“Tell your boss,” Woojin said icily when he reached the car, “that next time, I would love to do business with him directly.” Tossing the briefcase into the backseat, Woojin got in the car. Without waiting for Hyunjin to buckle his seatbelt, he pulled away from the meeting spot and started heading away. The facade broke and he let out a shaky breath. Glancing over, Woojin saw Hyunjin slumped back in his seat, fingers idly picking at the threads in his jeans as he stared out the window. He must have felt the same unease about this whole thing that Woojin was feeling.

“Delivery made,” Woojin said into the com. “We have the cash.”

~~~

Seungmin was bouncing nervously in the driver’s seat, fiddling with the radio. Jisung kept sending him death glares because of his nervous fiddling, but he was too anxious to care. Initially, Jisung had tried in vain to get Seungmin to calm down, but eventually, he just gave up because Seungmin was just too nervous to console. He hated having to wait for the other’s to get out of jobs okay. He hated the waiting because it always just feels like they are all collectively waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He had been flipping incessantly through radio stations, Jisung had given up trying to make him stop at this point when the back doors were swung open, nearly causing him to shriek. Whipping around, he relaxed a little when he saw Felix and Minho climb into the vehicle.

“You can put the knife down,” Minho laughed awkwardly, glancing over at Felix. Seungmin followed his eyes and saw Felix had gone completely rigid, eyes locked on the knife that Seungmin didn’t even see Jisung pull. Seungmin watched apprehensively as Jisung blinked once, looked down at the knife, and then set it down. Seungmin watched as Felix’s eyes tracked the knife.

“If I knew pulling a knife would make you not be able to take your eyes off of me, I’d do it more often,” Jisung joked, letting out a bright laugh. Despite his cheery tone and smiling, his eyes were sharp as he watched Felix closely.

At the sound of Jisung’s laugh, Felix’s eyes snapped away from the knife. Seungmin watched as Jisung’s eyes immediately softened as Felix looked at him with wide, vulnerable eyes. Seungmin coughed a little and turned around to fiddle with the radio a little.

“How did everything go?” Seungmin asked a moment later, turning off the radio and matching Jisung’s posture facing the back completely. He had been listening to the com at the beginning, but it ended up just making him more nervous, so he had tuned it out.

Minho sent Felix an odd look that Seungmin couldn’t quite decipher. Before he had time to dwell on it though, Felix’s face broke out into a broad grin.

“You should have seen that room, guys,” Felix said, leaning back in the seat and crossing his arms over his chest. “There was, like, 300 kilos of that shit in there!” Seungmin frowned at him, not liking at all how excited Felix got over that many drugs. Seungmin glanced at Jisung and noticed the frown etched into his face too.

“Oh my God,” Minho said, dramatically falling back in the seat. “It was like walking into the golden city itself!”

“I don’t understand why you guys are so excited about that,” Seungmin mumbled, crossing his arms tightly over his chest and turning around to slump in his chair. As a nursing student, something about the drug runs just didn’t sit right in him. He didn’t like the idea of aiding in allowing people access to the shit, even if they weren’t the ones directly distributing it. Seungmin knew Jisung shared his sentiment, but he was never able to get the other to tell him exactly why he didn’t like them after having grown up in a place where they were so normalized.

“Think about how much that room alone was worth!” Minho exclaimed, leaning forward dramatically. “And we only took a tiny bit of it!” Beside him, Felix nodded his grin still wide across his face. Even though Seungmin didn’t agree with the reason for the excitement, it was contagious. Seungmin found himself grinning despite himself, and a glance at Jisung confirmed that the other was fighting back a grin, too.

Seungmin tuned out the rest of the conversation and relaxed into the seat a bit, watching the street intently for when Jeongin would come. Judging from the silence over the com when Seungmin finally decided to start listening again, he could only assume that Chan had told Jeongin that it was time for him to leave. The fact that he couldn’t hear Jeongin’s constant chatter set him on edge.

Seungmin didn’t even realize that he had started to nervously chew on his nails as he stared at the road and listened to the quiet of the com until Jisung reached over a pulled his hand away from his mouth. He looked over at Jisung in surprise. The look of sympathy he received was a little disarming.

“He’ll be fine, Seungmin,” Jisung said comfortingly, placing Seungmin’s hand down on the console. Jisung kept his hand firmly over Seungmin’s wrist, keeping him from continuing to gnaw on his nails. “Will you please take a breath.” Seungmin nodded taking a deep breath and forcing every muscle in his body to relax. This seemed to satisfy Jisung because he went back to chatting with the others, but he didn’t move his hand from Seungmin’s wrist.

Turning his attention back out the window, he spotted Jeongin bouncing down the street, a bright smile on his face. Seungmin perked up a bit when he saw the other, thankful that he looked generally uninjured. Seeing Jeongin bounding in their direction caused Seungin to finally relax against his seat. A small smile spread across his face as Jeongin flew into the car, crawling over Felix to position himself in the middle of the backseat.

“Didn’t I do good?” Jeongin asked, happily bouncing a bit in the seat and causing Minho to grumble a little beside him, but Seungmin saw the tiny smile that was tugging at Minho’s lips.

“So good,” Seungmin said smiling brightly at the other through the rearview mirror as he started the car and shifted it into drive. “Nobody could have done a better job than you, Innie.” He drove away from the curb as the rest of the car fell into a comfortable conversation. He was glad that everybody had made it out safe.

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childofthenight2035 · 5 years

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Letters To Who You Were

A/N: This is a Chan fic that I thought of writing for a helluva time now, so enjoy! Don’t forget to check out my masterlist! Unrequested

Pairing: Bang Chan x gn!Reader

Summary/Prompt: You receive letters from someone you’re sure you don’t know.

Genre: Angst, Confusion, Time travel, Fluff(?)

Word Count: 12.6k

Warnings: Mentions of death, depression

Bloody Mondays. You hated them.

Chucking the alarm across the room and satisfying yourself with the sound of the battery falling out, you heaved yourself onto your elbows, staring at the pillow groggily.

“Why?” you whined, throwing off the covers and sitting up.

You squinted at the curtains, knowing the sky was too dark to get up, but you had to. You had class. Anthropology of all things. Eight o’clock. Ugh. You loved the subject, but not at six in the morning.

Your bus was at four past seven. You needed to get the heck up.

After a quick shower and a banana, you stumbled out of the apartment, still pulling your shoes on. You set your foot down and realized that you were not, in fact, standing on the cement floor of the landing. You were standing on something else. Paper. A couple envelopes lay under your shoe. Cursing, you bent down to retrieve them and continued your dash to the bus stop.

You managed to catch the bus, after all. Quite the day’s work.

Huffing, out of breath, you collapsed into a window seat towards the middle of the bus. The letters were still clutched in your hand. Flipping them over, you observed what was written on the front. One had the stamp of the Water Authorities on it. Clearly your water bill. You didn’t even want to know. Stuffing it into your backpack, you focused on the other one. It wasn’t official. Your address was handwritten on it. No sender’s name. No return address on the envelope. Hm.

You tore it open. In (somewhat) neat handwriting, was a letter. Addressed to you.

Y/N,

You’ve probably forgotten me. But you’ll remember—through these letters.

What the heck? You’ve probably forgotten this person? Childhood friend? Okay…

We’ve been through so much in the year that we were together. It seems like only yesterday. It’s already been a year but I don’t think that I could ever forget you. Not the way you sleep with your limbs splayed out like a starfish; not the way your eyes crinkle when you smile; not the way you chew on your bottom lip when you’re nervous. I could never forget all that.

Whoa. Wait. Smiling and chewing your lip was one thing; but you did sleep like that. Who could possibly know—was this your old roommate or somebody, pranking you? What did they mean, in the year we were together?

You’ll think I’m crazy. I know. You’ll claim that you don’t know who I am. But I’m not crazy. I’m the sanest person in the room right now.

Have you gotten that raise yet? I may be a little off, but if you haven’t, then I think you’ll get it within the week. It looks like a good week, huh? I know getting an A in your anthropology class isn’t easy. I’m proud of you.

I realize you must be confused now, but I promise you that you’ll understand. Just give me some time, for once. You were always so busy. Is that why we couldn’t make it? Is that why you couldn’t afford a second chance?

Read these letters now. Someday we’ll meet.

Chris

Hold up. You didn’t know any Chris. Your previous roommate definitely didn’t go by Chris. Maybe Gail, when she was drunk, but Chris? Who’s that? Also, when had you ever gotten an A in anthropology? It wasn’t that easy, especially not for you. And you’ve never gotten a raise yet. What the fuck was going on?

You read the last paragraph again. Just give me some time, for once? Well damn. Ouch. Sorry. Is that why we couldn’t make it? Make it? Make what?

This was going to drive you crazy the whole day, you just knew it.

You slowly closed the letter, troubled. Were your friends pranking you? Was that what this was? Putting it into your bag, you zipped it shut and stared out the window. Youngjae had asked you for your address recently. Hey, maybe that was it! So he was pranking you, huh? Maybe they were all in it together? You relaxed. That’s what it is. Idiots.

…

“Yah, Youngjae.” You plunked a hand onto his desk and pointed at his face. “What do you think you’re playing at?”

His eyebrows disappeared into his bangs, grabbing your finger and twisting it so you squirmed in pain. “What do you think you’re playing at, huh, disrespecting me?”

He let go of your finger and you slid into the seat next to him.

“It’s a weak idea, bro. Come on, why prank someone if they can tell it’s a prank right away?”

He looked confused. “Prank? What prank? On who?”

You tsked. “Come on, man, April Fools’ is months away. Give up.”

He stilled, glancing around like he thought you were crazy and wanted a quick escape. “I honestly don’t have a clue what you’re saying.”

Your smile faltered. “You didn’t send that letter? Or Jisung? Or Minho? Or even Yeji?”

“What letter? Y/N, are you okay?”

You searched his eyes for any sign, his lips for an uncontrolled twitching, his hands for nervous fiddling. Nothing. You silently brought out the letter and showed it to him, crossing your arms and watching for a change of expression as he read it. Nope. Only confusion.

“What the heck is this?” he asked you curiously. “Who’s Chris?”

You slumped. “I thought one of you guys might have sent that as a prank.”

He handed it back to you. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you asked for my address last week!” you defended.

He threw his hands up. “That was for the ad you asked me to put in the campus paper for a roommate!”

“Oh.” You pouted, sitting straight, facing the front of the class. Your anthropology professor hadn’t yet come in, and the students were being loud. As usual.

“And besides,” he added, nudging you in the ribs (‘ow!’), “I wouldn’t go as far as even imply you got an A in anthropology, like, what even—hey!” You swiped his pen from where he was doodling on his notebook.

“You’re being mean.”

“I’m telling the truth. You know it. Give me my pen back.”

“Silence!” A voice boomed. The entire class rushed back to their seats or straightened up or shut their mouths. Youngjae took the chance and stole his pen. Your professor gazed around at all of you, her expression stern and disapproving. “I have your exams graded.” A collective groan sounded around the room. “The overall performance is lower than usual—“ your heart sank, “—but some of you have done better than I thought.” She proceeded to sit at her desk and call out the names. She also had the irritating habit some teachers have of announcing the grade as well. Your heartbeat was already picking up pace.

“Jacob! B, better than I expected, good….Eric! C, you can do better than this….Kevin.” You cringed at her expression, feeling desperately sorry for him. “D. You didn’t open your book at all, did you?”

Four names later, “ Youngjae! A, good work.”

“As usual,” you grumbled, but feeling proud of him nevertheless. He worked for it. You squeezed his arm when he came back to sit with his paper.

“Y/N!” You stood, hearing Youngjae whisper a ‘good luck’. You made your way to the front of the class, heart pounding. Your professor looked up at you and you winced apologetically for the abomination that was your paper. “A.”

What. Wait, what?

“What?” You accidentally blurted out. She smiled thinly.

“Well done. Keep it up.” She handed you your paper and you traipsed back to your seat, your head throbbing, unaware of the eyes on you.

“Oh my gosh you got an A,” Youngjae muttered, seizing your paper and staring at it like he couldn’t believe his ears or his eyes.

“I did. I got an A.” Your voice came out awed, in a hushed tone, drowned out by the sound of your classmates meeting their fates. A particular sentence, scrawled onto paper, read on a moving bus, flashed from your memory banks. You gasped. “ Youngjae!”

Yanking the letter from under your desk, you spread it out on the table. Youngjae understood what you meant just from glancing at it.

It looks like a good week, huh? I know getting an A in your anthropology class isn’t easy. I’m proud of you.

“Whoa.” He was shocked, too, but quickly composed his flow of reason. “Someone saw your grades. That’s the only explanation.”

“It’s still creepy,” you countered, falling silent and putting both papers away as your professor stood to teach. Still weird.

…

“I asked the others if they sent any letter; they didn’t,” Youngjae informed you, huffing as he and Jisung caught up with you on the way to Sociology after his Korean language class. You groaned.

“It’s not my old roommate Jeongyeon either, I called her.” You scratched the back of your neck. “This feels weird! Someone who’s close enough to know how I sleep? To notice me so well that they know how I smile? How I chew on my lip?” You shuddered. “Do I have a stalker? This is scary now. Don’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Well, someone could know you sleep like that from that pic of all of us sleeping on Minho’s Instagram,” Jisung suggested. “But what if it was a one-time thing? You’re right, I think you have a stalker.”

You grabbed Youngjae’s arm. “Could you stay with me, then? Until I find another roommate?”

“Wait, but what if your new roommate turns out to be your stalker? Oh, that would be epic.” Jisung pressed his hands together and rubbed them.

“Jisung, not helping!”

“Y/N, you know we hostel people aren’t allowed to stay anywhere else without permission unless it’s break,” Youngjae explained patiently. “One night might be okay, but if it’s more than that, they’ll chuck us out and honestly, I don’t think I could afford off-campus housing right now. And my parents wouldn’t like it.”

“I’m technically broke now, so…” Jisung trailed off. “You know my parents aren’t sponsoring me this year since I told them I’m dropping English and taking Music. Until I prove that I’m good at it.”

“I know, I know,” you sighed, regretting having brought it up. “It’s okay. It’s probably just Jeongyeon and she doesn’t want to admit it. But then, how did she know I got an A?”

…

Two days later, you practically flew into your Anthropology class, to find Youngjae.

“Whoa, what happened, calm down!” he exclaimed as you dropped into your seat. “What happened, Y/N?”

You steadied your breathing, a hand on your heaving chest. “I…I got a raise.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Are you serious?” When you nodded, he broke into a smile. “That’s great news! I thought that coffee place never gave anyone raises!” You didn’t react. He faltered, looking at your tense expression. “What’s the matter—oh.” You pursed your lips. He finally remembered. “The letter.”

“How could anyone have known that?” You were chewing on your lip again and Youngjae tapped your chin, reminding you to stop before you tore the skin open.

“Does anyone there know a Chris?”

“The manager’s sister has a son named Chris, I asked. But,” you added quickly so Youngjae wouldn’t overreact, “they live abroad. And how would they know me?”

Youngjae sat back in his chair, thinking. “Hmm. Whoever’s writing it knows English well, but from the seals of the post office, I don’t think it’s international mail.” He waved it away. “Don’t think about that now. Did you put up the flyers in the coffee shop?”

“Yes, sir, I did.” You were grateful. “Thanks for getting Yugyeom to make them for me. Although I guess you should be thanking me for a chance to go to him, huh?”

“What?” he spluttered, smacking your arm. “I said I don’t like him, okay?”

“I know.” You smiled smugly, satisfied at the red blush dusting his cheeks. “You love him.”

…

On Thursday, it happened again.

Your classes were only in the afternoon, so you didn’t rush. But the floor in front of your door presented you with another letter. You brought it in, curiously. You hadn’t thrown away the first letter, even though you had the strangest urge to do so. Instead, you kept it in a box on top of your fridge.

You tore the new letter open. In the same handwriting, it read:

Y/N,

Yesterday was my sister’s wedding. I had no idea that she had invited you, but now that I think of it, I’m not very surprised. She was always fond of you. She took your side even when we fought, did you know that?

I don’t think you saw me. I got one glimpse of you and I ran. I’m a coward. But, did you, perhaps, know somehow that I was there and that I was looking for you? Were you looking for me?

Disgrace. That’s what my mother said to me. That I’m a disgrace. Just because I didn’t have the courage to greet guests and risk you seeing me, just because I can’t stick to something for long, because I’m a loser. And I don’t blame her.

Is it just me? Am I the only one hurting? Seeing you so happy hurts me. It makes me think that this fight isn’t affecting you at all. I can’t help it. I’m selfish.

My sister says that you were so polite and wanted to see me. She says that if only I had come out to talk to you, things would have been alright. Now I wish I had. Maybe I wouldn’t need to write anymore letters if I did.

I wonder if you kept that painting you said your friend gave you on your birthday. And speaking of birthdays, I hope you have a terrific one. You deserve nothing but the best.

It’s difficult. It’s like talking to a person with amnesia. Writing to a person who doesn’t know who’s writing to them is confusing. I know. There are things that I can’t say. But you’re smart. You’ll figure it out eventually.

Chris

You were beyond confused now. You were thoroughly disturbed. You had not gone to a wedding. You knew no girl whose brother was called Chris. You had not received any painting for your birthday. It was next week, so maybe you would? But how would Chris know that? If he even was called Chris?

Beyond all that, what scared you was that you felt this. You could feel the hurt in it. You could feel it as if it was…your own.

The words that called himself a loser, a coward, a disgrace…you understood. But what was the next part about? Him asking if the fight was only affecting him but not you? What fight? What on earth was going on? He wished he had talked to me; he wouldn’t have needed to write any more letters if he had? And that last paragraph? It’s difficult. It’s like talking to a person with amnesia. Writing to a person who doesn’t know who’s writing to them is confusing. I know. There are things that I can’t say. But you’re smart. You’ll figure it out eventually.

So he knew that you had no clue who he was. From the last letter, you assumed that it was a person you had forgotten about, but this one implied that you had never known him? There were things he couldn’t say? You would figure it out eventually?

What?

…

From the look on your face, Youngjae knew something was up. When he asked, you only pulled out the letter. He groaned.

“That ass wrote again? This is some elaborate prank, huh?” He took the letter, still chuckling, but as his eyes scanned the paper, his smile disappeared.

You didn’t speak, upset that you didn't understand what was going on, upset that someone was clearly having some fun at your expense, but also upset that, at the same time, it didn’t feel like a joke. This felt personal and…real.

“Oh my god.” His little whisper had your attention on him.

“What? What is it?”

Youngjae didn’t seem to hear you. “How the hell…who could have known about that…”

“ Youngjae, what’s wrong?”

He reluctantly pointed at a sentence in the letter. “That’s…that’s me. I’m that friend. I just bought you a painting for your birthday next week. How the hell….” He trailed off, astounded.

You were speechless. Okay, that was scary.

“Damn it,” he spat, banging his fist on the desk, startling some students in the class. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“ Youngjae, I still haven’t seen it, so it is still a surprise,” you reassured. “And I think that’s not as important as the fact that this person might be stalking you too.”

Youngjae had his focused face on, probably thinking who could have had the chance to see what he bought for you. “Minho wouldn’t do that, right?” he asked quietly, referring to his roommate at the dorms, the second oldest in your group. You shook your head.

“Minho’s petty, but I don’t think he would go this far for a joke. No one else knows about the painting?”

“Other than the guy at the store, I don’t think so.” He ran a hand through his hair, agitated.

Both of you were too disturbed to communicate throughout the lesson, you almost blacking out when the prof asked you something.

“It’s not even details like that,” you told him after class, walking across campus to his dorms. “ Youngjae, when I read that letter, I felt it. It hurt me. It was like I knew this person, but my brain is struggling to remember who he is. It felt real.” You grasped his arm. “I haven’t been in like, some accident and lost my memory, right?”

Youngjae laughed at your comment, some of the tension dissipating. “Of course not, dumbass. As if we would let you.”

…

Another letter was waiting for you on Tuesday. The weekend had flown by with your coursework and your job, but luckily you had managed to complete everything.

You tore open the letter, glancing at the other two in the box on the fridge; two letters you had read over and over again, hoping for some meaning to this. The third letter wasn’t addressed to you by name.

Red.

That was my favourite colour.

The moments until the ice broke between us were so awkward and cliché. You even popped the favourite colour question. I’ve never understood why that question became the standard first when getting to know someone. Can you automatically analyse a person based on their favourite colour?

You told me yours and then asked for mine. I scoffed at you. I didn’t feel like telling you, right? Don’t you remember? I told you, “Guess.” And then I had to endure you following me around and naming random colours. And then you asked me why.

His favourite colour was red. Nothing very special in that. But he was talking to you with such a sense of familiarity, as if the two of you had actually been close once upon a time. There was such…nostalgia in what he said. And he was asking if you remembered? No, Chris, you didn’t.

Red showed me passion. It showed me heat and power and rage: just like the sun. Because I wanted to shine. I wanted my name on billboards and neon signs, spelling it out in fierce red letters. Red reminded me of the deep maroon stain on the carpet in the living room, the stain that you made by dropping a scented liquid candle on it in your first year. Red showed me blood and it reminded me of my heartbeat and how I’m still alive.

You let out a shaky exhale at the words, both awed by the poetry in them and frightened at the fact that there was, in fact, a stain on the carpet in the living room made by you dropping a candle on the floor. This person knows you here, knows you now. And that was scarier than ever. Up until now, you had the chance that he was someone you knew long ago who decided to fuck with you with knowing your grades, had a pull with the coffee shop owner and saw your best friend buying you a painting. But now…the paper crinkled from how tightly you were holding it. This person knows you in this time of your life. He’s been to your apartment and knows how you sleep. And yet…as much as this makes you afraid, you can sense that he’s hurting. He doesn’t mean harm.

Red reminded me of your blush.

Red is no longer my favourite colour. It stopped being so when you walked out the door with your suitcase and your tears. And without my apology.

My favourite colour is grey.

I see nothing but it nowadays. There’s no black or white anymore. It’s only grey. No clear differences, just a mess of confusion. Who was right? Were my actions justified? Were yours? What have you believed in the year you refused to speak to me?

Stagnant. Disinterested. That’s what my life is like without your presence. How did I ever think I could manage without you?

I’m weak. Too weak.

Chris

Against your will, a tear escaped the corner of your eyes.

“Why am I crying?” you mumbled, wiping your face with the sleeve of your sweater. Your heart ached; your mind was searching again, searching for a face, an identity, but you were clawing blindly in the dark, only gaps where information should have been.

You and Chris had clearly fought. You walked out with your suitcase and your tears…and that meant you lived together. Was it here? In this apartment? You definitely haven’t had a roommate called Chris. Briefly, you wondered if this was addressed to another Y/N who had lived here with him long before you came, but the details proved otherwise. This person was watching you, here, now.

His life was stagnant without you. Was this person delusional? Crazy? Was your presence just in his head? What did he think of you, exactly? What was the nature of your relationship with him, in his head, at least?

You didn’t know. And if he was insane, you weren’t sure you even wanted to know.

…

Your heart broke at lying to Youngjae. When he asked you if you had any more letters, you shook your head.

“Maybe he’s given up,” you said cheerily, aware of the way Youngjae was observing you.

Well, maybe you should have known that lying to your best friend doesn’t get you very far.

“I’m not pressing you for information, Y/N,” he said gently. “I’m just saying, we’re all here for you. You don’t have to do anything alone.”

…

Your birthday party passed in a haze. It wasn’t really a party, just you and your circle of friends chilling at your apartment, and them emptying your kitchen of food.

Youngjae gifted you a Van Gogh painting. Or, a copy of a Van Gogh painting, you should say. It was clear that both of you remembered Chris’ letter, but you laughed it off, saying that at least Chris didn’t tell you which one it was.

Jisung presented you with a track he had composed for you in his class. He winced, knowing that he was being cheap, but you hugged him gratefully all the same. You would’ve done so even if he hadn’t given you anything. Their presence was enough.

Minho, unfortunately, couldn’t show up, since he had a dance routine due that day, but Yeji showed up, bringing you food that Minho had made the day before, and although it served your friends more than you, you thanked them for it. You blew out a weak candle you had found somewhere in the kitchen while the others sang, your only wish being that you wanted answers to the letters you had been receiving. You cut through a rice cake and stuffed a piece into each of their mouths. And in return, of course, like the great friends they are, shoved a whole rice cake into your mouth and smashed another one on your head.

You didn’t mind. Not too much, at least.

After all, what were friends for?

…

Saturday. You had work in twenty minutes. It was only a five minute walk from your apartment, but you decided to leave early.

You were hardly surprised at a letter on the floor in front of you. It was more of anticipation. Anxiety. Fear. But you picked it up nevertheless.

It was a dull cloudy day that reminded you of the winter that was to come. As much as you were excited about snow days and Christmas, the cold was really a bitch. Ripping the envelope open, you pulled out the letter and began your walk to the coffee shop.

Y/N,

There are fifty thousand things I want to tell you, but nothing more than this: I miss you.

Don’t you remember?

You would force open my door at two in the morning and wallop me with your pillow because I was snoring so loudly that you couldn’t sleep. But hey, you were worse. I remember you one night, yelling in your sleep that you needed a pencil. Were you dreaming about your finals? I don’t know. You had no memory of whatever it was the next morning.

Despite the cold, despite your nerves, you couldn’t help but smile fondly at his words. You’d been told before, that you sometimes talked in your sleep, but couldn’t recall ever yelling for a pencil. No one had told you that, at least. This definitely confirmed that you had shared living space with him, whether as a friend, or as a roommate, or even…a boyfriend? Your eyes ran over three words again: I miss you. And then he asked, don’t you remember?

“I wish I did,” you whispered bitterly. “I really wish I did.”

I still remember the night you found the courage to come to me because it was a terrible thunderstorm and you were scared. I wanted to make fun of you, but the look on your face stopped me. I’m glad I didn’t. That night you began to trust me. We stayed up all night through that storm, do you remember anything? There was the loudest clap of thunder and the power went out. Neither of us said it, but I knew we were afraid. We sat there on the sofa in silence, in the dark, until you suddenly spoke: “Please tell me we’re not going to die.” And I started laughing. And that was all. The ice was broken.

“Oh.” You were probably just roommates. That night you began to trust me. “Wait, what am I saying?” you questioned yourself. “I’ve never had a roommate called Chris. Why am I acting like I do?” You smacked the side of your head. “Snap out of it.”

But even still, you couldn’t shake off the feeling that you did know him.

But I never got around to telling you it. When the thunder died away, I forgot that there might be more storms to come. I never told you we weren’t going to die. And now I think that I’m going back on that promise I never made.

I can see those thunderclouds again, Y/N. I hate this. I hate my life. I hate a life without you.

Chris

You were outside the shop now. You swallowed your emotions down, taking a deep breath, trying to compose yourself. Calm down, Y/N. It’s just some deranged psycho writing letters to someone he thinks he knows. Relax. You don’t know him.

Seungmin, another barista, waved to you as you entered. You returned the gesture, stowing your jacket away and putting on your apron.

“You okay? You look sick,” he commented as you washed your hands.

“Just the cold, I’m okay.” You glanced at the your flyer pinned to the bulletin board across the room. Seungmin noticed where your eyes were.

“Oh, by the way,” he continued, gesturing to the ad, “you know my friend Hyunjin, right?” You nodded. “He’s kinda looking for a place to stay.”

Intrigued, you perked up your ears. “Yeah? Tell him to call me.”

“Are animals allowed?”

“No. My landlord is pretty strict about that.”

“Ah.” His shoulders slumped. “Never mind, then. Hyunjin won’t leave his dog behind.”

You smiled gently, recalling the time Hyunjin had brought his little black and white puppy into the coffee shop for about fifteen minutes before the manager saw and threw them out. “It’ll work out somehow. He’ll find a place.”

“Hm. I guess so.”

The ringing of the bell indicated someone had just walked in. Taking a glance at the door, you smirked. “I think you should take this order, Seungminnie. I’ll be out back.”

Seungmin looked up from where he was trying to solve the crossword (which he simply never can) and saw Jeongin, a freshman that he had been long crushing on. He threw you a dirty look that didn’t hide his blush and reluctantly moved to the counter to take the kid’s order—hopefully without making himself look like a fool.

You busied yourself in the kitchen, making way for the deliverers bringing the day’s pastries. Half your mind was on the letter and every time you thought about it, a weight pressed down on your chest. It was a horrible feeling. You couldn’t wait to get to the bottom of this. None of the others knew you had been receiving more letters. Youngjae probably sensed that you had, but you weren’t about to involve him in it. This felt too personal to share with even him.

You sighed. This entire ordeal was eating you alive and you felt helpless in it.

…

There was no letter the next week. Chris seemed to have finally fallen silent. And you didn’t want to admit how attached you had already gotten, from just four letters. It was a sort of feeling you couldn’t control. You wanted to be scared, you wanted to burn the letters and pretend they never existed, but something warned you not to. Something told you that you might need them, sooner or later.

He took up most of your time; most of the thoughts in your brain had something to do with him. You wondered what he might look like, what kind of person he was. There was a lot about you in the letters, but precious little about him. He was observant. He was lyrical. Poetic. Emotional. Ambitious. What did he like to do? What was his passion? What relationship did he think the two of you had? You couldn’t help but wonder.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you sometimes addressed him when you talked to yourself around the apartment. For you, he was associated with only you, only these rooms. Maybe that was one reason you didn’t share this with the others. Chris seemed to belong to only you. Only known to you. And at some point, you would begin to feel like you only belonged to him. Whoever he was. You wished you only knew.

…

The next Saturday was a work day for you. There was no letter in front of your door when you left, but when you returned after a hectic day and rude customers, just wishing for peace, you were surprised to see an envelope with familiar writing scrawled across it. Snatching it up immediately, you dashed inside to read it.

Y/N,

Do you remember the first time you spoke to me about your parents? It was so sudden. I didn’t know what brought it on. One moment you were busy around the kitchen and the next you were on the floor crying. The only thing that I could understand was that they had called, your mother said something and you were upset.

You went into a pathetic rant about how your parents had locked you in the four walls of your home, not bothering to listen to you, emotionally abusing you because they wouldn’t listen to you about your stress. I honestly didn’t know what to do. I could only hold you as you cried your heart out on my shirt.

Your breath hitched.

This…this was real. This was too real. That was exactly how you felt. Even you couldn’t have organized your thoughts so well. How does Chris know me so well? Who are you? Already tears were forming at the corner of your eye at the emotion you felt from reading those sentences about your parents.

Would you believe it if I saw you as cold and distant until that day? We were always civil, but you seemed shut off, closed to me. I know that you didn’t mean it. I realized that you were scared to open up. I can understand how hurt you must have been when your parents refused to care.

I can only say the same thing that I said then: They may never understand you, they may never accept you, but it doesn’t matter. There is enough love in the world that you are not at all restricted to seeking support from your family. That’s why humans can pack bond. There are people who know what you’re going through, and if there isn’t anyone else, I will be here. I always will.

You choked back a sob. Whatever your rational brain said, you knew that Chris wasn’t out to hurt you. It was as if he knew what you were going through, and wanted to reassure you despite you not knowing him. You were grateful for that, regardless.

Is it weird? Is it awkward that you know me but at the same time you don’t? Will you not be suspicious when you see me? I don’t even know if you will. I don’t know if I’ve messed things up by writing this. But even if I have, it’s okay. If it means that you’ll be alive, then I’ll be okay not having you as a friend. Even if we’re awkward and don’t get closer, it’s okay. I’m scared of what will happen if we do. I’m scared of getting stuck in this vicious cycle. It’s better if you stay away and survive than get to know me and ruin your life.

Chris

Wait. Wait. Let’s try that again.

Is it awkward that you know me but at the same time you don’t? Yes. It is awkward, Chris. Am I living in some parallel dimension where I don’t know you but you’re living in the other side where I do know you?

Will you not be suspicious when you see me? When, you noticed. Not if. You paused, staring at the paper in your hands. When I see him? So you were right? You’ve never seen him? Or at least, you haven’t seen him recently? Yes, Chris, it will be suspicious. If I ever do see you, you better have some answers. How do you know all this when we haven’t met?

I don’t even know if you will. I don’t know if I’ve messed things up by writing this. Okay, now he doesn’t know if I will see him. What does he mean by messed things up? What has he messed up other than my sanity?

But even if I have, it’s okay. If it means that you’ll be alive, then I’ll be okay not having you as a friend. You noticed that your fingers were trembling. You tried to calm yourself, to understand what he was trying to say. Even if he has messed things up, it’s okay. He will be okay not having me as a friend if it means I will be…alive? Am I not alive? Your parallel universe explanation popped up again. Am I not alive in his dimension? What?

Even if we’re awkward and don’t get closer, it’s okay. I’m scared of what will happen if we do. So he thinks we’re friends? And he’s scared about my life if I’m his friend? Is he a gangster or mafia leader or something? He’s okay with us not getting closer?

I’m scared of getting stuck in this vicious cycle. Vicious cycle. What cycle? You ran those words through your head, over and over again, trying to make sense of it. They sounded oddly familiar, but you just couldn’t place it. You felt like they were associated with Youngjae, for some reason. But why?

It’s better if you stay away and survive than get to know me and ruin your life. So he’s scared that I’d ruin my life if I got closer to him. And yet, you could almost hear the undertones in that sentence. The bitterness. He wanted to be close to you, desperately. But he was too scared to.

“Why do you have to be so fucking cryptic, Chris?” you mumbled.

You shook your head. You still had no idea what was going on.

…

That afternoon, Minho and Jisung came over to your place without any prior warning. You raised your eyebrows at them when you saw them shivering on your doorstep, backpacks on. They pushed past you into your living room and relished the warmth with loud exclamations of relief.

“Can I help you?” you asked, knowing your idea of peace was shattered. You closed the door before the cold could get in and make things worse.

“ Youngjae hyung kicked us out,” Jisung said, pouting. “He has a math test on Monday and he said he would fail if we kept disturbing him.”

You remembered telling Youngjae so many times to think again before taking math, but then, each to his own. “And you couldn’t stay in your room because…”

“Felix has his boyfriend over,” he explained. “And I’m not particularly fond of watching.”

“So we thought you’d be the best option.” Minho pulled his jacket off and tossed it onto the sofa before trudging to the kitchen.

“What makes you think I’m okay with watching you two?” you retorted, following Minho. You could already hear Jisung turning his laptop on, probably to play a game or watch a movie.

“You’ve been okay with it for seven years now,” Minho shot back, opening the fridge and closing it again in dismay. “You don’t really have much choice.” He stood on his tiptoes to grab at the box on top of the fridge, and you snatched it away in horror.

“What are you looking for?” you snapped, cradling the box in your arms. “You know you can just ask.”

“Don’t you have, like, real food?” He opened the cupboards and, finding a box of pretzels, turned to you in disgust. “Seriously?”

“You don’t have to eat it, you know.”

“Nah, I will. Food is food.” He reached into his backpack, brought out a packet of unpopped popcorn and set it on the counter. “Pop this, will you?” He gathered up the pretzels and the cereal box he found and walked out. You carefully set the box back on the fridge and let out a groan of frustration.

You reluctantly shoved the packet into the microwave and stared at it, still enjoying the ‘pop’ sounds it made. Your mind drifted back to the box on the fridge. You had to admit, you thought about this mysterious Chris more often than you liked.

“Who are you, Chris?” you muttered, eyes still on the spinning paper, your words drowned out by the noise. “Where are you?”

You found Minho and Jisung curled up on the sofa, intently watching what you assumed to be a movie. Plopping down on it and carefully setting the popcorn on the table, you peered around Minho at the screen. You were surprised to see that the movie was over halfway done.

“How did you guys watch it this far so fast?” you questioned, settling back into the cushions.

Without even taking his eyes off the screen, Jisung replied, “We were watching this at the dorm when hyung kicked us out.”

Nice. “What are you watching?”

“The Lake House.”

Not very helpful. “What’s it about?”

As Jisung opened his mouth to answer, Minho reached over and slammed the space bar, pausing the movie. Obviously he was irritated at the interruptions. Jisung held his hand to calm him down.

“It’s like this time-travel thing,” Jisung began, but Minho cut him off, choosing to explain in his quick, no-nonsense way.

“A house by the lake. Two people accidentally corresponding by writing letters but they’re actually two years apart in time.” He shrugged. “So things that she,” he pointed at the screen, “writes about haven’t actually happened for him, because he’s two years in the past. It’s trippy. Watch it sometime.”

“Ah.” You nodded and they resumed the film. You tuned out the dialogue from the laptop, mulling over what Minho and Jisung had just said. Corresponding by writing letters. Things that she writes haven’t happened for him because he’s in the past…

Time travel.

You sat up, the significance of that concept weighing heavily down on you.

The sound shut off once again. “You…okay?” Minho asked uncertainly.

You didn’t know how to respond for a moment. You barely heard him, blood pounding in your ears. All that was in your mind were the letters and Jisung’s voice: It’s like this time travel thing. You swallowed the revelation and the sheer possibility down.

“Yeah,” you gasped, “I just….” You stopped, the rest of the sentence dissipating into thin air.

Vicious cycle.

Those were words from your textbook.

You could still remember your professor lecturing your class on the beliefs that humans have had over the years. There was even a story, a legend, a myth, about time travellers. The class had erupted at that, referencing old pictures of people that bore eerie similarities to people living now. Social media made fun of them, calling them immortals and time-travellers. The story in your book spoke of a person who kept trying to change the past and alter the future and ended up going in circles with no result. Moral: don’t mess with things beyond human comprehension.

Vicious cycle.

“Y/N?” Jisung’s concerned voice broke you out of your thoughts. “Are you okay?”

You looked over at them, your eyes blown wide. Worry was etched on their faces. You forced a smile.

“Yeah, I just…I just remembered I have a paper due Monday.”

They laughed at your shock, and when you gestured to them that you’d be in your room doing that, they waved you away, calling out their thanks for letting them stay. You nodded absently, quietly padding to the kitchen and retrieving the letters from the box. Five of them in all.

The boys were immersed in their movie and didn’t even notice you slipping away into your room. You locked the door, finally allowing yourself to breathe.

You looked at the letters with a shaking heart. Was that what was happening? You couldn’t believe it. You didn’t want to believe it. You sat down on your bed, taking out the first letter and scanning through it. You put the idea into your head.

Time travel.

Could it be true?

Maybe it was. It would make a lot more sense with regard to the letters.

That’s how he knew, you thought. If he was your future roommate, he would know how you slept. He would be around you enough to notice how you smiled and that you chewed your lip when you were anxious. He would know that you recently got a raise and an A once in your class. He would know that the painting that hung on the living room wall was one that your friend gave you for your birthday. He would know that the stain on the carpet was your fault—and a candle’s. You could almost see yourself telling him all that.

It would explain how he knew you sometimes talked in your sleep and got scared of thunderstorms. He would know about your feelings towards your parents. Of course he would.

I realize you must be confused now, but I promise you that you’ll understand. You did. At least, you hoped you did. If that was even possible. You couldn’t see how time travel existed, but what other explanation could you give this?

It’s difficult. It’s like talking to a person with amnesia. You saw how it would be. If this was indeed future Chris writing letters to past you that didn’t know him yet…you understood how it would be difficult. There are things that I can’t say. But you’re smart. You’ll figure it out eventually. Have you? Have you figured it out?

It would explain why he said you had attended his sister’s wedding when you knew for sure that you hadn’t—yet. It would explain his anguish at the fight you were to have. His pain was contained in all of the letters you had received so far. Was the fight that bad? You couldn’t help but wonder what it would be about. Evidently it split the two of you—or, it would split you beyond repair. Chris was clearly hurting very much without you.

I never told you we weren’t going to die. And now I think that I’m going back on that promise I never made. This line still spooked you. Was he dying? Were you dying? What was going on? If he was really from the future, what was happening there that had him contact the past? Did he think he could change it?

Today’s letter made much more sense.

I don’t know if I’ve messed things up by writing this. But even if I have, it’s okay. If it means that you’ll be alive, then I’ll be okay not having you as a friend. Even if we’re awkward and don’t get closer, it’s okay. I’m scared of what will happen if we do. I’m scared of getting stuck in this vicious cycle.

He wanted to change the past? In a way that didn’t involve the two of you anymore? Wait. So, in his past, the two of you had evidently been quite close, as friends? more than friends? you didn’t know. But because of that, your fight had been severely worse? And that led to the fight breaking you up for good? And now, he couldn’t handle it, and he wanted to change the past so you didn’t become close, you didn’t fight and nobody got hurt? Was that it?

You rested your head against the wall, stunned by the turn of events. What was going on? What was happening?

…

Your two-week winter break had you bidding Youngjae, Jisung and Yeji goodbye and sent them off home on the train. Minho’s family had gone to Japan to visit friends, and besides, he had his dance performance to think about. He confessed to you that he would much rather stay at the campus than waste his time in Japan seeing people he couldn’t care less about. Rather than be stuck in an empty dorm for the week, he decided to move in with you briefly, helping out at the coffee shop when he wasn’t practicing. You were grateful for his presence. Alone, he never got on your nerves. And he could cook better than you could.

“Why not stay at Jisung’s place for the holidays?” you asked him one evening in the kitchen.

“I didn’t want to intrude.” He sighed, pushing his glasses up with the back of his hand. “Jisung deserves some time alone with his family.” He cleanly chopped up an onion and tossed it into the pot simmering on the stove. “Don’t ask about me when you haven’t gone either.”

You threw a piece of pepper at him, which he caught and ate. “I hate travelling in the cold. That’s all. You know that.”

“I do know that. And you would have been very lonely.”

“Aww, you stayed for me?”

“Shut up and cut the vegetables. I can still leave, you know.”

“I know.”

…

Two nights later, you received a text from Jisung.

you seduced my man to move in with you huh I see how it is

You rolled your eyes. as if. he was begging me to let him stay

Jisung’s reply was quick. whatever that’s not what I wanted to tell you

okay what is it

felix has new neighbours and theor son is joining the university for the next sem and he doestn have a place to stay so

You raised your eyebrows. This was news. oh okay then ask him to call me then

okay I will I wasn’t sure I shud be giving ppl your number without telling you

You smiled. Jisung was considerate after all. thnx sungie

You had just placed the phone down when the thought occurred to you. A thought that had been haunting you a while ago. Chris was apparently your roommate at some point in the future. Was this person…Chris? You tapped out another message for Jisung. wait sungie whts the guys name

idk lemme ask felix hold on

You waited impatiently, anticipating (or dreading?) the reveal of the person’s name. You became alert when Jisung started typing.

flix doesn’t know hes asking his mom wait a sec

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Really? Does it have to have so much suspense? But what if it was Chris? What were you going to do? Were you going to tell Jisung not to give him your number? Or were you going to let Chris into your life anyway, despite all the warnings? The ‘ping’ of your phone startled you.

his names chan smthg

You relaxed. Oh. Well then. It wasn’t Chris. That decided things for you, then.

okay give him my number then

will do

You shut off your phone screen and lay back onto your pillows. Maybe Chris was right. Maybe by sending you the letters, he had changed time and now he wasn’t the person being your roommate. If the letters hadn’t been sent, would Chris be the one ready to call you?

That’s not how time works, you thought. No one is told what would have happened.

But you sure wished you were.

…

The next letter arrived in the morning, when Minho stepped outside the house to buy some breakfast. He didn’t think about picking it up, just shouting ‘you’ve got mail’ into the apartment before continuing on his way to the store.

You dashed to the front door and snatched it up, tearing it open once in your room. You had to know. Maybe he would finally crack and tell the truth instead of hiding things in code.

Y/N,

I’ve never seen darkness like this.

I saw you again today—on the train back to Seoul. Where had you gone? I pretend like I don’t care, but I do. Deep down, you know I do, right? Honestly, I’m so tired of this. I’m tired of this existence. Why are we even fighting anymore? I know that you’ve forgiven me—you told my sister at her wedding. I want to forget it, too. I’m just too anxious to face you.

You couldn’t help but feel like your suspicions were true. Back to Seoul. Where had you gone? Maybe back home? Where had Chris gone, if he was on the same train? From what he said, both of you wanted to patch up the fight but didn’t have the guts to?

Did you see me? I felt like you did. Your eyes ran over me as if I didn’t exist, but I felt even more broken than I already am. Is this just a stand or do you really hate me now? Do you really not want to see me anymore? I don’t blame you.

I could have spoken to you. I could have stopped this feud but I’m a coward.

Maybe you did see him. You could feel the ache in your heart as usual, but this stung a lot more, for some reason. Is this just a stand or do you really hate me now? I don’t blame you.

“I don’t hate you, Chris,” you whispered.

You were sitting by the window, like you always do, wearing that sweater your mother bought you years ago, the one you thought was silly because it was orange and green. I agreed with whatever you said about it because I didn’t know colour schemes very well. But what I never said was that it looked good on you.

“Sap,” you muttered, laughing under your breath. “Of course you would think that stupid sweater looks good on me.” The sweater in question was tucked deep in your wardrobe. It hadn’t seen the light since you first moved in. You wondered how Chris would know about it.

I realized again that you’re so beautiful. I used to have a crush on you, you know? Back in the year we first met. You were such an odd character. You never did what you didn’t want to and you said what you meant. You were never good at hiding your emotions. You closed off a lot—I understand it was because of your parents—but I’m glad you finally opened up. I wish I were half as good at expressing myself. Y/N, can you promise me one thing? Even if after all this, I still show up at your apartment, even if we still become friends, even if we do fight, could you knock some sense into me?

My life is despicable and worthless without you. I’ve hurt you so much. But I can die in peace knowing that I’ve spent a year in your company. Even after I’ve wasted away, keep smiling.

Chris

You couldn’t help the tears that escaped your eyes. Why was it that you felt such raw pain from these that you had to cry?

He used to have a crush on you. So that confirmed it, didn’t it? You were only friends. You could hardly imagine the depth of that friendship to end up like this from a fight. In your books, only one thing could break you apart from a relationship: betrayal of trust. Was that what happened? Or, what would happen?

You were such an odd character. You never did what you didn’t want to and you said what you meant. You were never good at hiding your emotions. True. Perfectly true.

Y/N, can you promise me one thing? Even if after all this, I still show up at your apartment, even if we still become friends, even if we do fight, could you knock some sense into me?

If you show up, you thought. But you’re not going to…right? Chan is. But you couldn’t tell anything. Maybe Chan wouldn’t last very long. Maybe the person to come after Chan was this Chris. But you were too weak.

“I promise, Chris.” You closed your eyes.

Even after I’ve wasted away, keep smiling.

You did.

…

Monday came around again. But this time, you didn’t particularly hate it. It was the day after Christmas. Still the holidays. Classes wouldn’t start up until the next week.

Minho idled on the sofa, using his laptop, headphones around his neck, a true picture of professionalism. He could be doing anything for all you cared. Seated at the dining table, you were busy typing out an essay due for your anthropology class when break was over. Little by little each day. You simply forced yourself to not procrastinate until Saturday.

Your phone vibrated. An unknown number was calling. You picked up.

“Hello?”

A voice you were not familiar with spoke. “Is this Y/N?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Yes. Can I help you?”

“I was, um, calling to ask about the opening for a roommate?” the male voice answered hesitantly. Thick accent.

“Oh! Are you Felix’s neighbour? Chan…something?”

“Yes, I am!” he sounded relieved. “Bang Chan. But you can just call me Chan.”

You scribbled his name down on your notepad. “I suppose you’d like to see the apartment?”

“Yes, I would, um…” A pause. “When could I come over?”

“Um…” You thought about it. Youngjae and Jisung would be back on Wednesday and Minho would clear the area by then. “Is Friday okay? I assume you will be starting your classes on Monday?”

You heard the rustling of paper. “Yeah. Yeah, I am starting on Monday. Friday’s cool. Um, what—what time?”

“Any time is fine. I’m free all day on Friday.” You wrote down Friday on the paper. “We can talk about splitting the rent then.”

“Rent won’t be a problem,” Chan replied. You raised your eyebrows. Rich, huh?

“Very well. I guess I’ll see you on Friday.” You noticed Minho looking over at you. You rolled your eyes. “Take care. Bye.” You hung up the call, feeling like this Chan was someone you weren’t going to get along well with.

“What’s up?” Minho asked.

“Candidate for roommate,” you told him, setting down you phone and turning back to your essay. “Mister Bang Chan.”

“Ah. You got me safely out of the way first, huh?”

You winked at him cheekily. “Of course. The number one spot goes to you. I didn’t want him to feel incompetent.”

…

The next day, Minho packed his bags and left. You were sad to see him go, but you knew he had work to do. Youngjae was coming back tomorrow, and he would most definitely have a heart attack if he saw their dorm room in the state that Minho had left it in.

And speaking of work, you had enough as well.

Your essay was halfway done and you stepped outside the flat to take a break, get some fresh air, maybe get a coffee or hot cocoa or something. But of course, fate had it in for you.

You sighed at the all too familiar handwriting lying on your doorstep and brought it inside, opting to read it before going out. It would make you upset for sure, why not get it over with and then grab some coffee?

You slit the envelope open. The first thing you noticed was that handwriting was different. Shaky, almost.

Y/N,

You’re not going crazy, I’ll tell you that. I am.

I heard the news today. I couldn’t believe it at first, I was in shock. But it’s true. It happened.

Had you really been drinking? That’s what they say, the police and the doctors. That’s what they reported in the paper.

I still can’t believe you’re gone.

Wait, what? What do you mean, I’m gone? Your heartbeat picked up tempo.

Was it just a car accident? Or was it suicide? Why had you been drinking? I don’t understand anything. My world is slowly spiralling into darkness and these letters are my only hope. My one chance, the only chance.

The words spun around your head. Car accident? Suicide? Drinking? These letters are my only hope. The only chance.

I haven’t spoken to you in almost a year, but it was comforting to know that at least you were alive and breathing the same air that I was. But now you’re gone and I can’t breathe anymore. I’m trying to grasp what happened and I’m trying to convince myself that it couldn’t possibly be true. But it is.

Reading all these letters, I know you might have understood what’s going on by now. You were always so smart. I’ve put the newspaper cutting in the envelope. I don’t know if you can see it or if I’m breaking the law.

Don’t ever drink and drive. Promise me.

Chris

You stayed motionless, just standing there in front of the sofa, clutching the letter in your hand. Did…did you die? Your fingers fumbled around for the envelope, shaking it open. A piece of paper slid into your palm. The envelope fell silently to the floor.

Your face was staring back up at you.

You didn’t dare to read it, but some phrases registered in your memory before you could turn away. Killed in a car accident. Drunk driving. Research assistant. Road safety. Enquiry. And your name.

You shuddered, sinking onto the sofa, world swaying under your feet. Your hands were shaking badly and you squeezed them together, trying to release some of the tension. You were in shock. This proved everything. He was trying to contact you from the future.

“Oh my gosh,” you finally broke, burying your face in your hands.

So this was it. This was the reason he was writing to you. I don’t know if you can see it or if I’m breaking the law. Of course, the laws of nature. Don’t meddle with time. He thought he could have prevented your death? If only you two weren’t fighting?

Don’t ever drink and drive. Promise me.

Perhaps.

Maybe things had changed.

Chan was coming over on Friday after all. Maybe he should stay.

…

Wednesday saw Youngjae and Jisung stopping by your place with food that their parents had sent along for you. Thanking them profusely, you stored the dishes carefully away in the refrigerator. Since Minho had gone, you knew you would be facing a shortage of food. You wondered how well Chan could cook, if he could at all.

“Missed us?” Jisung asked, launching himself at you in a tight hug. You laughed, patting his head.

“Of course I did, Sungie,” you murmured fondly into his hair. He could be such a pain sometimes, but only when he was gone did you realize how much you all depended on him to keep the mood light. “My sunshine baby.”

“Aishh, stop it!” he whined, pulling away from you. “I’m not a baby.”

You giggled, ruffling his hair. “You’ll always be my baby.”

Youngjae engulfed you in his arms, rocking back and forth. “Your parents are a tiny bit mad that you didn’t come home, you know.”

You squirmed out of his hold. “I guessed. I just didn’t feel like visiting at the moment.”

He squeezed your shoulder comfortingly. “I know, Y/N. I know.” Briefly you considered telling him about the letters and your conclusion, but you thought it might sound rather far-fetched for rational Youngjae. Especially after what happened yesterday.

“Hey, did that guy ever call you?” Jisung interrupted, stealing a carrot from your fridge and gnawing at it. You pursed your lips.

“He did.”

“Who are we talking about?” Youngjae was confused.

“Felix’s new neighbour’s son is attending uni here and he called asking if he could check out the apartment.”

“Oh. Hm.” He seemed wary about this new person. “When is he coming? Or did he already?”

“Friday,” you told them. “So I don’t want any of you near this place, you hear? I’m keeping it spick and span. You are not ruining this for me.”

Jisung pouted, the food in his cheeks only making him look cuter. Youngjae put his hands up in surrender. “Understood.”

…

By the end of the night, the apartment was relatively tidy. At least, clean enough for a college student. You hoped Chan wouldn’t mind too much.

Thursday morning was cold. Just. That’s all that came into your mind when you woke up. Stretching around on your bed, instead of relief, you were hit with the strangest sense of foreboding. Something…you didn’t know what, but something told you there was a letter today. You jumped out of bed and raced to the front door.

You heart stuttered when you saw the envelope, addressed to you in his handwriting.

Y/N,

Today was the funeral. I couldn’t bear to see you. I waited until the coffin was lowered to come near the vicinity.

The funeral. Your funeral. You felt odd inside, reading about your own funeral, but felt even worse at Chris’ plight. He couldn’t bear to see you.

Your parents are devastated. Can you blame them? You left them around seven months ago and you haven’t spoken to them since, have you? I don’t know what to feel. I can only pity them but I feel so helpless inside, so guilty, like I could have prevented all this.

You left your parents seven months ago? And didn’t speak to them after that? You placed a palm over your heart. Why? Did you fight with them, too? You couldn’t imagine the pain that must have caused. To not even say a good word to each other before you died? Chris felt guilty. Could he have prevented this?

Today I thought a lot about the first time we met. Do you remember? You heard my name and went into a rant about some letters I had apparently written to you. I had no idea what you were going on about, but now, I realize it must have been these. I asked you to show me those letters, but you said you had thrown them away. Have we been stuck in that cycle forever?

Your eyes darted to the box safely on the fridge. No wonder you had felt the urge to throw them away. Time was wired that way! In Chris’ past, you had thrown them away and when he showed up, you had gone off on him about the letters. But since he hadn’t written them yet, he had no clue what you were talking about.

Vicious cycle.

It made sense now.

I saw your friends today. They say you were celebrating one of their promotions, and that you refused to go home with them. You had become reckless, they said. Ever since… They didn’t say anything about…us. They didn’t need to. I could see it in their eyes, the blame piercing into my heart. This is all my fault.

My friends? Did he mean Youngjae? And Jisung? Minho? Yeji? They blamed Chris? And Chris blamed himself for your recklessness? He thought that if you hadn’t fought, you wouldn’t have attempted to drink and drive? You wouldn’t have attempted….suicide?

Couldn’t I have stopped this? If only I had tried a little harder, if only we both had made a little more time...Wouldn’t things have changed?

I can’t breathe. There’s nothing but darkness in front of me now. There’s this horrible weight pressing down on my chest.

“But what did you do, Chris?” You couldn’t help but ask. “What did you do that was so unforgivable that I killed myself over it?”

Y/N, by the time you finish reading this, I will be dead.

You gasped, clapping a hand over your mouth. No. No, no, no!

I know I’ve never said it to you very often, but you mean so much to me. I’m sorry that I let things come to this.

I’ve hurt you in the worst possible ways. But didn’t we deserve a chance? Just one more chance? Just one more chance and we could make it, couldn’t we?

I don’t deserve you and you don’t deserve anything I’ve given you. Even if I don’t deserve a chance, you do.

“You do deserve a chance, Chris,” you choked out, openly crying now. “You deserve everything.”

I can’t do anything but this. I don’t know how many forces of nature I’m breaking to get these letters to you. Everything is in your hands now, along with this letter.

I’m dying, Y/N.

I’m dying now because I can’t live without your presence. I’m dying now because my presence killed you.

I’m dying now to save you.

To save us.

Chris.

Your blurry eyes fixed on the full stop after his name. He never did that before. You knew why he did it now. He was done. No more letters. This was it.

You clutched the paper to your chest, legs giving way, sinking to the floor with your back against the door, sobbing uncontrollably. You didn’t know him, but you felt it deep in your heart. In your soul. You felt just as you would if one of your gang had committed suicide. Y/N, by the time you finish reading this, I will be dead. And the oddest part? That weight on your chest had gotten heavier, but now you felt empty. He really was gone. You were the past, and he had destroyed the future. Everything is in your hands now, along with this letter.

You cried until you had no tears left.

You cried until your head spun from dehydration.

But in the end, against the cold door, you calmed yourself.

He’s alive. It was his future self that had died. This was the past. Or now, the present. He was most certainly alive.

You didn’t know where he was. Where he would come from. But hopefully, your paths would cross some way or other. At least, they would pass close by. You would find him. Whatever the cost, you would find him. Just to observe him from afar. Just to know if he was safe.

You swallowed thickly, rubbing the dried tear tracks off your face.

You would find him.

Sooner or later, he would come to you.

…

By the time the sun came up on Friday morning, you had composed yourself. Or at least, until Chan came and left. The apartment was pretty presentable, from your point of view.

You half-hoped Chan didn’t like it, so there would be a chance that Chris would show up. But then again, would that be playing right into the cycle you were trapped in? What if Chris coming to you ended up in misery whichever way the tape played? Maybe you should just keep him away and let Chan be your roommate.

You tugged at your hair in frustration.

When the time comes, I’ll know what to do.

Someone knocked twice on the door.

You immediately panicked. Fuck.

You cleared your throat, letting out steady breaths.

Cautiously, you opened the door.

A pale-faced (you didn’t think it was from nerves) young man stood on your doorstep. At first glance he was quite ordinary. Dark brown hair, plaid button-up over a white tee, under a black overcoat. Jeans. He looked like any other college student. He had the type of face you could certainly get used to seeing. Seeing you, the corners of his mouth turned up in the sort of forced awkward ‘first meeting’ smile reserved for situations like this.

You returned the smile. “Chan, right?” you confirmed.

He nodded. “That’s me.”

You opened the door wider for him to enter, shivering slightly at the draft sneaking inside, and shut the door as soon as he came in. You noticed that he had been careful to shake the snow off his shoes before he stepped inside.

Considerate, you thought. Time to get to business.

“Nice to meet you, Chan,” you welcomed him, extending a hand. “Y/N.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He took your hand and both of you gasped at the shock that travelled through your forearms, jerking apart at once. He laughed nervously. “Weather does that sometimes, aye? The shocks.” He stuck his hand out to try again. This time you were able to shake it properly. “It’s nice to meet you too, Y/N.”

You nodded and as you drew apart, you didn’t bother to tell him that summer storm weather caused the shocks. Not winter. It didn’t matter anyway.

“You can hang up your jacket there,” you offered, gesturing to the hatrack in the corner. He obeyed after a moment’s hesitation. You noticed his physique as he shrugged his jacket off. “Um,” you weren’t sure how to go about a tour. “You can look around, I suppose. Take your time.” You pointed to the kitchen. “I’ll be here.”

He gave you a thumbs-up that he seemed to instantly regret. Turning away, you watched as his figure disappeared down the hall into the spare bedroom.

You sighed, planting your hands on the kitchen counter. You didn’t know what to do. Despite your curiosity about Chris, you figured that it probably wasn’t smart to risk both of your lives by insisting that Chris live here.

After all, he had said himself that he might have messed things up. That he might have changed his past. Your present. Chris might be anywhere. He could be a world away. He could be down the street. Maybe it was safer that way. You technically didn't know him, anyway. You only thought you did because of the letters. You didn’t know what he looked like, his personality, his past. You didn’t know how he would treat you. And what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you.

Maybe you should just let it all go. Chris is probably safe now. Sooner or later, you would forget about him. Why not sooner? You raised your eyes to the box on the fridge. One day, you wouldn’t need them anymore. One day, you would be fine with throwing them out, with burning the memories that wouldn’t exist because the past was changed. But until then…you would wait.

“It’s a nice place.”

You were so deep in your thoughts that you hadn’t heard Chan enter the kitchen. His eyes roamed the small room, a dopey smile on his face.

You allowed your expression to soften.

“You look upset,” Chan observed. “Is something wrong?”

Yes, something was wrong. But how do you tell this beautiful stranger your story? Where to begin? You shook your head. “You know how time breaks friends apart?”

He winced. “Only too well.”

The two of you stood there in silence, his gaze trying to reassure you. You didn’t need to say anything at all. He understood. Maybe you could get used to having him around. Maybe Chris was right. Maybe staying away was the best decision.

“So,” you broke the silence. “You like the apartment?”

He nodded. “I really do. But…um, how far is the university from here?”

You shrugged. “Fifteen minutes or so. There are buses from here direct to uni.”

“I have a car,” he informed you. “Hey, I could drive you there. We could go together.”

You felt warmth in your chest despite the cold weather. “We’ll see.”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’ll bring my stuff over tomorrow. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

He teetered on the edge of speech but then turned away as if to leave the kitchen. But then he stopped. “You’re—from abroad, right?”

“I am.” You tapped your fingers on the counter. “Aren’t you, too? You have an accent.”

“Yep.” He pressed his lips together. “You can call me by my English name, you know. If it’s more comfortable with you. Chan is my Korean name.”

In hindsight, you had no clue what you walked into, no idea where things were going.

“But I don’t know your English name?” your voice carried a questioning lilt. “Felix didn’t mention…”

In hindsight, you were ashamed that you didn’t consider the possibility.

In hindsight, you should have known better.

He smiled broadly.

“Chris.”

The smile fell off of your lips at once. And so did his.

Chris.

Suddenly the name was all you could hear over the blood throbbing in your veins.

Chris.

And all you could see was the name, scrawled on the bottom corner of paper in handwriting that you had become all too accustomed too.

Chris.

You heard him too well.

I’m dying, Y/N.

I’m dying now to save you.

To save us.

His expression morphed to one of confusion. “Um. Y/N? Is…Is there something wrong?”

You turned your face away, so he wouldn’t see the droplets running down your cheek.

“No,” you breathed out, trying to keep your voice steady.

Even after I’ve wasted away, keep smiling.

Despite your suffocation, through your tears, your lips curved upwards.

“Not at all.”

…

fin.

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